A Day in South Mumbai: Rain, Roads, and Discoveries

 

A sudden trip brought me to Mumbai on September 1, 2024. I was excited, brimming with the idea of exploring the city for the very first time. After boarding the plane, I landed around 8:30 PM, already imagining myself diving into the vibrant life of Mumbai the next day. But, as fate would have it, all my dreams of discovering the city were washed away, literally.

The next morning, I woke up to relentless rain. With no vehicle or local guides, I knew this trip might end up being a solo adventure. Yet, the downpour did not let up for five long days. The plans I had meticulously made with friends were all scrapped. Trapped in the Grand Hyatt, a luxurious hotel that had everything, except the joy of exploring Mumbai, I could only sit in my room, disheartened. Despite the five-star comfort, it hurt not to see the city.

Then came day six, the day before my departure. No matter the rain, I decided I would explore at least some parts of the city. The decision was made. I booked a cab, determined to navigate Mumbai on my own terms. Raju Bhaiya, my cab driver was a friendly man from Uttar Pradesh. Our conversations were filled with discussions about politics, his hometown  and even Royal Enfields. We bonded quickly and I told him to take me wherever he thought was best.

The journey started with an hour-long drive toward the Bandra-Worli Sea Link, an architectural marvel that left me in awe. The bridge towering over the sea felt like a monument to human achievement, its construction massive and surreal, even though it’s still incomplete. As we continued, Raju Bhaiya pointed out Dharavi, the sprawling slum immortalized in Rajinikanth's movie Kaala. Seeing it in person was incredible, a mix of familiar movie scenes and the real-life scale of Mumbai’s diversity.

Next up was Antilia, the Ambani residence. I could not help but marvel at the size of it, an entire skyscraper for one family. Raju Bhaiya mentioned how the rich keep getting richer in Mumbai and poor get poorer, but I added, "That is not just Mumbai, it’s the story of India’s so called development."

As we drove through South Mumbai, we passed several colonial-era buildings like the Brihanmumbai Municipal Corporation (BMC) building, their architecture still standing strong after all these years. Victoria Terminus, now Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj Terminus, looked grand, its railway station architecture showcasing Mumbai's blend of history and modernity. We even drove by the iconic Regal Theatre, India’s first air-conditioned cinema. That day, it was showing GOAT, Vijay’s latest blockbuster. Seeing this historic theatre still thriving in the world of multiplexes was an experience in itself.

Finally, we arrived at the Gateway of India. The rain had eased into a drizzle and the crowd was sparse, giving me the perfect opportunity to explore. This majestic archway, built to commemorate King George V and Queen Mary’s visit to India in 1911, stands as a symbol of Mumbai’s colonial past and architectural grandeur. Standing there, with the Arabian Sea behind me and boats bobbing in the water, I soaked in the beauty of the scene.

As I stood near the Gateway of India, something else immediately caught my attention, a gathering of doves right next to the monument. These birds, flying and staying together in synchronized groups, were being fed by passersby and the scene was so serene. It instantly transported me back to a frame from Nayakan, Mani Ratnam’s classic starring Kamal Haasan and Saranya Ponvannan. Seeing something like this, a moment so reminiscent of Tamil cinema, felt soothing to my soul. For a Tamilian, witnessing that familiar cinematic visual in the heart of Mumbai brought an unexpected sense of comfort and nostalgia.

Right after that, I saw a majestic statue of Chhatrapati Shivaji standing tall in front of the Gateway of India. It reminded me that both the airport and the railway station are also named after him, reflecting the deep admiration and respect the people of Mumbai have for Shivaji. His presence is a significant part of the city's identity and seeing that statue made it clear how much he means to the people here.

Just opposite the Gateway of India was the legendary Taj Mahal Palace Hotel. To stand in front of it felt like a dream come true. The Taj is not just a luxury hotel but a symbol of resilience, having withstood the brutal terror attack of 2008. What intrigued me more was the contrast between the two wings of the hotel, the traditional heritage wing and the newer tower wing. I could not help but notice that most tourists were more interested in clicking pictures with the Taj than with the Gateway itself. Such is the allure of this grand hotel.

From there, I headed to Marine Drive, Nariman Point to be specific. Known as the Queen’s Necklace because of its glittering streetlights along the curve of the bay, Marine Drive exuded calm despite the city’s chaos. People sat peacefully along the sea, chatting, dancing, and singing. It felt like a place where life slowed down, where time was measured in the rhythm of the waves. Walking along the promenade was soothing, as if the city's energy was momentarily suspended, and all that mattered was the sound of the sea.

I also passed the Trident Hotel, another site attacked in 2008. Seeing these landmarks, symbols of both opulence and tragedy was overwhelming. Every corner of this part of the city seemed to hold a story.

On the way back, as the rain picked up again, we passed Haji Ali Dargah. This famous mosque, sitting on an islet, was inaccessible that day due to high tides. Despite the weather, I could sense the significance of this sacred place, a blend of spirituality and serenity surrounded by the Arabian Sea.

With the rain growing heavier, we returned to the hotel. I bid farewell to Raju Bhaiya, thanking him for showing me around South Mumbai. The day was a whirlwind, packed with memories I would not soon forget.

Reflecting on the day, I realized something crucial: South Mumbai is not a place to explore solo. To truly enjoy spots like the Gateway of India and Marine Drive, you need company, friends to sit with, chat and soak in the vibe. It’s a place to chill out, have deep conversations and experience the city’s unique energy. So, if you are planning to visit South Mumbai, take someone along. Trust me, it’s worth it.

Cycles That Carried a Boy’s Dream

 

There is something magical about the memories of childhood, especially those that revolve around simple objects, a cycle, for instance. For a little boy his first cycle became the centerpiece of his early dreams, a vehicle of freedom and adventure that carried him through the winding roads of his youth.

At first, he watched from the sidelines, wide eyed as other children pedaled past on their shiny cycles, feeling the wind in their hair and the world at their feet. He longed to join them, to experience that same joy. After what felt like endless pleading and begging, his dream finally came true. His first cycle, a violet Atlas designed for girls was handed to him. But to him, it wasn’t just a “ladies cycle", It was everything. He did not care about the design or what others thought. All he saw was freedom.

His first ride was clumsy, wobbling down the street but soon enough, he was flying. That cycle opened up an entirely new world of adventure. With every pedal stroke, he explored new streets, raced with friends and scraped his knees in the process. As time went on, he personalized it, painting it black and plastering it with funky stickers. It was not just a cycle anymore, it became an extension of his adventurous spirit.

There were also days when he went with his dad to repair the damages he had caused while riding. Tiny legs struggled to keep pace with Dad as they walked alongside the cycle. It was a long walk and while he was not thrilled about it, the thought of riding the cycle back home kept him excited. 

As he grew, so did his need for something bigger, something that could keep up with the boy he was becoming. That is when the red Hercules entered his life. Owning a Hercules in those days was the equivalent of owning a Royal Enfield today. With its big tires and floating carrier, it was every kid’s dream ride. He rode it with pride, racing through the streets, drifting and pulling off stunts. He wore out the tires, wrecked the brakes and took countless tumbles. But none of that mattered because every scratch, every bruise came with a story.

Like the time he tried to show off when people passed by, imitating the cool kids. He pedaled hard and decided to take it up a notch by pulling the front wheel off the ground, attempting a wheelie. But before he could savor the moment, he lost balance and crashed miserably to the ground. With scrapes all over his body, he limped home, only to be greeted by his mom’s scolding rather than sympathy. Typical Indian mom behavior, she fussed more about the fall than his wounds.

Then there were the days when “Kangal Irandal” from Subramaniapuram played endlessly on TV. Actor Jai, letting his hands loose while cycling in the song, became a moment everyone tried to imitate. The boy was no exception. With the vibe of Kangal Irandal in his head, he tried to recreate the scene, hands free cycling with confidence, only to be mocked by his friends when he wobbled and nearly fell. Yet, that did not stop him from trying again.

These cycles were more than just rides, they were companions in mischief, partners in adventure. Each fall, each race, and every scrape brought with it a story, a memory that shaped his childhood.

The boy grew up and the Hercules eventually left his life. But even now that old Atlas cycle remains- bit dusty, a little worn but forever a part of his story. It carried not just a child but his dreams, his adventures and his first taste of freedom. Those days may be long gone, but the little boy is still very much alive. As he rides into the future on bigger, faster machines, a part of that little boy still lingers, pedaling down those streets with the wind in his hair, dreaming of the world ahead. 

Do you remember the first time you pedaled away, feeling like you could conquer anything, the stunts you tried, the scrapes you collected and the stories your old cycles still carry?

A Dream Bus

It was eight in the morn,

When star gleamed

Boarded a bus, A Dream bus!

A Dream most Men Had

When expectation turn into experience

Everything Felt unhurried

Buzzing overtakes, nervous scrolling

Twitching eyes kept rolling

And then came the time

Legs gone numb,

But had to alight

Hoping of boarding another Dream bus.

                                  - Sarukrishna R

The Crash in Uttarpradesh - Part 2

In the previous blog, I shared how an unexpected crash on the Agra-Lucknow expressway left me stranded and the surprising act of kindness that followed. Now, let's continue from that pivotal moment.

I was standing on the side of the road knowing, I had to exit the bridge it wasn’t safe to stay there any longer. Took my bike, hoping it would start and thankfully it did. The handlebar was bent, but I managed to get the bike going. Somehow, got off the bridge and stopped at the roadside, breathing a little easier.

Up until then, I had not felt any pain. It all happened so quickly and my body was still running on adrenaline. But now I was stranded in the middle of nowhere, with no one around to help. I needed to make some quick decisions. My first instinct was to call my dad. Even though he was thousands of kilometers away, I knew he would know what to do. He answered the phone with a calm voice, which, to my surprise calmed me as well. He didn not react how most people would in a situation like this; he didn’t panic. He just listened, understood and advised. 

He could not do much to help me from where he was. He could arrange something in Delhi but not here, not where I was standing. He immediately suggested I rest in Agra, which was 30 kilometers away. But I was too shaken. I wanted to get home. I badly wanted to be out of this place. Sensing my determination, he said, “Stand there for a bit. Take a deep breath. Analyze the situation and do what feels right.”

With that bit of clarity, I knew I had to act. I assessed my bike, parts were bent and broken but it seemed runnable. As for myself, I had all my safety gear on; jacket, riding pants, boots, they had taken the brunt of the crash for me. But I wasn not wearing gloves that day, because they were wet from the rain. My left palm and fingers had scraped badly and were bleeding. The pain finally hit when I looked at the wound.

Just as I was trying to gather my strength, another car pulled over. This time, it was a group of friends returning to Delhi after a trip. They were laughing, full of energy and in their own world but they didn’t hesitate for a second to stop and check on me. One guy grabbed my hand, examining the wound like he had done this before. When I handed him my first aid kit, he noticed it didn’t have any cleaning solution.

With a small smile, he asked if I was okay with using alcohol from their stash to clean my wound. I just nodded. A few moments later, he opened a bottle of fresh Jack Daniels, using it to clean my hand. They patched me up offering more than just first aid, they lifted my spirit. They were cheerful, joking, even taking pictures with me after they treated my injuries.

Before they left, one of the guys noticed the look on my face. He must have seen my hesitation, my preconceptions. He looked straight at me and said, “Not all North Indians are bad, bro.” That one line hit me like a slap in the face. My biases, my narrow view, it all came crashing down. These guys were not just strangers, they were my unexpected saviors and they completely changed how I saw things. They warned me to be careful, telling me that this area was notorious for thefts and dangers. After a quick goodbye they left but their kindness stayed with me. 

I stood there, trying to process everything but I knew I had to act fast. Called my brother for help and like my dad, he suggested heading to Delhi. By then, I knew I had to take control of the situation. Called my dad again and told him I was going to push through the 200+ kilometers to Delhi. His response was calm as ever “If you think you can do it, go for it". And I believed I could. I had to.

I got back on the bike, gripping the clutch with my injured hand. Every gear shift was torture, the pain shooting through my fingers, tearing the skin even more with each movement. Tears filled my eyes, but I kept riding. The road to Delhi stretched on but I pushed through, determined to get there.

By the time I reached Delhi around 7:30 or 8 pm, the pain was unbearable and the worst part was just beginning. Delhi’s traffic was unforgiving, requiring constant gear shifts, putting even more strain on my left hand. The pain had reached new levels, but I was not ready to give up. Eventually, I arrived at the hotel my brother had booked. The hotel staff helped with my luggage and guided me to my room. I took off my gear, feeling the weight of the day settle on me and stepped into the shower. Only when I lay on the bed did the real pain sink in. I realized how far adrenaline had pushed me and now that it was gone, all I could feel was the aching in every part of my body.

I passed out, waking up only the next day. The reality of what had happened hit me hard but my dad had made arrangements to ship my bike back and my brother booked a flight home. Somehow, I made it to the airport, boarded the plane and finally returned home. 

It hit me then, had it not been for the riding gear, things could have ended much worse. My jacket, pants, and boots bore the brunt of the crash, protecting me from the worst of it. I could feel the difference between the parts of my body that were covered and those that were not. The safety gear had quite literally saved me. Without it, this story might have had a very different, much darker ending.

This journey was a test in every way, physically, mentally, and emotionally. It was filled with challenges but it also opened my eyes to the goodness of people I did not expect. Those two cars will stay in my memory forever. Strangers who stepped up when I was at my lowest and the support from my family reminded me that kindness exists in the unlikeliest places. Even in the face of adversity, compassion and strength shine through. And as painful as that day was it reminded me of the power of human connection.

The Crash in Uttarpradesh - Part 1

On July 3, 2023, I crossed into Uttar Pradesh after the grueling stretch through Bihar. While it was not a complete escape from hardship there was some relief. The rain had not stopped for hours and my boots and legs were completely drenched, causing my leg to swell uncomfortably. When I finally found a place to stay in Gorakhpur, I was overcharged and greeted by frogs and tadpoles in a room that was anything but clean. But none of this bothered me much. I had made it out of Bihar, and that felt like a small victory.

                   

                  

The next morning, I was up early ready to head towards Delhi. Had plans to explore, but first  I needed to conquer the 820 km ride ahead. Physically I was already drained but mentally, I was determined to push through. By 1:30 pm, I had reached the Agra-Lucknow Expressway, a long, uninterrupted stretch that I knew would test me. After refueling at the first station I saw, I cruised steadily at a speed of 100 km/h. Around 3:40 pm, I took a brief break in Fatehabad, clicked a few pictures of my bike under the orange sky and continued on.

                           

Despite the fatigue and the rain, the ride felt manageable even enjoyable. My boots were soaked through, my body was tired but my mind was still excited. With music in my ears, I picked up the pace, cruising at 120 km/h, aiming to reach Delhi before the notorious evening traffic. The smooth expressway stretched ahead of me, and everything felt like it was going fine Until 4:15 pm.

                      

I was in the leftmost lane, keeping a safe distance from the faster vehicles. Without warning, the road took a sharp 70-degree turn to the right. It was a small bridge, with an underground road below it. I saw the concrete guardrail on the side of the bridge approaching fast. If I hit it straight, I knew I would be thrown over from the bridge.

In those critical seconds, my mind registered the danger  but my body refused to respond. I desperately wanted to turn the bike, but my hands wouldn not cooperate. It was as if my mind was screaming instructions my body couldn not hear. Somehow, I managed to turn the bike slightly but instead of regaining control, it began scraping the guardrail. The knuckle guards were the first to make contact, then the entire bike leaned against the concrete dragging along with it.

For a brief moment, I thought it would stop there, that the bike would scrape along and then I would regain control. But I was wrong.

The next thing I knew, I was thrown off the bike, skidding across the road. The bike had fallen too and together we were dragged for what felt like 100 meters. I tried to stay close to the bike, hoping to regain some control, but the force of the crash was too strong. My body hit the ground hard the momentum carrying me forward.

When the dust settled, I found myself lying in the middle of the road, the bike on top of me. My first thought wasn not about the pain or the crash, it was the terrifying realization that I could be run over by any vehicle speeding down the expressway. My vision blurred. Consciousness flickered in and out as I lay there, struggling to stay awake.

Then through the haze, I saw a car pull up beside me. There was an old man sitting in the back seat, with tubes attached to his nose. He looked frail unable to get out of the car. His wife sat beside him. The old man didn’t speak, but his eyes asked if I was okay. I raised my hand slightly, signaling that I was alive. Without a word the car pulled over to the side.

The driver of the car rushed over, lifted the bike off of me and moved it to the side of the road. He helped me up, gathered my scattered belongings and asked if I was okay. I was too stunned to say much but I nodded and he returned to the car. As they drove off, I saw a hand wave from the window- just a simple, silent gesture.

I wanted to thank them but they didn’t wait for any gratitude. They came, they helped and they left, just like that. Though I am a non believer but in that moment, it felt like something divine had intervened. The old man, his silent compassion, the way they appeared just when I needed help it felt otherworldly, like a godly figure had come to save me and left without a word.

It’s a feeling I can not quite explain, a deep, overwhelming sense of something beyond. The old man sitting silently in the back seat, communicated everything with just his eyes. There was no rush in him, no panic, just a calm presence, as if he understood exactly what needed to be done without a single word. I couldn’t help but wonder about his story. Who was he? What had brought him to that expressway at that exact moment? 

Maybe it was pure coincidence or maybe there was something more to it. He never got out of the car and I never spoke to him but the connection in that brief moment was undeniable. When I saw his hand raise from the window as they left, it felt like a quiet reassurance, as if saying, "You’re going to be okay".

Even now, I think back to that silent encounter and feel something that goes beyond explanation, like I had been saved not just physically, but in some deeper way.

To be continued...