Picasso, Omega, Prithvi and Cats: A Mumbai journey through books, unexpected encounters and theatre

To get a metro card in Mumbai, you have to fill a form and provide your Aadhar number. An OTP is then sent to your phone for verification. I never received the OTP. After about 5 minutes of exasperation, the customer support lady at Atrey Chowk metro station at Worli asked me to go stand near the escalators where the network signal would be stronger.

Five minutes later I was back at the customer support booth. Still no OTP. The customer support lady then gave me good advice: that I buy a standalone ticket for my destination. Which I did, for Hutatma Chowk for ₹40. As I got into the train, I was astonished to see it half-empty. This rarely happens on the Delhi metro. Certainly not on a weekday at 10 a.m.

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At Hutatma, I came up the escalators and proceeded towards the booksellers at Flora Fountain. It was humid, and my t-shirt stuck to my skin. But it felt wonderful looking at the stacks of books piled up. While the old books market in Delhi's Daryaganj is superior in terms of volume, quality control is better here.

In a pile of coffee table books, I spotted a mint condition copy of John Richardson's A Life of Picasso Vol. 1: 1881-19006, in hardcover. It's a first edition and fairly scarce. I have the full 4-volume set in paperback, but have long craved a first edition hardback set. After some sustained haggling, the canny bookseller sold me two Christie's watch auction catalogues to go with the Picasso. It's 12 o'clock and I make my way to Gokul in Colaba for a wet lunch.

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I noticed that the cab driver ferrying me to Juhu was wearing an Omega Constellation in two-tone. I complimented him on his choice of watch. My daughter next to me eyerolled. She has become very particular about matters of 'personal space' and 'boundaries,' and it seems I'm constantly embarrassing her.

The driver turned around and smiled. 'This is to remind me of my good times. I bought it in Alperton in London from a Gujarati wholesaler. I used to work in shipping then. I lived in England for five years, in London and Liverpool.'

'At one time I worked in Nariman Point,' he continued, 'had a corner office and company car, and a monthly salary of ₹3 lakh in hand. For business lunches, I went over to CCI for Chinese food. My daughter studied at Mount Mary. Then, my boss defaulted on bank loans and decamped to the Bahamas. The company went into receivership. Now for the last 4 years, I drive cabs and earn ₹40,000 a month. I've lost many things, but this Omega I will never let go. It reminds me that I, too, had once touched success.'

We reach Janki Kutir in Juhu. 'One day I'm sure this watch will take you back to your glory days,' I tell him as I get down. Daughter shakes her head and presses her middle-finger to her thumb three times. Clock it.

We had come to Prithvi to watch The Blind and the Elephant's Hindi production of Mahesh Elkunchwar's Yugant, the last in the Marathi playwright's 'Wada Chirebandi' trilogy. The story is of a family mansion in ruins in a village racked by drought and famine, and the couple who refuse to abandon it.

I enjoyed it very much. In the cab on the way back, I ask daughter about the play. 'I didn't understand some of it and it was disturbing. The acting was frighteningly real.'

The next day, we were at Nita Mukesh Ambani Cultural Centre (NMACC) at BKC to watch the inaugural show of Andrew Lloyd Webber's Cats. The Matt Krzan-directed production was energetic, death-defying almost in choreography, and inordinately loud. For me the costumes were the whole show. Daughter loved the spectacle.

At interval, I made a quick detour to the swanky bar at the theatre, while daughter went up to the snacks counter. Returning in the cab, she asked me about the experience. 'I didn't understand most of it, but it was not disturbing. Also, I found out that vada pav goes very well with Talisker 10.'