The Mumbai that I saw
Although it’s been quite a few days since my trip to Mumbai, I haven’t really had the chance to know the real city. A city is a living, breathing, emotional being in itself, and it would be too naïve to claim to know a city as alive as Mumbai from within the confines of an air-conditioned car, or a comfortable home, housed within a multistoried residential complex. To know a city, one has to walk the very streets that make it what it is. So, I did.
From my experiences on my solo trips across the city, Mumbai is a vast web of not just people but thoughts, and ideas, and dreams, pouring in from all sides. Every man, woman and child in Mumbai knows the importance of time, and the city keeps up with that time in perfect rhythm – like a graceful dancer, whose every move is in perfect rhythm with all things around her. The rhythm, although beautiful and (almost) perfect, is ruthless at the same time. The city cannot wait, even for those who trip and fall during that daily dance. They must have what it takes to pick themselves up, brush the dust off their clothes, and start off that dance exactly where they left off.
The local train network of Mumbai is called the lifeline of the city and for good reason too. The vast network connects almost every part of Mumbai, running everywhere the flow of humans needs to trickle to; but this lifeline running right through Mumbai is a brutal place as well, and it doesn’t forgive mistakes easily – or wimps, for that matter.
Getting on a crowded train at peak hours of the morning or evening is not for the faint hearted. Only a perfect combination of a cool mind, a strong heart, and an agile body with strong hands can get you in. I didn’t know I possessed any of these until I managed to push my way into one of those overflowing trains. Still, I think I was lucky enough to have clambered on. Mumbaikar readers might be able to appreciate what I mean by overflowing, but for the others I’ll try to paint a picture. Imagine a bus stop (Delhi folks, imagine Dhaula Kuan), jam packed to the brim. An even more overcrowded bus comes along, and all (yes, ALL) the people on that overcrowded bus stop run along trying to catch that bus as if there’s no tomorrow. Now that you have that picture in your mind, multiply the crowd by 9 or 12 (depending on the number coaches you want on that imaginary train of yours) and you’ll probably come near to the typical scene on a typical day at a typical Railway Station of Mumbai. Really puts the abuses, derisive comments, and (sometimes) the jibes flying around in perspective.
A local train at night, however, is a completely different story altogether. With trains running from as early as four in the morning to as late as 12:15 in the night, it is one of the most dependable modes of transport in Mumbai. At night, with trains running almost empty, the rush-hour madness is replaced by a strange, tranquil environment. A midnight ride standing at the gate of the compartment, while well lit, albeit empty stations rush past the train; the rhythmic rumble of the train rolling on the tracks; the cold air rushing past, fast (dried up my clothes from an earlier experience that night, but that’s a different story); the tangy air floating in from the Thane creek that we crossed in the night; it all presented an entirely different viewpoint from what I experienced local trains to be earlier.
Although I travelled on the locals a few more times, my focus shifted from inside the train to the world outside. We passed slums, high rise buildings, crowds of people, and lazy buffaloes cooling off in marshy waters. We could see wave after wave of humans crossing the roads, even during the late hours of the night. The city never sleeps, and the Mumbai local train network, being the lifeline, can’t afford to sleep either.
Mumbai’s nightlife has always been talked about a lot, but that too is something you have to experience firsthand to understand what it’s all about. It’s somewhat different from the usual connotations that accompany the word Nightlife. It’s not all about late night parties and clubbing all night long. It’s a little more literal than what it means at other cities – the time of the night when the city comes alive, again. It is this nightlife which makes marketplaces at 12:30 in the night seem like 8:00 in the evening – with people still looking for a nice place to hang out, and some hawkers still out on the streets selling their wares.
A friend told me how the night had fooled him too, just as it had fooled us. Juhu beach with friends, chatting after a long hard day at work, seemed like a perfect idea to unwind their minds. So, they hit the beach around 8ish in the evening, with plans of getting out by 10:00, have dinner and go back home. The next day was, after all, a working day for them. By the time they wrapped up their relaxing chats and finalized their plans for dinner (they decided the time as 10:00), it was 12:15 in the night. Even at that hour, people were pouring in at the beach, keen faces hoping to have a little bit of fun. Such is the spirit of this tireless city.
Walking through the town area (as it is fondly called by many), we came across numerous old buildings. All constructed during the British Raj, every step that echoed through these stone walkways had a unique, Victorian touch to it. Although the place reminded me a lot of Connaught Place of Delhi, these walkways seemed to have a lot more history, a past that had been left almost untouched by the present, something still as pure as it was the first day it came into existence.
It was in one of these very walkways that we found a cozy little shop selling musical instruments. Polished guitars with twinkling strings winked at us, and it was impossible not to go in and spend a few moments with those precious instruments. So, in we walked, and spent a good hour or so there. During that hour, I felt as if I was back home, with my wonderful wooden buddies and their music, content and happy with life, even if for a brief moment of time.
The ocean was just a little while away from the town area, and although I had seen it a few times since I arrived, the first time I came really close to it was the same night I got lost at Bandra. Getting bored alone at the Bandra station was definitely not for me, and so when my friend called and said he would be late by about an hour, I walked out of the station and on the road again. Evening was upon the city, and all around me the lights were coming up. The shops, the streetlamps, even the dancing lights from the trains passing by every few minutes; they all lit up Mumbai to a brilliant, multicolored hue. Wandering through these markets, the sounds and the smells and the sights chasing me, I went up and down Hill Road, roamed around S. V. Road, and I think also touched Linking Road (although I’m not too sure of that), all without even the faintest idea where I was. Eventually, I reached Bandstand, and that’s when I heard the gurgle of the waves on the rocks. It was too dark to see anything clearly, and since I had been lugging my bags around for quite some time, I sat down at the Barista nearby.
The ocean air at Bandstand had a subtle salty tinge to it – the perfect amount that makes up a wonderful blend. The cool breeze from the sea can surely pep-up anyone, and although I knew the baggage I would have to carry was heavy, and soon all the things that were troubling me would return, during the time that I saw there, sipping my coffee and waiting, the troubles and the heavy baggage were all pushed away gently. All that remained then was the wonderful, fresh feeling that only the ocean can give to you.
My next (and last) date with the ocean happened the afternoon I left Mumbai. Since I had a few hours to spare before I left for the airport, my friend took me to Juhu beach. The fine sand of the beach, the small waves during low tide, the sunlight bouncing on the ripples of the water, and the crowd – each one of these seemed to have a life of its own. Walking barefoot along the wet sand, I couldn’t help but look back at the footsteps, at the fragility of those footsteps. One flowing wave from the depths of the mighty ocean was all it took to wash them away, leaving the sand just as it was a few minutes back. It surely was a humbling thought, the realization of the awe inspiring power that the ocean holds within itself, and how tiny and insignificant we are in front of the sea.
The sun was slowly sinking down towards the sea, spreading a red light in the sky as it went. We sat down on the beach, blissfully ignorant of the time, as we watched the waves chasing each other on the beach, crashing one after the other. We watched the ocean catching fire, as the red fireball slowly sank deeper and deeper into the water, until finally the ocean swallowed up the sun, and all that was left was the red hue in the sky. The sun had set, and it was time for me to come back home.
Our flight back took off some 15 minutes before schedule, so I had to say goodbye to this wonderful city those many minutes earlier; and although I was coming back home, to the city I love the most, it was still a bittersweet moment. I don’t know when I’ll be going back, but I know that one day, I’d like to return and witness once again, the daily dance of this graceful place; Mumbai – the city that dances on, always.
