We were standing on the sticky sands temporarily abandoned by the low tide on Juhu beach. It was a pink twilight. The sea was a placid lake, lapping at the edges of our toes. The roar of the city was subdued, far behind us. We could see the graceful white lines of the Sea Link to our far left. And a building blazing like a torch at its top to our far right. Amidst these and before us, an eternal quietness – old, all-knowing, and all encompassing.
Life seemed suspended. Is this how holding “infinity in the palm of your hand” felt like? It seemed apposite to ask philosophical questions: about the meaning of life; about the grand design. It felt like the answers were just out there, tantalizingly close.
And suddenly, the pink twilight darkened into dusk. The water rose quietly, quickly, inexorably. We walked back to the beach, exchanging bemused glances. It was an unusually quiet evening at the beach with very few people around. The nairyal pani-wallah had a surreal patio arrangement of a few plastic chairs around his stall, facing the sea. We joined the rest of his clientele, talking quietly, lest we broke the magic.
How long did we sit there? An hour? Two? Who knows! Who’d have thought Juhu beach could offer one such an intensely spiritual experience?
As we walked back to Prithvi, the Dandiya night at Tulip Star grew louder and louder, delivering us back to the city we knew and were familiar with. At the right time too.
Me, Kash and Cruise is a play about the city, viewed through the lenses of the three lead characters, over 25 years. Directed by Rahul da Cunha, the play features firecracker performances from Amit Mistry and Rajit Kapoor. The latter completely steals the show with a series of cameo roles, nuanced and deeply studied. However, the play left me dissatisfied, as it fell in a murky in-between slot, way short of a pithy commentary or an emotional drama. Better review at http://verbalsot.blogspot.com/2009/06/just-watched-me-kash-and-cruise.html.
We walked out debating whether Mumbai is the city of the immigrants or of the born-and-brought-up-in people. Is the Xaviers’-studying, Mood-Indigo-attending, never-traveling-into-the-‘burbs-by-local train SOBO perspective relevant at all to the discussion? Or is it equally snobbish to disdain the elitist point of view? Has the city become more divisive, menacing, and non-cosmopolitan since the 92-93 riots? Or is it as embracing and forgiving and supportive of starting-afresh-many-times-over as it has always been?
It was indeed an evening of questions.
The Dandiya night at the Tulip Star was winding down as we walked past it, with people in exotic costumes spilling out like pieces escaping from a kaleidoscope, the mirrors on their persons twinkling like a million tiny stars. We vowed to attend one of these dos soon.
Mahesh Lunch Home was abuzz with activity and renovation. As we settled down for Surmai fry and Thai curry (puzzling variance of cuisine in a place so Konkan), Rajit Kapoor, Shehnaz Patel, and Rahul da Cunha came in and sat down at the next table. What is Mumbai if not our regular brush-ins with major and minor celebrities?
As we stepped out into the balmy midnight air, we paused, unwilling to end an evening so perfect, so rare.
“Why don’t you come home? I have a bottle of warm port wine!” M invited.
“You do realize I am coming only because I like your building,” I told M.
“I will try not to take that personally,” M grinned.
We got into an auto and rattled our way to Bandra, joining the sleepless masses rushing around on the streets. After all it is Mumbai, where one can extend a day long after it is officially over. Where else can one fly about intrepidly in autos all night, seeking entertainment or enlightenment?
To hell with civic apathy, terror at our doors, interminable traffic snarls, smog haze, crumbling infrastructure—it’s the only place to live in the world! I can wait until it becomes the next Shanghai or New York, and have the time of my life while doing so.
Life seemed suspended. Is this how holding “infinity in the palm of your hand” felt like? It seemed apposite to ask philosophical questions: about the meaning of life; about the grand design. It felt like the answers were just out there, tantalizingly close.
And suddenly, the pink twilight darkened into dusk. The water rose quietly, quickly, inexorably. We walked back to the beach, exchanging bemused glances. It was an unusually quiet evening at the beach with very few people around. The nairyal pani-wallah had a surreal patio arrangement of a few plastic chairs around his stall, facing the sea. We joined the rest of his clientele, talking quietly, lest we broke the magic.
How long did we sit there? An hour? Two? Who knows! Who’d have thought Juhu beach could offer one such an intensely spiritual experience?
As we walked back to Prithvi, the Dandiya night at Tulip Star grew louder and louder, delivering us back to the city we knew and were familiar with. At the right time too.
Me, Kash and Cruise is a play about the city, viewed through the lenses of the three lead characters, over 25 years. Directed by Rahul da Cunha, the play features firecracker performances from Amit Mistry and Rajit Kapoor. The latter completely steals the show with a series of cameo roles, nuanced and deeply studied. However, the play left me dissatisfied, as it fell in a murky in-between slot, way short of a pithy commentary or an emotional drama. Better review at http://verbalsot.blogspot.com/2009/06/just-watched-me-kash-and-cruise.html.
We walked out debating whether Mumbai is the city of the immigrants or of the born-and-brought-up-in people. Is the Xaviers’-studying, Mood-Indigo-attending, never-traveling-into-the-‘burbs-by-local train SOBO perspective relevant at all to the discussion? Or is it equally snobbish to disdain the elitist point of view? Has the city become more divisive, menacing, and non-cosmopolitan since the 92-93 riots? Or is it as embracing and forgiving and supportive of starting-afresh-many-times-over as it has always been?
It was indeed an evening of questions.
The Dandiya night at the Tulip Star was winding down as we walked past it, with people in exotic costumes spilling out like pieces escaping from a kaleidoscope, the mirrors on their persons twinkling like a million tiny stars. We vowed to attend one of these dos soon.
Mahesh Lunch Home was abuzz with activity and renovation. As we settled down for Surmai fry and Thai curry (puzzling variance of cuisine in a place so Konkan), Rajit Kapoor, Shehnaz Patel, and Rahul da Cunha came in and sat down at the next table. What is Mumbai if not our regular brush-ins with major and minor celebrities?
As we stepped out into the balmy midnight air, we paused, unwilling to end an evening so perfect, so rare.
“Why don’t you come home? I have a bottle of warm port wine!” M invited.
“You do realize I am coming only because I like your building,” I told M.
“I will try not to take that personally,” M grinned.
We got into an auto and rattled our way to Bandra, joining the sleepless masses rushing around on the streets. After all it is Mumbai, where one can extend a day long after it is officially over. Where else can one fly about intrepidly in autos all night, seeking entertainment or enlightenment?
To hell with civic apathy, terror at our doors, interminable traffic snarls, smog haze, crumbling infrastructure—it’s the only place to live in the world! I can wait until it becomes the next Shanghai or New York, and have the time of my life while doing so.
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