A Walk Down Marine Drive

It’s a sea like any other. There aren’t even big waves to boast of. But there is a charm – a rather inexplicable one – that draws me back to this place again and again.

I’ve always wondered what was so special about Marine Drive. Why is it that I make sure that anyone who visits Bombay has to go there? What makes it such a major tourist destination? What makes me – time and again – walk into Dadar station just to hop onto a train heading towards Churchgate, just to go and lie down next to the sea all by myself?

The view is beautiful, there’s no doubt about that. But at the end of the day, it’s a sea like any other. It doesn’t have Goa’s waves to boast of, or the breathtaking shades of blue like Maldives. It’s isn’t lined with pubs or amazing restaurants, and if you ever begin to search for a dustbin, you’re probably in for a long and unsuccessful trek. In fact, having been home recently, I’d say it looks almost identical to the Gulf Road in Kuwait.

Despite all this, I keep going back there. And the last time I went there to show Mom around, staring at all the people around me, I think I started to understand a part of that charm.

It was a Sunday evening, and as any Mumbaiker would know, Marine drive was packed. Packed with anybody and everybody – children, adults, old couples, young couples, gay couples, Parsis, Muslims, Hindus, Christians, Indians, non-Indians, rich folk, poor folk, people in saris, burqas, tank tops and shorts, either jogging or walking or sitting or sleeping  –  all human beings were welcome. Actually, for that matter, so were monkeys and dogs (pet as well as stray). And I realized that this is exactly what makes Marine Drive so special – anyone and everyone is welcome there. There is an unspoken, unwritten, open invitation available for all.

Then again, it’s Bombay. It’s filled with people. Nobody ever needs an invitation to get on the local train. So how can people make this place so special? I think it’s because over here the people are no longer special. Sitting in awe of the vast sea and feeling alive with every gust of the wind, individuals stop mattering. There are no expectations, no entrance fee, no dress code, no code of conduct, and no restrictions based on your background. Nobody is going to ask you who you are, nobody cares what you wear or where you live. You could live in a mansion or on the street – here, it doesn’t matter. Because here, everyone’s the same. Whether you’re the CEO of a major company or the street vendor selling channa, it just doesn’t matter. Unless you’re Salman Khan, I doubt anyone’s going to spare more than a few seconds to glance at your. it’s just you, the sea and the wind, and about a hundred odd people whom you probably have nothing in common with, except a love for this place.

And unlike every other place in Bombay where people seem to always be in a hurry to get places, here, time just slows down. You’re no longer trying to reach a destination, you’re already there, so you might as well enjoy every moment.