The Bombay Diary - Epilogue

In today's world it's a crime to enjoy your life. We take pride in the fact that we are old and mature, and work hard for a living - so much that we fail to enjoy our lives. And the moment someone wants to let their hair loose, they are ruthlessly pulled down and are told to act their age (it happens to me everyday). Today, a group of old ladies (and they were well over 50) showed us how to live.

On Wednesday, 30th January, we left Bombay for Cochin (I've somehow never come to terms with the new . Maybe that's why I always live in the past).

We still had some moments to savour. The trip ended just as it had started - on the Gateway of India, watching the sunrise. Since our train was only at 11:40 AM, we still had time to get up early and go on a walk - of course, the "intention" of the walk was to find something for breakfast, but Colaba wakes up only after 9 o'clock. We were unable to find a single open restaurant at 7:00 AM.

Some old guy was busy taking photographs at the Gateway - not like us, but SERIOUS photography, with a small team and a model. SS claimed he was the famous Gautam Rajadhyaksha, but on hindsight, it does not seem to be true since this guy was much older. He seemed to be shouting harsh instructions at the model, but his behaviour clearly indicated that he knew what he was doing. Well, all's well that ends well (no pun intended).

The drive to Lokmanya Tilak Terminus in the taxi was memorable in many ways:

1. It was difficult to make out which was older. The taxi driver was an old guy, but the taxi itself seemed older than him.

2. The music - you can't call it retro, you can't call it new. It was one of those T-Series collections.

3. The traffic in Bombay is irritating. I take back what I said about shuttle drivers in Bangalore in my Day Zero post. These guys are worse, and are looking for an excuse to honk.

There's a certain beauty to the suburban stations in this city - they are never empty. You always see people from various walks of life, racing from one place to the other. It's scary to get into a local train during rush hour - you are just pushed along in the crowd, without being aware of where you are heading. Sitting in the cosy confines of my long-distance train, watching life go past in the locals is a privilege. These trains crisscross the city like the blood vessels in the human body.

At Chiplun, SS decided to have Vada Pav. I just wanted a coffee. Just then, I told him that he should try out a 'pazham pori' (he couldn't pronounce it). It was the coldest pazham pori I had ever had in my life, but having not eaten one before, SS was amazed by it. As they say, Ignorance is indeed bliss.

At 6:30 PM, we pulled into the town of Ratnagiri, famous as the birthplace of Lokmanya Tilak. A horde of old ladies boarded the train. Their families and extended families had come to see them off. They were on their way to Thrissur to embark on a tour of Kerala, as one of the old ladies gleefully informed me. They were in full spirits, playing cards and antaksharis. Soon the enthusiasm spread to the other travelers. Everyone wanted to be part of of it...Well, almost everyone. "After all, they are North Indians. Only they can think of doing such things," my fellow traveller chipped in. I wondered why someone needed to be from a different part of India to enjoy life. The ladies taught us an important lesson - it is never too late to live your life.

Morning brings with it, the familiar feeling of being home - the train passes into Kerala. They say that home is where the heart is. Perhaps my heart is still here. And that's why i still love coming here. It was 1:3o PM by the time we got down at Aluva. A dozen stops at so-called important towns and snail's pace between Calicut and Shoranur had not dampened my spirit. Ah! Kerala...for Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale her infinite variety (...and she's better than Cleopatra). I hope I can keep returning here. Always and ever...

Pic of the day: For most of the year, Bharatapuzha, the largest river in Kerala, is just a sand bed with a few puddles of water here and here. Still, a fisherman angles his bait in a puddle, unsure of the catch.