Capturing Mumbai at Sunrise - Live from Marine Drive

It’s 7 am. The air feels cool. Mumbai’s pride; Marine Drive, is awake and alive. The broad promenade stretches along the Arabian Sea. In the evening, the shining lampposts form a necklace, the Queen’s Necklace as they call it.  Beautifully rounded, accompanied by the waves that steadily hit the rocks. But it’s early morning now, the sun is about to rise and break through the morning mist. A faint breeze strokes my chin as I listen to the ever present Mumbai crows.

To the north, the skyline stretches towards the sky, mostly made by the high-risebuildings offancy Malabar Hills. They seem quite a distance away behind a haze of mist, or smog as it might well be. I turn around and my gaze falls on the Air India building, who has become my landmark. Tall hotels together with ordinary corporate buildings form the Northern skyline. People come to work here, but right now, people come to walk.

They walk alone, or in pairs. In long strides, and short strides. The men, retired perhaps – in their white, big jogging shoes. Loose trousers, shirts with rolled up sleeves. Some stroll along leisurely, some walk briskly. They walk the talk. Old colleagues, neighbours, brothers, friends. Twos and threes, sometimes in fours.

Then there is the retired couples; the women in their salwar kameez and a woollen cardigan on top of it. It’s still cool for a Mumbaikar. The wide trousers flutter around old legs above big shoes. Good shoes. They don’t talk, there is no need. They walk. Before the sun emerges and makes walking unbearable. Some wear track suits, swinging their arms energetically from side to side.

An old woman walks towards me, she is wearing a burka. She sits down next to me, breathes heavily. She seems distressed, restless. After a while she heaves her heavy body and leaves, perhaps she needed a rest.

A suffering body or a suffering mind.

A young man is chasing a football, all by himself. The ball goes this way and that, always captured by the man who puts it back on track. He’s moving along with the ball, in between people. Nobody interferes. I follow him with my gaze, soon the restless figure is lost among the people.

The stream of people thickens. The sun is about to break. Four women are sitting side by side, chanting. Om, they chant. Ooomm...  They are unmoved by the stream of people, by the looks of any odd tourist. Closed eyes & deep in concentration.

The concrete wall along the promenade doubles as a bench. People also walk on top of it, or they sit down cross legged with their faces turned towards the sea. Contemplating; about the day that lies ahead or even life itself…

Even at this hour, some young couples sit close together, captured in secrecy perhaps, a more than common sight in the evening. Some do yoga, stretching their bodies towards the soft sky. Some is lost to the world in deep meditation. Or, we simply let our gaze wander. Up and down the promenade. Thinking how lucky this overcrowded, polluted, dirty megalopolis is to have such freedom and space for everybody to share.

The joggers emerge among the walkers. Long trousers, short trousers. A woman in a sari even. Chubby young girls adamant on losing a few kilos, their feet heavily touching ground. Sweaty foreheads come alone, but also in pairs. Mutual struggle. Mutual pain. Being two is always a small comfort. Athletic men in shorts glide along, fancy sun glasses, even more fancy shoes. Expats trying to keep fit, trying to beat the forever-glaring sun, trying to keep up a lifestyle from colder countries. Foreign business men from nearby hotels follow suit.

But people mostly walk. Arms swinging from side to side. Stretching limbs as they walk. Serious looks on their faces. Trying to fight old age. Middle aged women in western clothes and big sunglasses walking fast and furious. Fighting yesterday’s many-a-tantalizing laddoo. Young girls in threes and fours. Serious sometimes if not giggling, discussing that very special boy in school. Avoiding the many stray dogs that scuttle about. And there he is; the little boy with the monkey in a chain. Frowned upon by the regulars, but always attracting interest from tourists before they realise he’s not there to entertain, but to earn a living.

I’m leaving, still not at risk while crossing the street. Walking towards the Air India building, and then straight ahead on uneven sidewalks towards Colaba. The odd stalls are coming to life along the way, people are queueing for their buses, the Oval Maidan is quiet, but the traffic is picking up as I reach the other side of the city where the sun has hit the Indian Sea with full force.

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Meet the Author:

Courtesy - Mr. Kjetil Alsvik.

Anne-Trine Benjaminsen lives in Stavanger, Norway.She is a frequent traveller to India, and passionate about Indian literature. She works as an in-house journalist/web publisher in the Norwegian oil service industry where she has also taught cross-cultural communication.But as time permits; she tries to pursue different creative projects within writing and photography. She volunteers for the Norwegian development organization Indias Barn (Children of India) as their magazine editor.

“I fell in love with India and Mumbai from the very start. I love the city’s vibrant atmosphere, the chaos and control… the crowds and the crows, the tempting book stores, the many markets, the soothing sea breeze and of course; the magnificent Marine Drive. What more can you ask for…”

Read more about India travels and Indian literature on www.benjamuna.com or email: anne-tb@online.no