A Shopping Crawl Through the Suburbs of Mumbai

Excerpted from my blog on Globespotters, The New York Times. For full post, click here.

This city’s northern suburbs have found their calling. Lacking great architecture and elaborate temples, Bandra and Khar now moonlight as a treasure chest for the fashion forward. Take the time to nose around these residential neighborhoods’ many boutiques and you’ll leave with one-of-a-kind togs. We’ve mapped out our favorite spots; use one of Bandra’s ubiquitous auto-rickshaws to help you navigate.

First, footwear. You’ll need something open-toed and easy to slip off if you’re visiting homes or temples. Skip the chaos on Bandra’s Link Road and hit Sai Vaibhav Footwear (14th Road; 91-22-2600-1961), a corner stand without signage (it’s cater-corner to a Domino’s outlet). Strike a hard bargain: Don’t pay more than 250 rupees (about $5) for a pair of Kolhapuri chappals, traditional leather sandals in brown, gold or silver.

Head up the hill to Dr. Ambedkar Road and take a left. About a block down, you’ll find Mela (Siffin Apartment, Dr. Ambedkar Road; 91-22-2649-7562), where many a bohemian has dug through the tie-die racks to find the perfect prairie skirt or a fuchsia head scarf. A sequined shrug is yours for under 1500 rupees.

Take Zig Zag Road up to Pali Hill, turn right, then tumble towards Union Park. Near the bottom of the hill (left side) is Butter (20/A Rembrandt, Nargis Dutt Road, Pali Hill; 91-22-2605-6554), which you’ll find by looking for the double B sign. Butter features local designers, balloon dresses, bright clutches and über-high heels. While they generally only carry one of any item, Nikita, the owner, can ask the designer to make it in a new size, color or variation.

Down the hill you’ll find Dhoop (101 Khar Sheetal Apartments, Dr. Ambedkar Road, Union Park; 91-22-2649-8646). Choose the perfect gift from their selection of mugs, jewelry, vases, candles and soaps — many of which are made by rural artisans.

On the tree lined stretch of Khar Danda, you’ll find the adjacent and equally low-key Aseesa and Kilol (Shop No. 1, Plot No. 40, corner of 18th Road and Khar Danda; 91-22-2649-0490), great for finding kurtas, loose, gauzy, pajama-like shirts.

Nearby D7 (Turning Point Building, intersection of 1st Cross Road and 16th Cross Road) is actually a set of seven interlocking high-end shops featuring posh Delhi designers. Amazing gowns and cocktail dresses; embellished salwar kameez, traditional pants and tunic; and psychedelic Manish Arora bags can be found here — for a price (clothing starts at about 2,000 rupees).

Your final destination is also our favorite: Attic (Bir Sagar, 396/20, Flat #1; 91-22-3216-9292; www.attic.in), where two sets of sisters have teamed up to create a darling corner shop. You’ll find well-cut pants, jumpers, garden party dresses, tunics, and a few bits and pieces for the cosmopolitan man. They also stock work by local artists, and have eclectic sets of bangles and necklaces. (Clothing starts at about 1,000 rupees.)

Fish Back on Mumbai Tables--NYT Clip

Excerpted from my piece in the print edition of The New York Times on October 4, 2009. For full article, click here.

AFTER a relatively mild monsoon season in Mumbai, fishermen are back on the seas, trolling for the best the murky waters have to offer.

Any true Mumbaiker knows not to eat seafood during monsoon season, from June to September. The choppy, churning waters stir up mud and grime, making it hard to find a fresh catch. And the government enforces a seasonal ban to keep the fish population sustainable.

Now that the rains have receded, the city is breaking its collective seafood fast. There are the no-brainer choices you’re likely to find in guidebooks, like the king crab at Trishna or the Goan fish curry at Mahesh Lunch Home. But if you are looking for something off the tourist-beaten path, better to head for a few lesser-known places that serve authentic coastal seafood.

Read more...

Bubba Gump Shrimp Factory

So, yeah, word to the wise. Don't drink the water. And don't eat the shrimp.

When I moved into my apartment three months ago, I was excited to be on the water with a view of the ocean from my bedroom and kitchen. I didn't mind that a few people had taken up residence in make-shift huts on the rocky beach.

Now, the slum dwellers have been booted in order for the shrimpmongers to dry their catch. In the image above, the pink blankets you see are the shrimp, which have been laid on the ground, where the crows snack on them, and the dust from passing vehicles is thrown. Did I mention they are ON THE GROUND?

When the sun hits them, it is quite picturesque, the pink shells glistening in the sun. But, any beauty in the process is lost upon inhalation. Sun dried shrimp creates an incredible stench--think Chinatown times ten. The ocean breeze--damn that ocean breeze--carries that perfume, up, up and in to the third floor of my little sea view apartment.

Where did you go?

When I pulled into the entrance to my building on Sunday night, I was greeted by the building’s security guard,a smooth skinned boy of only 15 or 16. He blandly opened the gate, and then peered in the car, and as he did his expression changed to exuberance and he gave me an flapping, energetic wave. I have been away for five weeks in the US. This was a much better welcome than I would receive a few minutes later from Uma (my dog), who peed upon my arrival.

Yesterday morning, as I walked past the oldies doing laughter yoga in a park across from my house, my neighbor, an old retiree with explosive Albert Einstein hair and a warm face looked over the fence and yelled, “Where did you go?” I waved back.

This morning, as I took Uma for her walk, I saw some of my other buddies. First, there was the chap who always hits on me—no shame at 6:30 in the morning, this guy. He must be about 60, with pockmarked skin and bright, dancing eyes. He generally sits with 4-5 other men his age stretching and kvetching on the waterfront. “You like Indian dogs?” he asked me once. Yes, I nodded. “So,” he said with a sparkle in his eye, “you like Indian men, too?” This morning, on the “boardwalk” I heard a hearty “Hello again!” and looked up to see him walking to meet up with his padres.

Later, when I went to my neighborhood coconut stand, the young proprietor, who lives in the slum near my house, a man with whom I have never exchanged a word except to order a coconut, gave me a shy, look of remembrance and welcoming. Meanwhile, the fresh juice woman, another person I’ve never actually spoken to, who sits next to the coconut seller, got out of her chair and came up to me and said, “You’re back! You were gone a long time. I thought you were sick. Bad health?”

Then there was the kid who biked past Uma and me as we walked back to the house. “John!” he yelled. “Hello, John!” This guy and his friends call my dog John—a story for another time—and there he was, noticing that “John” and I are back on the streets of Bandra.

I never realized that I was part of these people’s worlds—I only thought they were in mine. Their noticing, the simple acknowledgment of my absence, has made it kind of nice to be back.

The Weather

One day I will care about the weather. I will watch the radar like I’m command central and tell you when the rain will come. I will know when the trees need water. When the hay is ready for cutting. When the horses should be let out to run. I will know how many days of record highs we’ve had, and that this is the worst it’s ever been since 1925.

One day, after it rains, I will check my rain gauge and I will compare how much I have here and how little you have there, and I will speak with certainty about the ground drying out. I will admire your horse and you will praise my new mower. I will revel in watching the mercury fall. And, I will sit in the den of my log cabin as the light streams in, writing of my life before, when there were no seasons.

(Inspired by a recent trip home to Texas)