How well do you know your city?
PERIPATETIC
| They always arrive in Mumbai with the assumption there's much to do, sights to see... the dazzling, buzzy metropolis that will surely engulf them in an orgy of (useful) activity. I am never that sure. |
| The first lot were day-trippers, eager to put their feet where their Lonely Planet was. "So what do we do today?" a cousin asked on the first day "" rucksack, flip flops and bottled water in hand "" the question loaded with anticipation. Start with the Gateway of India, I offered up a no-brainer. |
| And while the archway was stirring, the touts certainly were not. After fending off thrusting balloon sellers (now that's something to see here "" those three-foot-long inflated phallic symbols) and aggressive "pujaris" with curative potions, I noticed they were back home altogether too quickly. |
| It would be entirely unfair to say there aren't cultural and historical sights to take in, but Mumbai has always been a city preoccupied with the future, and often the past is relegated to the dusty corners of collective consciousness. |
| Thankfully, its visually imposing colonial architecture is a constant reminder. So the next day, I figured, a drive through the heritage precinct of Fort was in order. |
| In the days that followed, they were dispatched to the Princes of Wales Museum, but they were disappointed with the display facilities allotted to national treasures. A trip to Elephanta caves was cut short when boat operators decided, after placing them in queue, that there would be no more ferries that day. |
| They walked up and down Malabar Hill, wondering why their trusty guide book recommended it. The neighbourhood seemed more hodgepodge than posh. |
| The next day I suggested Leopold Cafe, long been part of every backpacker's quest for sustenance. |
| "Have you read Shantaram?" I asked. They hadn't. I carried on regardless "" "Go look for him at Leopold. He drives an Enfield and wears a ponytail." They would've spotted at least five such candidates... Duh! |
| At the end of their four-day layover, one couldn't help wonder if they were disappointed. |
| That brings me to the second set of visitors. They were transported in chauffeur-driven cars to the city's most frou-frou fashion boutiques, Wallpaper magazine-endorsed design destinations, Jancis Robinson-reviewed restaurants and exposed to the city's vital nightlife (and not via the dive bar variety mind). Well, they had a great time, and can't wait to return. |
| Which brings me to wonder what side of Mumbai we should present as being representative to visitors. Do we gloss over the chaos, sweat and dirt? Or do we expose them to everything and hope they find charm in something? But then not everyone is a romantic, and sometimes, isn't it our job to create experiences that inspire? |
| A niche but successful tour guide I met the other day told me that one needs to create legends around the smallest of details, and that was the trick in winning over even the most under-whelmed tourist. |
| What I have found, instead, that always works for Mumbai is the fact that it's a great, great eating city. And I am not referring to Western ideals of fine dining. I am talking about the indigenous restaurant scene that caters to the swelling middle class, dishing up previously unceremonious foods that have somehow been thrust into the limelight. |
| The seafood joints, the Gujarati thalis, the sanitised vegetarian snackeries. Now that is definitively Mumbai. |
| "Oh, Malabar Hill did offer up one treat," said my cousin, "the roadside masala dosa". |