"The first thing I noticed about Bombay, on that first day, was the smell of the different air. I could smell it before I saw or heard anything of India, even as I walked along the umbilical corridor that connected the plane to the airport. I was excited and delighted by it, in that first Bombay minute, escaped from prison and new to the wide world, but I didn't and couldn't recognize it. I know now that it's the sweet, sweating smell of hope, which is the opposite of hate; and it's the sour, stifled smell of greed, which is the opposite of love. It's the smell of gods, demons, empires, and civilizations in resurrection and decay. It's the blue skin-smell of the sea, no matter where you are in the Island City, and the blood-metal smell of machines. It smells of the stir and sleep and waste of sixty million animals, more than half of them humans and rats. It smells of heartbreak, and the struggle to live, and of the crucial failures and loves that produce our courage. It smells of ten thousand restaurants, five thousand temples, shrines, churches, and mosques, and of a hundred bazaars devoted exclusively to perfumes, spices, incense and freshly cut flowers. Karla once called it the worst good smell in the world, and she was right, of course, in that way she had of being right about things. But whenever I return to Bombay, now it's my first sense of the city - that smell, above all things - that welcomes me and tells me I've come home...."
A ticket in the waiting list.. a shared berth.. a train journey with a good old friend... to Bombay.. the city of dreams.
Nothing has changed.. the same crowd.. the hustle bustle.. the taxis of the yester years.. pigeons flocking over.
Sweat beads trickling down ... home.. respite from the heat. Friends.. hugs.. happiness...
An auto ride to Bandstand.. the golden rays spangled on the Bandra Worli sea link. An ongoing movie shoot with sun setting at the background. A chance encounter with another old friend. Rising tides beating down on the rocks.. white trails.
Bandra-Worli Sea Link.
Reflections.
The jhoola baba's night "gyaan" led way to Sunday soul "darshan".
The day spent resting and rusting.. not daring to challenge the heat. Evening.. time to wander. Running around in circles.. curving along the Arabian Sea.. Haji Ali in the distance.. smell of sea, salt and fish. First pitstop - Sardar's pav bhaji centre. "Tummy puja" - check. And that sweet pan.. still salivating.Nom nom.
Street sight from a moving taxi.
Sardar pav-bhaji wala pan.
Haji Ali
The stretch from Haji Ali.
The long stretch to Haji Ali.. amidst the sea.. waves crashing over. Special haji ali tea. Evil spirits cast away on getting beaten up with a broom! A loud and coarse..yet soul-stirring song..words reflecting on life. The cool breeze.. spirited people.
Overcast sky. In anticipation of rain. On our way to Colaba.. stop over at Bachelor's for an ice cream. After an "unaka" laughter episode.. running straight into the torrential downpour.. the heavy droplets.. the intoxicating petrichor.. seeping its way into the soul.. the first Bombay rain of the year..
Cafe Leopold's - a striking reminiscence of the good times rather than of the terror it had been through. Made even closer to my heart by Shantaram. Out into the rain again.. to Bade Miya's roll shop and the nearby Gokul. The friendly taxiwala took us to Marine Drive. Mouthwatering chicken roll, hot tea, old Hindi songs playing in the background, clouds looming over. Four friends.. outstretched on the meandering promenade of the Queen's necklace. Freedom. Wishes the night never ends. But, a long day awaits.
Cafe Mondegar and the first Bombay rains of the year.
Leopold Cafe.
Work at Nariman point is done the next day. Sweating and perspiring.. a "local" train ride back from the majestic CST..
Another evening at Bandstand.. more friends and a world of stuff to laugh about.
Morning "local". A lot of touristy pics at the Gateway of India. The Taj stands tall in all its glory... reborn and revived. The extremely long ferry ride to Elephanta caves. The sun playing hide and seek. Scorching heat. Tiresome trek up the hill. Eavesdropping attack on the guides helped us clarify a great deal about why the statues suffered structural imbalances. ;)
Mumbai Local.
Taj.
Gateway of India.
Ferry ride to Elephanta caves island.
Three shadows - blue.
Inside the Elephanta caves.
Trimurthi.
Ferry colours.
Gateway of India.
With tummies grumbling for food, Ayoub's at Kala Ghoda came to our rescue. And for a second time, the usually friendly taxi drivers proved to be a pain in the ass as they denied taking us to nearby places. Guess, it was the Bangalore influence! After a long and tiring day.. Nariman point served as the ideal pitstop. Legs dangled.. carefree.. we sprawled on the promenade. A golden sunset.. cold breeze to refresh our dampened spirits. The Queen's stretch bejeweled again with the night setting in.
Nariman Point, Marine Drive.
A final touch to the gastronomical delight at a famous vadapav outlet near CST. The local ride back home at rush hour. Breathing space. Sigh of relief on emerging out.
The beat drops. Taking the monsoons along with me. In this city, I merge while the world meanders around my hips.
