I attempted (rather unsuccessfully) to sit cross legged on the grass. My tin tray was scorching hot in the sun. People walked up and down in front of us. Men women and children carrying buckets of food. They reached into their buckets with ladles, scooping up dollops of dal and splattering it onto our trays. There were different types of dal, different colours. I had no idea of the difference between each. There were buckets of rice too; buckets of curried potatoes and baskets of bread. Within seconds my tray was full of delicious food, but that didn’t stop it from being continuously topped up.
I was with Ashish. I had followed him on his spiritual retreat, though I was yet to know if it was a decision I’d regret. We were somewhere in North Mumbai, surrounded by acres of parched field. Our journey here had been long and arduous and it strongly felt like we’d left the city altogether. I could not believe that the extraordinary and delicious food I was being served was free of charge. I couldn’t help but feel like a massive imposter. Ashish assured me that most people would not care. Anybody was welcome.
The Master was due to give his great talk early the next morning. We would sleep here through the night. But in the meantime, now that we had submitted our luggage, we wanted to head out and explore more of Mumbai.
We got the train back through the city where we went in search of Juhu Beach. On the way, Ashish pointed out the homes of some Bollywood celebrities and we stopped outside the mansion of Amitabh Bachchan – considered one of the most successful actors of Indian cinema.
We lay on the beach, drinking water from coconuts. Night had descended, though the temperature certainly hadn’t. The tide was in and the water was warm, the darkness hiding the heaps of garbage which floated in it. I got the feeling that Juhu beach may not be as beautiful in the day as it was in the night.
Ashish was chatting to his cousin on a video call and got me to speak to him. His cousin asked me some questions in Marathi, testing whether I really knew any of the language or not. Turns out I do. I got some dinner from one of the restaurants along the beach, where they cooked curries in enormous pans. Ashish insisted on choosing the restaurant for me, assuring me he could rule out the bad ones. I ended up with some delicious red curried sauce with toasted bread baps dripping butter. This mouth-watering dish is known as Pav Bhaji. I wonder if it’s possible to get a bad meal in India.
After washing our feet, we made the long journey back to the fields of North Mumbai. We were both ready for sleep, but whether we would get any was another matter.
