Lonesome in Bombay

So much for one thing. The pier of dangerously commuters throws itself off at Victoria terminus (err..CST). I jump off at a distance close to another local making its way into the harbor. This is usual; I then navigate my way across this hopelessly growing crowd into subways towards the conjoined streets, dangling on the end of the land. I like the bylanes that stands on the causeway juxtaposed to some makeshift shops on the pavements selling ancient mariners compasses to gross bangles to abstract handicrafts. You’ll find it all here under the same place. Stone by stone, laid out in exquisite kiln, arched windows and gates, Victorian church, oriental gardens to bring the light back into any building. The streets never fail to enchant me all over again, lamps rusting in glory, old birds flocking on fountainheads, fluttering in endless sea.

After a long and comfortable tip toeing around streets I got to main Colaba where the fun begins with café Mondegar open on all days serving snacks and drinks, The inside of this café is divided into classes a close chamber for a comfort friendly crowd and the one open for major fraternity, vastly foreign, I sipped in Irish coffee and moved on. Not much for a coffee its all the same. One cant fail to notice the starry eyed hawkers on bylanes selling you almost anything priced three fold the regular ones. Never mind I’ll still have one. I picked on my lenses to shoot some of the remains of the place. Moving ahead there are lumps of bookstalls, eateries and loads of ethnic stuff. Streets are bustling with a Czech, Indian and an Estonian or maybe English, this is one thing that sets this place apart from rest of Bombay, exchanging odors and brushing shoulders like an exodus, the idea of Bombay an idea of its soul.

Besides the culture here there is shopping, an indulgence here. Food is in abundance and so are the drinks. Just a distance from café mondegar there is one unanimous name Leopold café, it stands to witness the massacre on the causeway last year. It server great drinks and food not to mention the endless guests it welcomes all following different styles of sipping on coffee to drinks to eating pasta. There is fun to be there, there are too many languages I notice I found India written on guides for information to tourists. The crowd never fails to discourage you to come here but it what sells on this Colaba memoir. Café is synonymous with a sentimental appeal to enchant the coffee lovers and beer guzzlers thrown in with a mild chit chats to. It appreciates that hard earned drink you have. Bullets in wall are still there for the reckoning and the grief it stands for.

Moving across the land’s end, causeway a mix of Indian culture ornate on an imperialistic British architecture is overwhelming. Parsi buildings, Muslim traders, Hindu vendors, Christian cathedrals, Universal streets all crosses into one big heart of this city of hopes and dream. There is assaying “survive Bombay, survive world”. It is true to the test.

With all the fond memories of Bombay of five years back minus the camera, i see no change to what I saw to this place. But there is another Bombay wounded on heart stained by righteous terror strike. The signs of omission are not here to stay. They will find the winds on harbor, dissolving it to seas.