My time here in Mumbai is rapidly coming to a close. I made my way to most of the places I wanted to see today, leaving off the art galleries for tomorrow, so I get home smelling at least a little tolerable, thanks to the wonder of air conditioning. There was only one more place that I hoped to get to before I left, and that was Marine Drive. I'd been there before, but I was so close I wanted to go again while I was here, for nothing else but to take photos. I considered going in the morning, but again would be battling the sleepy city, weather, and lack of access to a shower after noon check out. I had to make my choice, as it was 4pm and if I didn't start heading there, the dark would set in and I would be out walking too late, alone. I'd already been followed by one guy in his fifties at two different points of the day, and I didn't want a repeat of that situation. I left Colaba knowing the way to go and having memorised the street names, so I didn't look like a toolbag with a map, and was on my merry way.
I soon turned back; I had already walked a couple of kilometres and my feet were weary and aching. I had been there before, and seen the promenade as it sparkled in the middle of the night, along with the electric thrill of tearing by on a motorbike through these streets. I had also sat there on the rocky barrier the following morning, early, while the city slept, and listened to the waves crash against the outcrop below, taking in the salty sea air. I didn't need to go again; why risk tainting my experience when rush hour was racing by and I was tired? I love the memories I have of sitting on that promenade, even though I have no photos. It's another of those moments I have to keep locked away, rather than in the safety of a photo album, and I'm ok with that.
It was like the heavens smiled on my decision. The skies suddenly opened up as I was only a hundred metres into turning back, and the rains came tearing down. The air cooled and relieved the city of the humidity. The acrid smell of incense, burned to keep insects away from food, stopped creeping into my nostrils. Harder and stronger than before, market sellers along the causeway desperately tried to cover their wares, and pedestrians built up under awnings and tarpaulins. I, along with a smattering of businessmen, opened up my umbrella and continued to walk, considering a henna tattoo to pass some time. The gutters swelled with the brown waters, and I shook my head at walking through in my hot pink flats. I had no choice, my chappals from my last trip to Bandra, had broken only an hour before, on my way back from Fort and I knew I'd never find another pair like them. The shoes got looser in the rain and I schlepped my feet through the murky water, littered with packets and wrappers, enjoying the fact that I didn't really care if I got wet. I loved it, dirt and all. Good news for me, because it turns out my umbrella leaks.
