Weekend diaries: Post I

On the steps on Banganga; taken on another beautiful morning many years ago

Ever since I've been living alone, I've come to develop a little ritual of sorts for the weekends. Being a habitual early riser saves me from the practice of sleeping in till late in the morning, which is great as that's the time of the day I feel my productive best. Also, there is something about weekend mornings that start early. You end up having all this time to do anything you want: read, enjoy a breakfast more elaborate than usual, go for a leisurely stroll or just continue lying in bed procrastinating—simple pleasures that often evade us thanks to our busy work lives. For me, such mornings usually translate into a movie show—because morning shows are a lot cheaper—or a wholesome breakfast, the meal of the day I most look forward to, at one of my favourite eating places or a new place I’ve been meaning to try.

Of late, however, with all my time occupied by work or looking for an apartment, my little ritual, to which I had so warmed up that I couldn't imagine my weekends any other way, had taken a backseat. So this Saturday morning when I found myself with nothing to do, I decided it was time for its revival. Excited, I went online to search for movie tickets, only to find that there was not even a half-decent movie I could watch. I bitterly thought about the last few weeks when a string of good movies had released all at once, and I missed them all because I had no time. But resilient that I was to not let my precious Saturday morning go waste, I turned to the other half of my ritual—breakfast. Matunga East, brimming with South Indian restaurants, was in close proximity, and suddenly the thought of a crisp dosa accompanied by tangy sambhar, spicy podi and buttermilk, followed by a steaming-hot cup of potent filter coffee, seemed irresistible. Feeling all experimental, I decided to forego my usual choice of the tried-and-tested Cafe Madras and try out Hotel Ram Ashray, which had great ratings and reviews online.

It is only late in the night or weekend mornings (because during weekdays you are too worried about getting through traffic as dense as the Amazon forest to reach work on time) that you realise how mesmerising the streets of Bombay can be. The hauntingly beautiful silence of the night, stirred by occasional (sometimes questionable) activity, the blanketing darkness iridescent with neon signs and glinting high-rise buildings, and the mornings infused with the colourful vivacity of people preparing for the day ahead are both equally enchanting. And when you have no sense of urgency, they can even be poetic! The novelty of the sights on these yet undiscovered roads—as this was one of my first outings since I moved into my new place—added to the charm of this fine Saturday morning.

One of the many reasons I am in love with Bombay is because of its old-city charm, especially in the southern parts of the city with their cobblestone roads and colonial-style buildings. Luckily for me, the area around my new house in Parel is brimming with such specimens like the Wadia Hospital and Haffkine Institute, with the periphery dotted by Parsi villa-style residences that boast a unique blend of architectural styles, making them exquisite and imposing and beautiful all at once.

As I went about my way admiring these beautiful buildings, I came across what could possibly be the oldest, most dilapidated one I have ever seen. Considering it looked like it would crumble to dust any second, I assumed it was unoccupied, before I spotted some people heads leaning out of its windows. Now I am not one to be easily taken aback by such sights considering that decrepit residential buildings are not as much of a novelty as they are a menace any more in the city. But this was too much! I wondered what these houses were like on the inside, and all I could picture were dungeons; worse than the kind I used to live in not too long ago. Few metres ahead and I was bang in front of a swanky-looking high-rise luxury apartment. The stark contrasts of this city never fail to amaze you.

Ram Ashray, like most simple, VFM and popular eateries in Bombay, is almost always overcrowded. Sharing tables with strangers, thus, is a given. Also, these are not places where you will be encouraged to lounge around, take your time to finish your meal while you probably mull over a newspaper or a book or get so deeply engrossed in conversation that you forget you were here to eat. There are at least 20 people eyeing your table, hurling curses at you for relishing your meal at your own pace in their minds. Fortunately, I was asked to be seated at a table with a family of three just 10 minutes after I arrived at the restaurant.

Now, people who know me well will vouch for the fact that I am the slowest consumer of foodstuff on this planet, and that makes me the worst kind of customer at such restaurants. Today was no different. Families came and went while I just sat there, lazily munching on my delectable Mysore rava masala dosa, stealing occasional sips from the cool and refreshing buttermilk, attracting the wrath of many hungry onlookers.

The second family to share my table comprised two men and a young girl. Their courteous manner took me by pleasant surprise. Not only did they seek my permission to be seated at the same table, they also apologised profusely for invading my privacy! I knew at once that these were not Mumbaikars. Now I don’t mean that people in Bombay are rude and impolite, although one does encounter more than a fair share of bad behaviour in this city, especially when travelling in a second-class ladies coach of a local train, or as I like to imagine them, Indian fight clubs for frustrated wives. But in all of my four years of sharing tables at restaurants, I’ve never come across even an acknowledging smile, let alone a genuine apology.

We got talking (another first) and as I’d rightly assumed, the two men were from Malaysia, visiting Bombay for a business meeting, while the girl, one of the men’s daughter, had come down from Mangalore. Our conversation went from food recommendations to things to do in Bombay to travel to work and life in general till I finally finished my single dosa and delicious drown-worthy filter coffee, and my fellow diners ordered their third round of food. As I prepared to leave, the nice folk offered to pay for my meal, which I politely declined. But I finally gave in to their relentless insistence. Thanking them for their company and the meal, I left.

Though I am mostly quite comfortable—rather too comfortable—and satiated in my solo-ness, I find unusual encounters (the pleasant kind of course) to be one of the perks of hanging out by yourself. While their randomness and unpredictability lends them an air of mystery and excitement, their unassumingness makes you let your guard down and just for a few moments gives you an intimate window into the life of a complete stranger. And if you're lucky, they might even result in a free meal.