Opening Doorz

By Nex Scriba | Opening Doorz Editorial | May 26, 2025

Hand of God, Voice of Monsoon

In the pantheon of unforgettable moments, two things live rent-free in the minds of Indians: Diego Maradona’s cheeky “Hand of God” goal from the 1986 FIFA World Cup, and RJ Mallishka’s legendary monsoon anthem, “Mumbai, Tula Majhyavar Bharosa Nai Kai?” One used divine sleight of hand to fool the English goalkeeper Peter Shilton; the other used sarcasm sharper than a paani puri vendor’s chilli water to call out an entire city’s infrastructure—or the lack of it.

Both are theatrical. Both are unforgettable. And both resurface with clockwork precision—one during World Cup reruns, the other every time Mumbai dissolves into a soggy, pothole-riddled mess after the first drizzle.

The Song That Sailed Past Civic Sense

In 2017, RJ Mallishka belted her biting ode to the BMC and monsoon mismanagement. The video featured her with her colleagues in the studio dancing to the beat. The lyrics were part lament, part roast, and wholly Mumbai. She drew the ire of the ruling party back then—the storm that followed wasn’t just meteorological but political. And just like Maradona never apologised for his goal, Mallishka never needed to apologise for that song. Because every monsoon since, it’s proved more prophetic than a weather app with divine Wi-Fi.

KEM-drenched, Metro-flooded, and Roads That Double as Rivers

Flash forward to 2025. Mumbai has seen “development” faster than a Bollywood plot twist. Flyovers have mushroomed, metro lines wind around the city like headphone cables from 2009, and yet, the water finds a way—like a rejected lover in a ’90s Bollywood flick.

This year, the deluge had a GPS. It found its way into KEM Hospital, it seeped into the Mumbai Metro, causing trains to pause like awkward teenagers at their first dance. Entire neighbourhoods resembled Venice, minus the gondolas and romance.

Somewhere between Andheri and Sion, cars were submerged, people paddled, and traffic moved like a sloth on sick leave.

And still, the song hummed quietly in the back of our minds:

Mumbai tula majhyavar bharosa nai kai?

(Mumbai, don’t you trust me at all?)

Mangroves and Memory Loss

The city’s planners have been so busy laying down concrete dreams that they’ve conveniently paved over memory and mangroves. The wetlands, which once functioned like natural sponges, absorbing rainwater and saving us from submerging like the Titanic, are now prime real estate brochures with fancy 3BHK promises.

Mallishka’s song wasn’t just an anthem; it was a warning with beats. And just like Maradona’s goal was a masterclass in audacity, her lyrics were a masterclass in creative civic dissent.

Hand of God vs. BMC’s Hands-Off Approach

Let’s talk about Maradona for a moment. The man had the gall to use his hand to score a goal, then called it divine intervention. You’ve got to respect that hustle. Similarly, every year, the BMC holds press conferences and tweets updates as if divine flooding is part of the Master Plan.

“We’ve cleared 90% of nullahs.” “We are prepared for the monsoon,” they declare. Translation: “We’re about to host Mumbai’s annual swimming gala.”

Mallishka didn’t use her hands to cheat, but she used her voice to hold a mirror. Her mic was mightier than any official report. Her rhymes outpaced bureaucracy.

Songs That Stick Like Rainwater in Colaba

There are evergreen songs—Boney M’s Rasputin, ABBA’s Dancing Queen—and Mallishka’s monsoon melody. You don’t sing it; it sings you.

It lives on not because it’s played on the radio, but because it’s etched into our seasonal survival guide. It’s the background score to WhatsApp videos of flooded subways and stuck school buses. It’s the chorus to every Mumbaikar’s internal monologue while stepping into ankle-deep water and praying it’s not something worse.

Islands in the Stream… of Drain Water

Year after year, the city turns into an archipelago. Mumbai becomes a string of disconnected land patches separated by tidal ambitions. Like “Islands in the Stream,” we float—you and me—in local trains, in Ubers turned submarines, in shared autos that now offer water rides at no extra cost.

The song goes: “Islands in the stream, that is what we are…”

But in our case: “Islands in the stream, floating near Ghatkopar…”

No more metaphors—this is literal. The water connects us all. Politician or paani puri vendor, nobody is dry in Mumbai.

Final Splash

RJ Mallishka may not release a monsoon song every year, but she doesn’t need to. Her voice lives on in every citizen who wonders why the richest city in India can’t figure out drainage. And as Maradona’s hand fooled the world, perhaps it’s time we stopped being fooled by lip service and started singing louder, off-key, but on-point.

Because when the skies open up again, and the roads disappear beneath yet another wave, remember: Mumbai may not trust us. But we trust Mallishka. And our umbrellas. And our floaties.

[Through thought-provoking narratives, Nexa Scriba explores the realities of our society, urging reflection and action.]

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