The Chaperone

I was in Mumbai doing my masters at the turn of the millennium, and unexpectedly I adopted the role of a chaperone for a bunch of friends and acquaintances who chose to fly out of India via Mumbai. I have never understood whether it was coincidence or my capabilities that began to draw more people to transit via Mumbai. At the beginning, I was taking this role less seriously, but soon I realized that it was giving me the opportunity to learn about the nocturnal life of the city that never sleeps. I could not resist throwing away this chance to explore the streets of this ancient city, where everything was a fascinating tale that had connections far back in time.

I used to live at Matunga, this is near the centre of the city - Dadar. To reach the airport at Andheri, I had to catch a train from Dadar or West Matunga or Kings circle station. These stations were equi-distant from my hostel. I would take turns in giving each of these stations a visit in order to avoid the redundancy, which is a habit that I have avoided cultivating. To walk to Dadar station, I would pass through the infamous five gardens, where one can get lost amidst the amorous couples entangled in acts of passion. Reaching Matunga west involved crossing a bridge that seemed to run over the land of Mordor, all we could hear was clanking of metal and sparks from the blacksmith's foundry. The King's circle station was hidden behind a string of duplex houses, which seemed to be standing on their last legs, shuddering continuously with the fear of collapsing, everytime a train would pass by. Once I would reach Andheri, I used to hire a auto rickshaw, a ride that would last for nearly 40 minutes, through different terrains - some laid, many unlaid.

As the flights were timed to leave or reach Mumbai few hours past midnight, I would end up rushing to the Andheri station to catch the last train back home. Strangers, who lie in the shadows of our mind during the day, were basking in limelight in these wee hours of the morning. The stations would be still filled with people, I have always wondered what their destinations were. An odd silence would be on the streets during my walk from the station, I could feel the city still alive, but like a light sleeper, ready to wake up at the sound of silence. The stars that can be rarely seen in the mist of smoke, steadily glowed until they were bright and colorful, making themselves, finally at home. At the hostel gate, I used to make my final stop, to have a cup of hot chai. How did this chaiwallah decide that this is the best hour for business has been a unresolved mystery to my mind . I am still glad that I got be a part of all of this. Luck never knocks twice, they say; I have never been part of a similar adventure since I left Mumbai.