marinedrive

City of small things

My ode to Mumbai was published in the April issue of Silverkris, the inflight magazine of Singapore Airlines – read it online here (all the fabulous photographs in the article are by Poras Chaudhary). Or read it right here on this blog (all photographs mine)…
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As soon as I moved into my new home in a Mumbai suburb a decade ago, the doorbell started ringing. Neighbourhood vendors came in a steady stream offering to home-deliver anything and everything I might ever require, from newspapers to freshly baked bread and medicine. In Mumbai, the most populous city in India and the capital of the state of Maharashtra, it seems like they know what you need before you do.

Even now, as I walk in the city I call home, I am grateful to be on the receiving end of its gracious hospitality.

The finest example of such delightful customer service is in sight as soon as you step out of the grand and imposing Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminus, which is better known as CST. It is from this UNESCO-listed heritage building that most long distance and local trains – the latter, known also as locals, ply routes within Mumbai – start and culminate.

Travelling on the crowded locals, with its own code of conduct, is an art form in itself and not for the faint-hearted. But for the thousands who make their long journeys from one end of this city to the other every day, it is just a part of life.

I stand at Aram Milk Bar (126 Dr D N Road, Tel: 91 22 2207 3947) opposite CST, munching on a vada pav – a potato patty stuffed in a bun, spiced with red chutney made of chilli and garlic – that can give any hamburger a run for its money. From here, I can see the dabbawallas on the road – over 4,000 of them in Mumbai – calmly going about their business. The dabbawallas collect lunch boxes from homes in the morning and deliver them to the correct recipients at offices throughout the city, day after day. Using their own code to mark the boxes, they have been doing this accurately – to the impressive Six Sigma-certified rate of only one error for every six million deliveries – for over a century now. Britain’s Prince Charles, when he visited Mumbai in 2003, met these dabbawallas and was impressed enough to send some of them an invitation to his wedding to Camilla Parker Bowles two years later.

Later, I walk down to Marine Drive, passing roads lined with vendors selling everything from fake electronic items to fine clothing. This long stretch of beach bustles at all times of the day (and night too) with walkers, joggers, strolling lovers and families out for a breath of fresh air. I have a quick meal – try the smoked bell pepper risotto or the roast lamb – at Pizza by the Bay. This is followed by some delicious butter apple tea, made with tea liquor, apple juice, dollops of butter and a hint of lemon, at The Tea Centre (78 Veer Nariman Road, Tel: 91 22 2281 9142) in the Resham Bhavan building just down the road that leads to Churchgate train station.

For those who find walking and jogging – one of the most popular activities along Marine Drive – too tiring, Mumbai has an interesting alternative: laughter yoga. A form of yoga conceptualised in the mid-1990s by an Indian doctor, it involves hearty laughing along with deep breathing techniques – all meant to promote wellness and reduce stress. Some mornings, I head down the road, along the curve known as the Queen’s Necklace, towards Malabar Hills where Mumbai’s rich and famous live. A laughter club is usually in progress – there are over 70 in Mumbai alone – at the Hanging Gardens. Over 50 men and women of all ages can be seen laughing aloud to the instructions of a leader, forgetting their worries as they laugh and stretch.

Or you could spend a relaxing morning at Shivaji Park, the large open ground in the central suburb of Dadar. Shivaji Park has seen it all through the 20th century – it was the venue for rallies during the independence movement, and also provided space for some of India’s cricketing legends to emerge.

A Peep Into the Past

South Mumbai holds many secrets for those interested in the rich heritage of the city; I begin with Crawford Market, located north of the CST. Built in 1869 and named after Arthur Crawford, the first municipal commissioner of Mumbai, today’s market attracts both casual visitors and shoppers who throng the various shops selling a variety of goods. If you are looking for an old film poster or an antique gramophone, then head to Chor Bazaar (Thieves Market), near Mohammad Ali Road.

Mani Bhavan Gandhi Sangrahalaya is another space in Mumbai that helps define the city’s past. It is the house where renowned peace advocate Mahatma Gandhi stayed between 1917 and 1934 whenever he visited the city. It is now a museum, and also has a photo gallery and a library.

Just a stone’s throw from the Sewri train station stands the dilapidated remains of Sewri Fort, built by the British in the 17th century. The area sees an influx of visitors for a few months between December and March each year when the flamingos come visiting – and the mudflats turn into a carpet of pink. Go flamingo-watching with the Bombay Natural History Society (BNHS) to get the most out of this experience.

Resident Gods of Wealth

Making my way northwards, I stop at Dhobi Ghat, the vast open air laundry where groups of men are at work washing clothes from hotels, hospitals and homes across the city. The area is known as Mahalaxmi, so named after the goddess of wealth and purity, Mahalakshmi, who resides in a temple close by. It is believed that Mahalakshmi smiles over the city, ensuring that nobody who comes here goes hungry.

Well, whether or not you’re a believer, I’m quite certain the gods of wealth reside in High Street Phoenix shopping mall in the area. This sprawling complex houses top end brands and designer labels as well as London’s popular Comedy Store, which has excellent entertainment and quick eats. If you would rather linger over a meal, then Veda (Tel: 91 22 4332 6666), which serves authentic Indian and Moghul cuisine, is your best bet. Try its crispy okra and signature rich buttery Daal Veda (black lentil stew).

If designer labels are not your thing, then head to Linking Road in Bandra for some of the best street shopping in the country. While there, polish your bargaining skills and pick up some of the most fashionable clothes, bags and shoes at great prices. The other place in Mumbai to pick up handbags and purses at cheap rates is Dharavi, an area made famous by the movie Slumdog Millionaire. It is a little known fact that Dharavi has a large and thriving leather industry, though I would advise that you take a local with you when you go there, to help you bargain and negotiate the narrow lanes.

Eat, drink and be merry

You cannot leave Mumbai without having a Gujarati thali (platter) – try the one at the famous Golden Star restaurant near Charni Road train station. The Gujaratis are one of the largest communities in Mumbai and their food is a delightful combination of various flavours. Popular dishes include dhokla (a spongy cake made of gram flour and spices) and kadhi (a thin soup). When in season, aamras or fresh mango pulp is served as an accompaniment, making meal-time an absolute treat.

For the young and restless, Mumbai is India’s original pub city, so say local partygoers – although Bangalore, in south India, vies hard for that position. Spend an evening crawling through the best of them, from the quirkily named Malt & Pepper (16 Marzban Road, Tel: 91 22 2203 7357) near Sterling Cinema to Firangi Paani, an English-style pub. If you want views with your booze, then head to Dome, located on the rooftop of InterContinental hotel at 135 Marine Drive or Aer lounge at the Four Seasons Hotel in Worli, whose rooftop location on the 34th floor offers stunning views of the city that refuses to sleep.

So, when in Mumbai, don’t sweat the small stuff – just embrace them and you’ll be in for a delightfully good time.

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Mumbai’s poster boys

It was Haji Abu’s grandfather, and then his father, who passed on their love for Hindi cinema to him. Mr. Abu turned his hobby into his profession, opening the Poster Shop some time in the early 1990s. Twenty or so years later, his tiny shop at Chor Bazaar (91-98704-40970) is crammed with thousands of old film posters, lobby cards and assorted film memorabilia, Mr. Abu explained as he showed off carefully preserved ticket stubs for blockbuster movies from the 1960s and ’70s.

Chor Bazaar, meaning ‘thieves market’ was once the place where stolen goods found their way. Now, it is where locals go to pick up anything that can be remotely called antique – old remodeled furniture, unusual silver and brassware, clocks and lamps, faded statues and paintings. It spans the length of Mutton Street and a couple of parallel lanes in the heart of South Mumbai’s bustling Mohammad Ali Road.

Classics like Mother India and Sholay loom large on the makeshift walls of the Poster Shop. “In those days, the posters were larger-than-life, just as the movies themselves,” says Abu. The best part about shopping at Abu’s is his thorough knowledge about the posters and the movies they promote. He is happy to share trivia on any movie, however obscure. The Poster Shop has both originals and copies – the former, painstakingly and lovingly painted by hand for hours and even days, a rarity in this age of instant computer graphics.

Haji Abu (91-98704-40970) counts among his regular customers collectors from all over the world – USA, Canada, UK, and of course all over India. As we talk, he proudly shows an article about him in a local newspaper and then a glossy booklet from a film exhibition in Canada where his posters were used. He rolls and packs these posters carefully in hardboard tubes so they can be carried anywhere.

Although Abu’s shop does not stock much material from English movies, A-1 Corner and Bollywood Bazaar further down the road have these on offer, all the way from The Tramp to Godfather, via James Bond. The best time to visit Chor Bazaar is on a weekday afternoon (avoid Fridays), when the streets are quieter and the vendors have more time to chat. Even though most shopkeepers speak basic English, it is best take a long a local who can bargain in true Mumbai style.

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This was published originally in the travel blog of the New York Times a few months ago. Read Hindi Cinema, in Poster Form, at a Mumbai Shop in the NY Times.

Also read: A walk in Chor Bazaar

A walk in Chor Bazaar

Did you know Chor Bazaar was originally called Shor Bazaar? Till it became the place where stolen and smuggled goods found their way in South Bombay. Today, there is no shor; on that Sunday afternoon in the month of Ramzan, Chor Bazaar is quiet and sleepy. The five of us walk the streets, feeling out of place and awkward. The shopkeepers are reserved, nobody calls out or seems willing to chat their time away. But once you enter a shop and begin talking, they thaw and begin to charm their way to a sale.What a nice walk! Through quirky and interesting antiques, wooden furniture, brass and bronze, stone and plastic. Those tiny shops stocking thousands and thousands of Bollywood posters and memorabilia. And stores with interesting names and lines – like Portbello: We recycle the past. You need to have a lot of patience, though, since at first sight, it all seems like a lot of junk, but tucked in between are the treasures – a statue of Ganesha here, a beautiful old clock there.

Here, Chor Bazaar in pictures…

Visiting a Historic, and Hidden, Area of Mumbai

Khotachiwadi, a historic area of Mumbai, is like Platform 9 3/4 in the Harry Potter series: invisible to all but those who know exactly where it is or are determined to find it. The narrow lane leading into the wadi, or hamlet, does nothing to inspire confidence and, like Harry and his friends, you need to take a leap of faith and enter.

Read more about Khotachiwadi here – my first piece for the New York Times travel blog…

Mumbai Diary 2010

From Jerry Pinto’s lovely introduction to Mumbai Diary 2010, based on the theme of Mumbai at work – Fourteen million people on the tiny finger of land pushing its way cockily into the sea? It’s room enough to get lost in but Mumbaikers refused to get swamped. We know that the only chance is to be seen and to be heard and to work that tiny patch of pavement into a mansion. The man unloading the truck then takes on the air of a sultan, surveying his domain. The man selling snake oil looks you in the eye and promises you a new life where you want a new life. They know they have a place in the world.

There are some stunning images of people at work – knife grinders, ear wax cleaners, tattoo artists, street performers, fisherfolk, window cleaners, chaiwalas – all of them make an appearance in this diary. A couple of my photographs are part of this superb diary.

And here are some more of my ‘Mumbai at work’ images…

At Sardar Pav Bhaji near Bombay Central

Work in progress

This could be anywhere in India, the street acrobats – this family lives and performs near the Kala Ghoda area.

Rings of fire

Rings of fire

A fine balance

great weight on her shoulders...

This one is from Crawford market – the coconut vendor moonlighting as mobile phone card salesman…

Coconuts and connections

Coconuts and connections

And finally one of my favourites – from Juhu beach one rainy evening last August…

Blowing in the wind

Colored water, colorless bubbles

Also read this piece on CNNGo’s Mumbai edition on the Mumbai Diary.

No frills, only food

I do not often do food pieces, but there are some places which just have to be written about. Crystal is one such – unassuming facade, with excellent food. Here is a short feature on Crystal that appeared in The India Tube: No frills food.

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Atmosphere – that is the word that describes Crystal. The tiny place is thick with that elusive quality called atmosphere, not to be confused with that other word often used to describe restaurants – ambiance.

If Crystal had a cool ad agency to create a positioning statement for them, it would surely be “No frills, only food”. And you would be surprised how many people in Mumbai buy into that statement.

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That elusive quality called atmosphere

It is not about cheap food – although that mattered a lot in the days when I first got introduced to Crystal. It is about good food. Make that very good food. And the ecosystem around it is just as interesting and inviting – the coconut vendor on one side of the entrance with his cooling, healthy non-alcoholic aperitif and the paanwala on the other (is there anything to beat the joy of a postprandial paan?)

Crystal is one of the few places I have known in Mumbai where it is possible to get light and fluffy phulkas in place of the chewy maida dripping-with-oil-passed-off-as-butter naan. And it is the only place where I have known a waiter to snatch a roti midway between your greedy hand and hungry mouth – you look up with a glare and he says – yeh thanda ho gaya hai – yeh le lo, garam hai (that has gone cold – take this hot one instead).

Crystal is also where old friends of the owner drop in just to chat with him as he sits behind the old-fashioned counter near the steps, and waiters know their regular customers by food preference and perhaps even name.

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The exteriors and interiors of the restaurant do nothing to inspire confidence in the newbie. But I have been eating there since the time I first moved to Mumbai over twelve years ago. And I love everything about the place, even the things that would make me recoil in horror elsewhere – the white plastic chairs, the crumbling walls, high ceiling fans, corner sink; they are all part of that ‘atmosphere’.

And adding to it is the background score – old Hindi film music, K.L. Saigal and Hemant Kumar always keeping you soulful company as you make your way through the food.

Favorites from the menu are aloo jeera, baingan bharta, paneer bhurji, yellow dal, phulkas. And then there is the kheer, an absolute must for those with a sweet tooth (and even for those without), served in quaint steel cups; the perfect way to end the meal. You’ll probably end up paying a grand sum in the region of a hundred and fifty rupees for all that.

Greed and gluttony at Crystal

Light on the wallet

So, the next time you are in need of comfort food with the feel of home, head to Crystal. It is right next to Wilson College on Girgaum Chowpatty.

Bombay: city No. 1


CNNGo, the new city-pulse website from CNN has a great piece on Bombay – 50 reasons Mumbai is No. 1 – and it got me all choked up and nostalgic about Bombay (like I need a reason).

So here I am, with my own reasons on what makes this the city I love so much – top of the list has to be what I miss a lot in Bangalore – street food. So here goes, an ode to Bombay…

Food of the streets – the chaats and the pav bhaji, the vada pav and the special kulfi, the garam bhutta and the tingly gola, the malpua at Mohammad Ali Road and the fresh mango with ice-cream at Bachelor’s…
[Earlier: Who is a foodie? Not me]

First monsoon shower of the year – waiting impatiently all summer in anticipation of the baarish, the first smell of wet earth of the season, the first drive to Marine Drive in the pouring rain, the first Sunday at home with chai and snacks watching the rain outside the window, even the first traffic snarl (which means, the rains are definitely here!)…
[Earlier: Bombay baarish]

Sunday Lonavala drive for a long, lazy lunch – windows rolled down, the feel of the wind on your face, the smooth drive on the expressway, vada pav at Khopoli, the seasonal waterfalls all long the way, the almost-invisible valley covered by mist views, and finally beer and food sitting on the charpoy at Sunny’s dhaba…


See you again next year, Ganpati – saying welcome and goodbye to everyone’s favourite elephant, the festival season that begins in August and ends only after Christmas, the smell of mithai and hope in the air, the shopping and more shopping, the diyas and the lanterns, the disco dandiya and the zig-zag of the stock market, Khotachiwadi at Christmas and Mohammad Ali Road before Ramzan…
[Earlier: The farewell party, and Puja and pandals]

Dabbawalas and the six sigma business sense – Prince Charles or no, a keen sense of business and entrepreneurship, home delivery and platform shopping, quiet efficiency and a willingness to stretch, customer delight and all the small things that lead to it…
[Earlier: Mumbai's Dick Whittingtons]

Death by shopping – Dadar phoolgalli, Crawford market, Chor Bazaar, sandals at Linking Road, silver earrings at Colaba causeway… old books at Fountain (or what is remaining), cottons at Fashion Street…
[Earlier: Crawford market calling]

Trot of the black horse – walking up and down the Kala Ghoda district during the arts festival, camera in hand, an eye open for the quirks that make these ten days such a fun time in Bombay – ‘made in chaina’ tea glass installations, palmists and fortune tellers, buckets and mugs heaped into a hill – the stuff that plastic hell must be made of, photography exhibits and ‘sketch-your-face’ artists… And during these cool months, also the Bombay festival spread all over the city, the kite festival at Shivaji Park during Sankranti…
[Earlier: Winter in Bombay, and Pongal and pattam]

Evenings at the seaface – Marine Drive, Bandra reclamation, Worli Seaface… the walkers and the vendors, the breeze, the bhutta, the furtive lovers, the screaming children on rickety merry-go-rounds (oh, the kind of things acceptable under the head ‘nostalgia’!)
[Earlier: Scenes from Worli Seaface]

Celebrity spotting and staying cool – to walk into the Marriot and try not to stare (from “hey look, Salman Khan – he is realllly short” to “hmmmm, I know that face…”), to Rakhi Sawant walking out of the gym near the Lokhandwala Mocha and coveted passes to premieres and award shows, and finally making the pilgrimage to Mannat each time a friend visits Bombay…

South Bombay at night – when the city is finally getting ready to sleep, the lights still on at Flora Fountain and the art deco buildings of South Bombay, sitting on the low wall in front of the Hilton at Marine Drive waiting for the cops to drive you away, running to Churchgate after the late show at Sterling (in the days when it was a theatre, not a multiplex – and had the best caramel popcorn in town) to catch the last train to Bandra…
[Earlier: Let me count the ways]

Under the stars

I miss Bombay… so what are the things you love, not love, miss about Bombay?

Idyll by the sea

A good holiday is one that is spent among people whose notions of time are vaguer than yours ~ J. B. Priestley. I smiled as I read this and thought about my weekend holiday at Kashid.

Despite being close to both Pune and Mumbai, Kashid remained undiscovered and ignored for a long time, just a small fishing village. A few years ago, the quiet beach suddenly found world-weary holiday makers rushing towards it every weekend, and it responded by remaining isolated and laidback. Thankfully, for it still remains an ideal relaxing break for those seeking to get away from it all – and not carrying it all with them.

We reach Kashid late one Saturday morning, stopping on the way for tea and snacks and general directions. A late and heavy lunch is followed by two hours in the shaded porch of the hotel under the coconut trees, looking at the sea in the distance, blue now, a shimmering white a few minutes later. I spend a pleasant and instructive afternoon, the book I have taken along lying opened and unread on my lap, eyes closed and trying to identify the bird calls. I admit I do not make much progress beyond the croaky kraws. Through eyes only half open, I spot my husband attempting to make friendly contact with the resident resort cat, giving up soon when the white and brown animal shows no interest in his affable advances. In all, I cannot think of a better way of spending a Saturday afternoon – the faint smell of the sea in the air, music on the ipod and no mobile phone and no laptop.

Sunset blaze at Kashid

As the heat begins to ebb, we head to the beach at Kashid just a kilometer away on the narrow hill road. On the beach, the few shacks that display signs of cold drinks and oily snacks just right for an evening at the beach are all shut. I remark to my husband that the entire village must have gone to Mumbai for the long weekend to escape the heat and the crowds! He glares at me and keeps walking, looking down at the patterns his muddy wet feet make on the clear white sands, turning golden with the sunset colours.

Family games...

This part of the beach is one noisy colorful playground. There are families playing cricket on the sand (my husband wanting desperately to join in), rules made and broken at will. As we watch, some of them take a break and bargain with the buggy-man for taking a ride into the sunset; others have found a Frisbee and are throwing it in the air, trying valiantly to catch it despite the strong wind that makes it seem as if the plastic Frisbee has a mind of its own.

Riding into the sunset...

There are touching declarations of love carved in the wet sand, transient messages washed away in an instant by the waves. Groups of shrieking teenagers run around, in and out of the waters, adding to the general chaos and noise. They stand on the water, looking for someone to take their photograph, capturing that transient moment of fun. Elsewhere, another group has started a game of antakshari, the noise level steadily increasing with more people joining in with their own versions of old Hindi film songs.

As it starts to get cooler, the beach shacks suddenly come alive. Tired children make their way to the tiny wooden swings along the road as their parents sit on the plastic chairs, sipping on coconut water and Cola, munching on hot pakoras. Some kind – and enterprising – soul has put up hammocks across the sandy stretch and they beckon alluringly. The next two hours pass by quickly on the hammock, watching the sun go down in the sea just a few feet away, feeling the gentle evening breeze on the face, listening to people all around discuss their jobs and busy city lives. It is totally dark by the time I step off the hammock; my spine has by then developed an abnormal curvature. The shacks are closing and the cars have all but left and the sky has switched on its lights – we step on to the beach for a few minutes looking up at the night sky, the stars that shy away from city lights are out in full force.

Driving to Murud on Sunday morning from Kashid, I have the sense of traveling back in time. Small sleepy hamlets dot the road all along the way, not fully awake but for the early morning fisher-folk on the roads. The children are all up though, learning to ride the bicycle, swinging dangerously in the middle of the lane. Herds of cattle are out grazing, looking bleary-eyed and surprised each time they hear the honk of a passing car. Most of this route is along the coast, the sea suddenly appearing at our side on the curves and then going off view till the next sharp turn.

See, sea fort!

We drive all the way through the village of Murud, stopping only to stare at the sea from high in the hills, just in front of the ornate palace of the Nawab and then for directions to get to the jetty for the Janjira fort. We reach Rajpuri from where the boats leave and see a sign at the entrance, happy new year 2006 and our sense of time travel is sharply enhanced; any year, this place would look and feel the same. We park the car and walk through small lanes to get to the jetty, young men calling out from tiny shop windows along the lane, “Bisleri, cold drinks, chai, nashta” and more shops selling Konicca colour film with cheerful disdain for all branding.
Janjira is a short boat-ride into the sea, the young man at the helm is reluctant to answer my numerous questions. He keeps imparting tantalizing little bits of information about the fort, withholding the rest; as we step into the fort, he turns around and says, let me be your guide.

Looking out of Janjira

So, guide and we walk though the purported twenty two acres of the awesome sea-fort, or what remains of it. There is an impressive rhythm about the history of this fort – twenty two years to build, twenty two acres, twenty two watch towers, each manned night and day by armed sentries. Additionally in the past, there were huge cannons at the ready and only three entrances, all cleverly concealed so they were not visible anywhere from the sea except from very close by. The enemy did not have a whiff of a chance.

From the boat into the fort... Might of the Siddi dynasty Cow-face cannon! Waiting for the enemy?

The guide (and guidebooks) say that this fort built by Siddi Johar, head of the Siddi clan who moved to India all the way from Abyssinia, has never fallen to enemy hands – not the British, nor the Portuguese, not even the all-conquering Marathas. The fort was of strategic importance, given its place in the Arabian Sea, and there are several legends about rulers who tried and failed to take Janjira. The most interesting of these stories is about Sambhaji, the son of Shivaji, who even built a fort across the bay, at Kansa, and tried everything, including an underwater tunnel.

Looking up in awe

Some sources I read say that the fort was built around 1118, while others place it some time in the 16th century. Ismail, our guide also says that till as recently was 1972, people lived inside the fort – including his father who was born there. I have no idea about the veracity of this claim, but the fort does seem capable of supporting human life – mosques and a temple, a huge granary and two fresh water lakes right in the middle. The outer walls cemented by a mixture of lime, jaggery and lead have withstood centuries of the sea battering against them and the sun and rain.

There is a general air of neglect about the fort today; it is accentuated by the graffiti scrawls and the broken stone edifices all over. Despite that, the walls of the fort have several stories to tell, now drowned by the noise of the waves crashing against them. I would have loved to spend all day there under the shade of a tree, but the tide is rising and our guide-boatman is in a hurry to get back to land. The waters have covered two more steps by the time we get down to the boat. In his hurry, Ismail still stops to point out the insignia of the Siddis near the entrance of the fort, a tiger holding six elephants in its clutches – the might of the Siddis, the ajinkya, or indestructible.

General Information : Paramount Airways flies to Pune from large cities in the South including Chennai and Bangalore. From Pune, Kashid is 160 km away, just over four hours drive via Mulshi and Kolad. The drive on the expressway till Panvel and then on to Kolad on the Goa highway NH 17 is slightly longer but beautiful especially in the monsoons.

Stay : There are several resorts to choose from – at Kashid, stay at Kashid Beach Resort or more popular Prakriti Resort, or drive on to Murud and stay at the Golden Swan or Sea Shells Resort. Be sure to sample some of the local cuisine, including fresh vada-pav from the roadside snack vendors.

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This piece appeared in the October issue of Windows & Aisles, the inflight magazine of Paramount Airways.

Who is a foodie? Not me

Everyone claims to be a foodie… I remember hotly protesting once – “but I am not a foodie” and was asked with a big smirk “why, don’t you eat?”

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Who really is a foodie? Is it someone who likes to eat? who loves to eat? who lives to eat?

Or is it someone who just likes interesting food? Or that someone who will drive 25 km for that recommended biryani. Or more for that special kachori.

I asked wikipedia (when in doubt, wiki) and this is what I learn – Although the two terms are sometimes used interchangeably, foodies differ from gourmets in that gourmets are epicures of refined taste who may or may not be professionals in the food industry, whereas foodies are amateurs who simply love food for consumption, study, preparation, and news. Gourmets simply want to eat the best food, whereas foodies want to learn everything about food, both the best and the ordinary, and about the science, industry, and personalities surrounding food

By this definition, I am not a foodie, I am relieved to know. I don’t know what it is about that term but I am not comfortable being associated with it. I like food, sure but I may never walk that extra mile for that special snack (despite what I said earlier about sev puri – one makes rare exceptions). I am not even interested in learning about the science(!) of food – please understand that my most precious kitchen appliance is a pressure cooker – fill it, shut it, forget it – till the steam dies and it is safe to open it.

But, the visual appeal of food? There you have me. There is something about food that looks colourful and attractive. Whoever said “food needs to smell good, look good and taste good, in that order” will see me nodding briskly here, if he cares to look this way.

And this is how in one evening at Juhu beach, I turned foodie. Food voyeur is perhaps a better term?

Gola Rainbow

Those bottles…?

Golas, or chuski as they are known in some parts… And you don’t have to be kids to enjoy it…

All in a row

Enjoying the gola

Then there is chaat – the universal favourite alu tikki – or ragda pattice as it is known in Bombay and sev puri, and samosa and pani puri…

Ragda Pattice

Not to forget pav bhaaji… See the fingers fly. And try not to see the butter sizzle…

Garma garam bhaji

Fingers that fly

And look who’s enjoying it…

Hot n' spicy

On the shore, fruit for the healthy food types…

Fruit and nut

Wash it all down with kulfi-falooda… or even another gola…

And now tell me, who is a foodie? You or me?

Mumbai’s Dick Whittingtons

This is one of the blog posts I wrote as part of the auditions for the top 3 in the Great Driving Challenge

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They come to Mumbai by the thousands everyday. They bring with them not cats but their hopes and dreams. They may or may not believe that the streets of Mumbai are paved with gold. They may or may not (alright, they rarely do) go on to become Lord Mayors. However, they survive, some of them even thrive and prosper in this city. They are Mumbai’s Dick Whittingtons.

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Kalpana – I do not know her name till much later – naam jaanke kya karoge? (what will you do with my name?) – spots me with the camera and pushes her way through the crowd. Tattoo, sister, one you try free – the English gives way to didi, mehendi laga lo na once I respond to her in Hindi. Before I know what is happening, my hand is in hers and she is making patterns all over it.

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And now she turns my hand over and wants to cover the back too with that bright color. Hang on, how much does all this cost?

Only ten rupees per tatoo, she remarks with that air of nonchalance I would give anything to acquire.

Say, what?

By then she is counting the tatoos on my hand and says 18, only 180 rupees. Are you sure you don’t want more on the back of your hand?

Kalpana’s family is from interior Maharashtra. She has lived in Mumbai for many years now and is seen at Juhu beach every evening. The foreigners are much nicer, she believes. I cannot blame her; I drive a hard bargain and end up paying much lesser, the foreigners never do that.

But see, I am taking your photographs – I banter with her.

What will I do with photographs? Will they feed my children back home?

04

And she turns her face away sharply. And I walk away feeling guilty, and unsure of the reason…

Standing on a wooden box close to her is Babban, from the North. That place from where they feel they are no longer welcome in Mumbai.

05

He has been selling bubbles to children at Juhu beach for four years now. No family in Bombay. Unlike Kalpana, he is taciturn and suspicious of my questions. He thaws somewhat and talks to me; on Sundays and holidays, he earns over two thousand rupees.

07

On week-days?

Only God can answer that, he shrugs. And goes back to blowing bubbles.

06

There is some lesson in it somewhere; brightly coloured water but the bubbles that emerge colourless and ephemeral. Some lesson, I am thinking about Kalpana and Babban for the rest of the evening.