5 in the morning. The earliest Koels are beginning to trill as the first tentative tendrils of dawn seep through into the still dark sky. Sunday is run-day and it’s time to get up and get going.
Half an hour later and, with the ablutions completed and the running kit assembled, I drive off to Nariman Point where today’s run will begin, and eventually end. P. D’Mello Road (hey, does anyone know what that P stands for? Peter? Patrick? Pradyuman?) is nearly clear with all of three lorries to be overtaken in the long straight from Sewri to VT (ok, CST if you must) and at 6:02 the car rolls to a stop at the last parking spot along the NCPA sidewalk. Time to stretch, limber up, and get going. Things take a small turn at this stage. Partner for run cries off with a migraine and I begin to have second thoughts about doing the same old, same old. No RTI and back today, I decide, and a route that has long beckoned, hitherto ineffectually, is the order of the day.
I start out North on the Marine Drive but take first turn right at the Oberoi Hotel and head into the thick of the Nariman Point office district. What a contrast this neighbourhood presents early on a Sunday morning to what it will be a scant 30 hours hence. None of the hubbub of commerce and sweaty exertions of desk warriors today. Just gently swaying trees and street cricket games. Run past Mittal Chambers which stirs lost memories of long afternoons spent in the British Council Library and turn right again to approach Cuffe Parade. Turn right at Cuffe Parade and start heading South. The fishing village is clearly beginning to slow down for the Monsoons. Dozens of fishing craft are berthed, hulls turned to the sky, ready to get their makeovers. Nets await deft hands to fix tears and rents from many months of hauling in the daily silvery catch. Run continues past the few remaining bungalows that once proudly faced the Backbay, sadly reclaimed in the 60s and 70s to spawn an acne of multistoried apartment blocks.
Leaving ‘Goolestan’ (don’t miss the wildly Anglophilic spelling) and its storied neighbour ‘Sea Wind’ (google it if it doesn’t ring a bell), on the left I am now fast approaching the Colaba Cantonment area. The road narrows, a ‘Sadhu t. S. Vaswani Road’ (why here?) is passed on the left and abruptly, I step into the verdant, tree lined greens of another world. The reverie is interrupted, within a minute by? I’m in front of Adarsh Cooperative Housing Society! Visibly incomplete, the most striking feature of the facade is a dozen ‘Anti-Buri Nazar’ charms that we Mumbaikars call mirchi-limbu. These, being in a fashionable neck of town, use only the biggest nimbu and the coolest plump red chillies. (Does a more expensive mirchi-nimbu bestow proportionately greater buri nazar resistance? Is there a lakh wali, crore wali and sau crore wali mirchi-nimbu prescription? Would you use only imported Habaneros or Jalapenos for the top end buri nazar?)
Cantonment starts and the signage declares ‘Gun House’, ‘Garrison House’, ‘Fleet House’, ‘US Club’, ‘Afghan Church’. All the old landmarks that the Fauj has carefully protected and conserved with unwavering attention to detail for as long as 150 years in some cases.
I pass I.N.H.S. Ashvini a.k.a. Bha. Nau. A. Po. Ashvini. Anyone figure out what Bha. Nau. A. Po. means? Answer in footnote J[1]. Run past a hundred Sea Cadet Corps kids proudly wearing their starched white uniforms and head straight down to the Roman Catholic Church (yup, it WAS that simple after all, for all those who had wondered what the R. C. In R. C. Church stood for). It is about 36 minutes into the run and the timer reminds me it is time to turn back. Legs are tiring, throat is parched and it is time to reach for the trusty bottle of water and a few almonds from the stash in the pocket. Revivified adequately, I begin the inbound leg with the clear intention of taking a different route back. A fork in the road just past Ashvini heads, on its right prong, to the Colaba Post Office, which is where I head. Just a few hundred yards down is the gothic edifice of the Afghan Church. To the right, the Colaba Sewage Pumping Station that also has, en suite, a delightful little park, the Sagar Upavan. A regular battle rages within, trying to figure out whether a small detour into park is a good idea but the heat and humidity is climbing, with the Sun having risen well above the horizon, and the spirit and flesh both declare they aren’t up to it. The Cantonment area ends, rather abruptly, at Colaba Post Office and everything goes back to the grime and disorder that is our Urbs Prima.
The Women Graduates’ Union Hostel goes past on the right. How many times have I dropped friends back here after long bouts of elbow bending? Shudder to think what would have been the consequences ff the breathlyserators had been in action back in the 80s and trundle along. The unmissable and unchanged stink of Sassoon Dock is now my partner for the next 4 minutes and that helps, a tiring pair of legs suddenly find a second wind to accelerate past this indolic interlude.
All the wonderful bits of the run are now nearly exhausted though the kilometre turning off near Cusrow Baug, heading to Radio Club and left toward the Taj and the Gateway provide a fitting finale to the run. A gentle amble past the Royal Bombay Yacht Club (hey MNS, what do you have to say about Bombay Gym and the RBYC?) down Rampart Row to Regal and I am done. Khallas!
3 comments:
Nicely done, the run and the description. If we start suggesting routes will you run along and come back and write about them? :)
Great idea. Give it a spin and let's see what happens :)
p.s. Try suggesting routes within 20 minutes early morning driving distance of Sewri and I'd love to do them. Any further and chances are I'll procrastinate.
Spent a good number of my growing up years in colaba and Marine Drive was always the most appealing stretch for a run.
This changes everything. You have brought back a lot of memories and an urge to run back to where i belong :-)
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