To say that the entire stretch is ripe for a stampede is putting it mildly.
Anjuli Bhargava’s first-person account.
I spent two weeks in Mumbai recently doing what I usually or almost never do.
I visited the Bhau Daji Lad Mumbai City Museum, watched a musical at the National Center for Performing Arts, went to Jehangir Art Gallery and the modern art museum next to it, visited the absolutely charming Mukesh Mills and Sassoon Docks (with its art projects), went for long walks on Marine Drive, stopping at Gaylord for a pastry, spent an afternoon sailing courtesy the Yacht club, explored the lanes, new cafes, street vendors and shops behind the Taj, went to Leopold Cafe & Bar, Theobroma and Café Mondegar, ambled in the streets and cafes of Kala Ghoda, ate a Gujrati thali, among other usual Mumbai delights.
I found the city — with its artsy yet modern feel and delightful nooks and crannies — continues to thrill me in a way Delhi — the city of my birth — has never managed to do.
But one afternoon, a mad idea gripped me.