I grew up in Bombay. Yet I am always at a loss of words when people ask me about the touristy spots in the city.
They: Where can we go clubbing?
I: (Scratching my head) Shrug.
They: (Visibly shocked) You mean you have never visited a pub?
I: (I open my mouth to answer, but they interject.)
They: And you claim to be a Bombayite!!!
I: Of course, I am.
They: What can we see here?
I: Well ... I have been on school picnics to the Hanging Gardens, Gateway of India, Borivili National Park, the Juhu Beach, The Jehangir Art Gallery, the museum ...
They: (Getting impatient) OK we'll get to those later. How about shopping?
I: Ummm ... Fashion Street? (I am almost afraid to mention the stretch of road in South Bombay that is crammed with export-quality rejects and imitations of those rejects. Nevertheless, people come from afar to get a good deal.)
They: We mean designer labels.
I: Not sure. But I can find out if you like. (I am eager to help.)
They: Sure. (Sniggering).
Truth is, I don't know any of the happening places that tourists are looking for in Bombay. I grew up in suburban Bombay where small family-run stores were, and still are, common. Once in a while we took the local train to Dadar where the most heavenly batata vadas (and a variety of other snacks) can be savored.
During my college years I went shopping on D.N. Road in South Bombay, frequently at Khadi Bhandar which is the government-run store that sells handloom fabric. During lunch breaks at work I would stroll over to Flora Fountain and sort through the mounds of used books--fiction, non fiction, technical, textbooks--for sale at dirt cheap prices. Sometimes, before heading home, a few friends and I would get together and walk along Marine Drive. It would rain hard during the monsoons. Umbrellas were a mere customary accessory and never kept the rain out. I can still taste the hot peanuts that vendors would sell along the way.
That was Bombay. It's called Mumbai now, but the city is still the same. It bear the scars of recent bomb blasts. Residents recall the strains of concerts against communalism. And it's pace of life is ever more than before. But it's up to you to find what fascinates you. And hold on to it for the rest of your life.
They: Where can we go clubbing?
I: (Scratching my head) Shrug.
They: (Visibly shocked) You mean you have never visited a pub?
I: (I open my mouth to answer, but they interject.)
They: And you claim to be a Bombayite!!!
I: Of course, I am.
They: What can we see here?
I: Well ... I have been on school picnics to the Hanging Gardens, Gateway of India, Borivili National Park, the Juhu Beach, The Jehangir Art Gallery, the museum ...
They: (Getting impatient) OK we'll get to those later. How about shopping?
I: Ummm ... Fashion Street? (I am almost afraid to mention the stretch of road in South Bombay that is crammed with export-quality rejects and imitations of those rejects. Nevertheless, people come from afar to get a good deal.)
They: We mean designer labels.
I: Not sure. But I can find out if you like. (I am eager to help.)
They: Sure. (Sniggering).
Truth is, I don't know any of the happening places that tourists are looking for in Bombay. I grew up in suburban Bombay where small family-run stores were, and still are, common. Once in a while we took the local train to Dadar where the most heavenly batata vadas (and a variety of other snacks) can be savored.
During my college years I went shopping on D.N. Road in South Bombay, frequently at Khadi Bhandar which is the government-run store that sells handloom fabric. During lunch breaks at work I would stroll over to Flora Fountain and sort through the mounds of used books--fiction, non fiction, technical, textbooks--for sale at dirt cheap prices. Sometimes, before heading home, a few friends and I would get together and walk along Marine Drive. It would rain hard during the monsoons. Umbrellas were a mere customary accessory and never kept the rain out. I can still taste the hot peanuts that vendors would sell along the way.
That was Bombay. It's called Mumbai now, but the city is still the same. It bear the scars of recent bomb blasts. Residents recall the strains of concerts against communalism. And it's pace of life is ever more than before. But it's up to you to find what fascinates you. And hold on to it for the rest of your life.
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