I have been running outdoors in Mumbai for over seven years now. Over the past couple of years, however, things have been changing. Earlier this week, there were reports of a 33-year-old runner on Marine Drive being hit with a belt by bikers at 7 am on a Sunday. As a runner, I wonder about the motivations of these bikers. Are runners now moving targets who can be played around with to derive sadistic pleasure?
My running routes are also not as safe as they used to be. The extreme edges of Juhu Beach are best avoided after dark, as runners have reportedly been mugged there. Along Carter Road in Bandra, groups of young people, high on life and other substances, heckle and scream at runners passing by in the evening. Also, some of the drivers are a risk to humankind, not just runners. Mumbai is not as safe a city to run in, as Bombay would have probably been.
Running for me is, of course, exercise. But more than that, it is my time to reflect, ruminate and prepare for a new day. It is also a great way for me to stay connected with the city I love.
Where do you run in Mumbai, people ask. Where is the space?
It takes steely determination and unflappable enthusiasm to find the space and go the distance. I run on the streets. The edges of the Mumbai roads are a better surface to run on than the pavements finished with the jagged paver blocks. Also, I always run facing the traffic.
It’s incredible that Mumbai still has Juhu Beach, a five-kilometre open stretch by the water that provides one of the best surfaces for runners. Of course, one learns to not see people as they empty their bowels.
I occasionally run past the actors Neena Gupta and Soni Razdan walking in companionable silence. Photo shoots for Bollywood aspirants in various states of “boldness” (and desperation) are common. There are groups of exercisers who practise gymnastics with mixed martial arts, who are a pure visual delight. On Sundays, there is a big procession by ISKCON devotees raucously singing and looking for recruits. Running on Juhu Beach also keeps me connected with the city’s tide and festival calendars (avoid the day after the Eids, Ganesh Chaturthi and two days before chhath puja).
The general upkeep, cleanliness and security at Juhu Beach improved drastically after former minister Narayan Rane moved into the neighbourhood. His wife and he are often seen taking their morning constitutionals on the beach surrounded by a 17-member security detail.
During the monsoons, I run along the Santacruz skywalk that connects the east and west of the suburb. This is probably one of the best uses of the skywalks, which otherwise don’t seem to serve any civic purpose.
Beautiful South
Early mornings are the best time to run in south Mumbai. At 5 am, as the city prepares for a new day, she is at her vulnerable and beauteous best.
An important life skill I have picked up while running from the suburbs to south Mumbai is to dodge stray dogs by running on the opposite side of the street. I run across shards of broken beer bottles on the ill-advised paver blocks along SV Road in Old Khar. On Mahim Causeway I often encounter sleepy fisherwomen, waiting for the community truck to take them to the Sassoon Dock in Colaba at the southern end of the city.
Outside the dargah of Makhdoom Ali Mahimi in Mahim, I run past mendicants queued up outside the bhatyarkhanas, the eateries where food is provided to the needy. On Tuesdays, I see devotees, mostly bare-footed, making their weekly trek to the Siddhivinayak Temple at Prabhadevi.
At Worli Seaface are the groups of runners and walkers going about their routine with a sense of purpose and camaraderie. I recognise some of them by sight and we run past each other, slightly waving to the other or just nodding, without breaking our stride. As I run past the statue of RK Laxman’s Common Man staring bewildered into the Arabian Sea, I cannot help but wonder what his thoughts are on being reduced to a “selfie” prop.
I turn onto Chowpatty and encounter the magnificence of Marine Drive masked by a dull smog and a flock of pigeons. And then onto the final stretch, past Parsi Gate and college students in the throes of new love, canoodling at this early hour.
During the training period for the annual Mumbai marathon, I often run into Anil Ambani and his entourage (he has two guards running at a polite distance behind him). There is a water kiosk opposite the Oberoi Hotel that provides free drinking water in small runner-friendly cups (probably the only amenity this city provides to runners). Before I know it, I am at the end of my 22 kilometres and it’s time to head back home.
Bombay to Mumbai
Over the years, I have watched the city mutate.
I have seen the giant Lego blocks masquerading as Mukesh Ambani’s Antilla coming up and permanently mangling the skyline. I have seen flyovers come up (or not, depending on the stature of dissenting local residents), providing car parking facilities and a haven for the homeless below. I have seen school kids waiting for their buses, travelling to increasingly distant brand-name international schools.
Running in Mumbai is a way of keeping track of the many changes, small and big, that affect the city. It is a way of observing new ways of living that either gently or firmly impinge on older and rooted ways. It is a way of visiting the shrines of the past and observing the landmarks of the future as they come up, often in the same place. It is a way of loving the city for what it used to be, and grudgingly accepting what it will become.
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My running routes are also not as safe as they used to be. The extreme edges of Juhu Beach are best avoided after dark, as runners have reportedly been mugged there. Along Carter Road in Bandra, groups of young people, high on life and other substances, heckle and scream at runners passing by in the evening. Also, some of the drivers are a risk to humankind, not just runners. Mumbai is not as safe a city to run in, as Bombay would have probably been.
Running for me is, of course, exercise. But more than that, it is my time to reflect, ruminate and prepare for a new day. It is also a great way for me to stay connected with the city I love.
Where do you run in Mumbai, people ask. Where is the space?
It takes steely determination and unflappable enthusiasm to find the space and go the distance. I run on the streets. The edges of the Mumbai roads are a better surface to run on than the pavements finished with the jagged paver blocks. Also, I always run facing the traffic.
It’s incredible that Mumbai still has Juhu Beach, a five-kilometre open stretch by the water that provides one of the best surfaces for runners. Of course, one learns to not see people as they empty their bowels.
I occasionally run past the actors Neena Gupta and Soni Razdan walking in companionable silence. Photo shoots for Bollywood aspirants in various states of “boldness” (and desperation) are common. There are groups of exercisers who practise gymnastics with mixed martial arts, who are a pure visual delight. On Sundays, there is a big procession by ISKCON devotees raucously singing and looking for recruits. Running on Juhu Beach also keeps me connected with the city’s tide and festival calendars (avoid the day after the Eids, Ganesh Chaturthi and two days before chhath puja).
The general upkeep, cleanliness and security at Juhu Beach improved drastically after former minister Narayan Rane moved into the neighbourhood. His wife and he are often seen taking their morning constitutionals on the beach surrounded by a 17-member security detail.
During the monsoons, I run along the Santacruz skywalk that connects the east and west of the suburb. This is probably one of the best uses of the skywalks, which otherwise don’t seem to serve any civic purpose.
Beautiful South
Early mornings are the best time to run in south Mumbai. At 5 am, as the city prepares for a new day, she is at her vulnerable and beauteous best.
An important life skill I have picked up while running from the suburbs to south Mumbai is to dodge stray dogs by running on the opposite side of the street. I run across shards of broken beer bottles on the ill-advised paver blocks along SV Road in Old Khar. On Mahim Causeway I often encounter sleepy fisherwomen, waiting for the community truck to take them to the Sassoon Dock in Colaba at the southern end of the city.
Outside the dargah of Makhdoom Ali Mahimi in Mahim, I run past mendicants queued up outside the bhatyarkhanas, the eateries where food is provided to the needy. On Tuesdays, I see devotees, mostly bare-footed, making their weekly trek to the Siddhivinayak Temple at Prabhadevi.
At Worli Seaface are the groups of runners and walkers going about their routine with a sense of purpose and camaraderie. I recognise some of them by sight and we run past each other, slightly waving to the other or just nodding, without breaking our stride. As I run past the statue of RK Laxman’s Common Man staring bewildered into the Arabian Sea, I cannot help but wonder what his thoughts are on being reduced to a “selfie” prop.
I turn onto Chowpatty and encounter the magnificence of Marine Drive masked by a dull smog and a flock of pigeons. And then onto the final stretch, past Parsi Gate and college students in the throes of new love, canoodling at this early hour.
During the training period for the annual Mumbai marathon, I often run into Anil Ambani and his entourage (he has two guards running at a polite distance behind him). There is a water kiosk opposite the Oberoi Hotel that provides free drinking water in small runner-friendly cups (probably the only amenity this city provides to runners). Before I know it, I am at the end of my 22 kilometres and it’s time to head back home.
Bombay to Mumbai
Over the years, I have watched the city mutate.
I have seen the giant Lego blocks masquerading as Mukesh Ambani’s Antilla coming up and permanently mangling the skyline. I have seen flyovers come up (or not, depending on the stature of dissenting local residents), providing car parking facilities and a haven for the homeless below. I have seen school kids waiting for their buses, travelling to increasingly distant brand-name international schools.
Running in Mumbai is a way of keeping track of the many changes, small and big, that affect the city. It is a way of observing new ways of living that either gently or firmly impinge on older and rooted ways. It is a way of visiting the shrines of the past and observing the landmarks of the future as they come up, often in the same place. It is a way of loving the city for what it used to be, and grudgingly accepting what it will become.