2 days ago, I sent my sister a reel. It went like this: “When I finish college, and I don’t get a photography internship with a sea-facing apartment and a female roommate.”; Though I find myself ridiculously cheesy for dictating an Instagram reel, at the moment, it was funny, relatable, but yet another fleeting reel.
Today, I sit in the aisle seat amongst a sea of indigo that is ever so recognisable, and the metal wings of the skyfarer glide down into a stormy, turbulent night sky, and sooner than later, the wheels glide down onto one of India’s latest glories – Navi Mumbai International Airport.
Amongst the wallpaper that dims the earth with its stark blackness, the only few illuminants are towering apartments with levels of gleaming light eventually overshadowed by a blinding board that owes to its builders.
Soon enough, I find myself walking through the jet bridge as I glance out towards the emptiness of the land, to which the only strangers are gigantic aluminium cylinders that flow through seamlessly, ever so confident in their path with blinking red and green lights that ask us to honour their presence.
The concourse is steady yet shining from the panels of transparent glass that carry a blue tint that gives it it’s premium atmosphere. Inside it’s not much different from some of the biggest airports I’ve seen, but there is something in it’s air which carries a profound sense of steadiness and confidence in its personality. It’s modern for sure, yet it still carries an aroma of the past, an ode to it’s history and a string of patriotism. The ceilings flow like butter run through with a knife, and the gorgeous beams of cement that support it look like colossal kshatriyas carrying the airport on their backs.
As I exit the airport onto the streaks of sloping cement that eventually part as they meander through the landscape of the state, the yellow lights that arch onto their dry montone surface echo over a distance further than my vision, and it dawns upon me that even at dusk, the city remains alive. The realisation never left me – this was the city that never slept.
Over the course of the next three days, a glimpse of the events that followed is enough to paint a picture of the impact that the city had left on me, and this was not the first time. From the snapshots of Marine Drive at 3AM, filled with mumbles and the occasional overassertive wooden sticks that swung around to find security in their purpose of security, to the streets of Kala Ghoda with exhibitions of textiles so exotic that they refused to remain unnoticed, the city was opportunistic in showing its glamour. Yet, it never forgot to internalise this glamour within me. A platter of suspiciously vibrant chicken kebabs served on a contrasting white plate in a minimalistic shop “miya kebabs” was enough to captivate the heart of my stomach.
Ironically enough, the city never had to wake me up, for I never slept amidst all these adventures, and so the nickname for Mumbai could never be more true to me.