Sundays In The City
Sundays mornings are when the city sleeps in with a fierce determination. It is only the health freaks, the elderly and the odd foreigner who venture out early mornings on our city’s seaside promenade. The vast majority prefer to celebrate the morning of their day off in the comfort of their beds or sofas clucking at the state of the economy or catching up with the travails of a teary daughter-in-law in an early morning TV serial. Sunday mornings are for leisurely reading Shobha De’s column in the paper and solving the crossword over a cup of tea.
Despite the reluctance to get out of bed, by twelve, some of the more popular malls are alive with weary young parents accompanied by hyperactive youngsters crowding the games arcades. Their fathers, who generally appear to be IT professionals discernible by their uniformly unshaven appearance, baggy Bermuda shorts, flip-flops and round necked T shirts unable to conceal their protruding bellies and sagging shoulders, try to make a show of spending time with the family, as they clumsily attempt to enjoy the video games and the pizzas with extra cheese that they can well avoid. The mothers however are content just to have the kids out of their hair while they spend hubby’s hard earned money in Mango and Zara. Occasionally the Dads escape into the security of their Blackberries animatedly discussing something with Pete or Prakash in Alabama. The kids however bring them back pretty soon.
The other group clearly discernible are those who have worked hard to get there by bus, train and taxi from Bhayander and beyond, and are easily spotted in their Sunday best as they shuffle slowly through the malls in groups of five or six. Apart from their own kids they usually have a relative’s or a neighbour’s children in tow as well. Their needs are simpler: they have come for the ambience and the airconditioned atmosphere, while their kids are content with free rides on various escalators and elevators. The parents examine each shop, carefully filing away the prices in their memories’ for later recall. Once the parents have recceed the mall completely and the kids have worked off their energy and worn the patience of attendants, the family congregates in the food court, preferably at the MacDonalds, if there is one, otherwise any modest eatery will do.
The roads are thus rendered free till well into the afternoon, while most people sleep off their afternoon chicken curry and rice washed down by a beer. The city shows the first signs of stirring on the roads around three-thirty or four in the afternoon, when Bombay begins to congregate at seaside locales across the city from Marine Drive to Girgaum Chowpatty to Dadar to Juhu Beach for its weekly dose of fresh air. Meanwhile, young shop assistants on their weekly outing can be seen exercising their mounts by racing up and down on flimsy, if rather smoky bikes.
The queue into the parking lot of High Street Phoenix also lengthens as cars stretch beyond Raghuvanshi Mills waiting for that ultimate Mumbaikar’s prize, a parking slot. Drivers slowly crawl towards the entrance, aggressively preventing any attempt by another car to jump the queue by edging in. By seven, the roads are crowded and people are already waiting their turn outside popular eateries like Cream Centre, Soam. By eight, the Nerul – Panvel – Mira Road crowd begins to wend its way back to VT and Churchgate to catch their trains home.
Meanwhile those privileged to have their cars, open the hatchbacks and turn on the music while enjoying their ice-creams and a drink on the sly in the evening sea breeze. The action continues till around ten at night, after which most sane people head home. The roads being relatively empty thereafter, the insane ones continue, racing each other on their bikes till mid night, after which the cops persuade them to desist.
Peace finally descends on the city, in preparation for another week of frenetic activity.
Sundays mornings are when the city sleeps in with a fierce determination. It is only the health freaks, the elderly and the odd foreigner who venture out early mornings on our city’s seaside promenade. The vast majority prefer to celebrate the morning of their day off in the comfort of their beds or sofas clucking at the state of the economy or catching up with the travails of a teary daughter-in-law in an early morning TV serial. Sunday mornings are for leisurely reading Shobha De’s column in the paper and solving the crossword over a cup of tea.
Despite the reluctance to get out of bed, by twelve, some of the more popular malls are alive with weary young parents accompanied by hyperactive youngsters crowding the games arcades. Their fathers, who generally appear to be IT professionals discernible by their uniformly unshaven appearance, baggy Bermuda shorts, flip-flops and round necked T shirts unable to conceal their protruding bellies and sagging shoulders, try to make a show of spending time with the family, as they clumsily attempt to enjoy the video games and the pizzas with extra cheese that they can well avoid. The mothers however are content just to have the kids out of their hair while they spend hubby’s hard earned money in Mango and Zara. Occasionally the Dads escape into the security of their Blackberries animatedly discussing something with Pete or Prakash in Alabama. The kids however bring them back pretty soon.
The other group clearly discernible are those who have worked hard to get there by bus, train and taxi from Bhayander and beyond, and are easily spotted in their Sunday best as they shuffle slowly through the malls in groups of five or six. Apart from their own kids they usually have a relative’s or a neighbour’s children in tow as well. Their needs are simpler: they have come for the ambience and the airconditioned atmosphere, while their kids are content with free rides on various escalators and elevators. The parents examine each shop, carefully filing away the prices in their memories’ for later recall. Once the parents have recceed the mall completely and the kids have worked off their energy and worn the patience of attendants, the family congregates in the food court, preferably at the MacDonalds, if there is one, otherwise any modest eatery will do.
The roads are thus rendered free till well into the afternoon, while most people sleep off their afternoon chicken curry and rice washed down by a beer. The city shows the first signs of stirring on the roads around three-thirty or four in the afternoon, when Bombay begins to congregate at seaside locales across the city from Marine Drive to Girgaum Chowpatty to Dadar to Juhu Beach for its weekly dose of fresh air. Meanwhile, young shop assistants on their weekly outing can be seen exercising their mounts by racing up and down on flimsy, if rather smoky bikes.
The queue into the parking lot of High Street Phoenix also lengthens as cars stretch beyond Raghuvanshi Mills waiting for that ultimate Mumbaikar’s prize, a parking slot. Drivers slowly crawl towards the entrance, aggressively preventing any attempt by another car to jump the queue by edging in. By seven, the roads are crowded and people are already waiting their turn outside popular eateries like Cream Centre, Soam. By eight, the Nerul – Panvel – Mira Road crowd begins to wend its way back to VT and Churchgate to catch their trains home.
Meanwhile those privileged to have their cars, open the hatchbacks and turn on the music while enjoying their ice-creams and a drink on the sly in the evening sea breeze. The action continues till around ten at night, after which most sane people head home. The roads being relatively empty thereafter, the insane ones continue, racing each other on their bikes till mid night, after which the cops persuade them to desist.
Peace finally descends on the city, in preparation for another week of frenetic activity.
