Wrote this on my first sojourn in Bombay, almost five years back. The city never fails to inspire me and whenever my nomadic Aryan genes goad me, my first stop is always Bombay.

It’s probably the only precious jewel that the British failed to take with them – the Queen’s necklace. The ten-minute drive from Nariman point to Chowpati Beach is rich not just in its commercial content but also in character.

The place wakes up even before the birds do, as the over-sized businessmen and executives on a frenzy-walking spree tap it to life. The tapping is soon subdued by the zoo…ms of the vehicular traffic, announcing that business has started. Now, there’s a lull in the pavement, the silence accented by the crashing tides and the occasional zoo…ms. A hungry-looking chap is seen intensely engaged in the extracting the contents of another’s over-fed ear.

And, now it’s time for the tourists.

Couples, loners and groupies haunt the place clicking themselves in various poses at a feverish pace. A catholic nun, escorting a bunch of mischievous kids, suddenly realizes the professional photographer in her person when a ‘firangi’ couple asks her help to register their presence on a third world seashore.

As the sun sets, numerous couples, of all ages, search for their own private space on the parapet; the teens on their first date secretly expecting their first kiss to happen and the middle-aged couples either living their memories or hearing each other grumble.

This place has character, to say the least.