"These are the new trains," the middle aged passenger opposite to me said. "They say its like an airbus...we will never have the fortune of boarding an airplane, but this is good enough."
I got down in Dadar. Walked past the flower market and took a cab to go see the mills in lower Parel. I stepped into a lane off the main street and time moved back 80 years. Old buildings, black and grey, paint in disrepair, a colorful patchwork of clothing hanging from the iron grilles. Some were dated 1922. It was hard to imagine that someone still lived there.
A bunch of kids playing cricket on the street surrounded me on seeing my camera. I have to take a picture of them batting. Finally, the whole team posed. Somebody hurriedly scribbled and address for me in Hindi when I said I could post the pictures. A kid pointed to a run down room on the ground floor. "That's my house.Send it there."
Later I found my way out from another street, lined with slums on both sides. Radios were playing, phones ringing. This was a city within a city.
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