By Subrat Rath
I woke up at 4:30 a.m. again yesterday, courtesy of jet lag.
After going through rituals like stretching, ginger-lemon water, deep breathing and meditation, I decided to step out for a walk before Mumbai’s mercury began its climb.
The MIG Cricket Club gates were still shut. On a whim, I walked to the BKC Metro station and boarded the first Aqua Line train to Churchgate, planning to walk along Marine Drive.
The ride turned into an epiphany.
The coach was cool, spotless and almost dreamlike in the early morning quiet. I remembered Ashwini Bhide, who had ensured the successful completion of the Aqua Line project despite all kinds of challenges. I sent out a prayer that her first monsoon as Commissioner of BMC would go well — for her and for all Mumbaikars.
The small piles of mud already stacked alongside the storm-water drains are evidence that she is already pressing the machinery hard — but that is a discussion for another day. Mumbai is experiencing a particularly extreme summer, and the Aqua Line must surely be a blessing for many daily commuters.
Two sleepy young boys were headed to Dadar for cricket practice. A woman in a beige burqa was reading a holy book with complete absorption while her husband made repeated, unsuccessful attempts to show her something on his phone.
Somewhere between BKC and Churchgate, I felt deeply connected — to the city, to humanity and, unexpectedly, to myself.
At Churchgate, I found a tiny coffee shop already open. Nearby, a newspaper vendor was sorting bundles on the pavement. Siddharth, the young man managing the café, proudly told me that the place operates 24×7. The espresso was outstanding. So was Siddharth’s smile — perhaps triggered by the novelty of a talkative customer at that hour.
By then, the sun had risen sharply enough for me to abandon my plans for Marine Drive. I decided instead to take the metro back home and continue observing the city waking up.
A sharply dressed man with gelled hair was headed to the airport. A young couple with smart luggage were immersed in a conversation in which the word “EMI” surfaced repeatedly. A girl in jogging shorts got off at Girgaon, probably heading for a jog along Chowpatty. Two impeccably groomed young men boarded at Dharavi.
While waiting for the train at Churchgate, a girl in a light purple uniform informed me that trains normally run every seven minutes, increasing to every four minutes during peak hours. She also told me that internet connectivity exists only till the concourse level. Once connectivity becomes available inside the trains, it may become a completely different sight, with people staring at their phones. I also wondered whether it would mean the end of quietness on the Aqua Line, with some people talking loudly on their phones. Hopefully not during very early morning rides.
By the time I walked home — picking up fresh white idlis from a vendor who cycles in every morning from Dharavi to Kalanagar — I felt profoundly grateful, despite the fact that a strap of one sandal had come apart. Perhaps a gentle reminder that the things we own must either be used fully or given away.
About Author
Subrat Rath is a former Indian Administrative Service (IAS) officer who took voluntary retirement from government service. He writes on politics, democracy, governance, and international affairs, drawing on decades of administrative experience and close observation of public institutions. His essays examine the deeper philosophical and structural challenges facing modern democracies.
