Mumbai's night moves

There are people who are unafraid of Class V rapids, yet won’t even consider a trip to India. The poverty and dirt – or at least the perception of these things – hold back otherwise hardy souls. But in actuality, Mumbai (formerly known as Bombay) is bursting with colour, diversity and adventure. Most surprising, though, is the thriving nightlife.

“Today, in your boring New York City it is illegal to even smoke, while Bombay is on fire – the best nightlife in Asia,” an Indian gadabout who lives in the city explained. 

This seaside megalopolis is famous as the home of Bollywood, India’s zany movie industry, which produces more films every year than Hollywood and sells more tickets. The same off-the-wall energy that fuels the films – there seems to be a mandate that chick flicks and shoot-’em-ups alike have at least three completely random song-and-dance numbers – is mirrored in the city’s soul.

We start out at Masala Kraft, a funky nouvelle Indian restaurant at the Taj Mahal Hotel – the focus of the 2008 terror attacks – downtown. Afterwards we walk several blocks to Indigo, a Thai restaurant and bar with a cliquey clientele who order expensive drinks as they gaze at the modern art on the walls. At 12.30 we catch an ancient Ambassador taxi – a relic from the colonial days – to the nightclub Athena, where we quickly get caught in a crush of bodies. House music bounces off the walls and strobe lights beam onto exposed flesh.

According to movie producer Vikram Chopra, “Indian culture has loosened up. It’s true that Bollywood’s movies are sexy, with lots of skin and wet saris. But deep down the culture is still the same: We report to our parents. Even the biggest stars live at home if they’re not married. You won’t ever see people kissing in a club.” Based on the scene tonight, Chopra is right. The attitude on the dance floor is somewhere between ultra-chaste and super-sultry. Moves are suggestive, but bodies never intertwine.

The next morning, we catch a cab to the commercial area of town, called Crawford Market. Real life in Mumbai is lived on the streets, and this is the best way to get out on them. There is movement everywhere. An ox cart piled high with rice nearly runs over a pedestrian while a belching Fiat taxi passes the other way, brushing aside laggards with a dented fender. An old man sits in the middle of the street for no apparent reason, a crash helmet on his head, while a group of women in splendid saris split around him like water around a rock. The variety of people is dazzling: Sikhs, Hindus, Muslims, Christians and Jains, identifiable by the iconography around their necks, on their foreheads, or twined about their heads.

Late in the afternoon, we turn onto a side street, entering one of Bombay’s many shantytowns. We pass through a curtain of flies and into a maze of dirt roads and eventually exit through a passageway that opens onto the Arabian Sea. There is a seawall three or so metres high, with children perched on its edge and jumping into the water. One boy turns his head and smiles, his back shining in the sun, before he propels himself off. Moored in the bay, 10 metres away, are some small fishing boats, each flying a brightly coloured flag blowing in the wind like a plume of rainbow smoke.

Not half a kilometre away, the Taj rises majestically into the Mumbai sky. Tonight the streets here will be crowded, industrious, frenetic, and spots like Athena will be equally packed with people writhing to booming music. These are the contrasting worlds that make up this crazed, amazing city, and you can’t truthfully say you’ve been to Mumbai if you haven’t seen both.