Mumbai Diaries

It was our second trip to Mumbai together, 37 years after our first. We went back to relive memories of our famous, month-long “All India Tour” from the College of Engineering, Trivandrum (CET). This tour was a tradition for every engineering student. Officially called a study trip, it was really about everything except engineering.

During those college days, we also took a shorter South India study tour and a few pleasure trips, including one to Kodaikanal.

Every trip we took, big or small, stayed with us as a treasured part of growing up. This reunion, years later, gently returned us to where those memories were first made.

To write about all those trips would take more than a post—it would take a series. Some memories are so rich and too many that no single story could hold them—not even in a lifetime of telling.

The All India Tour covered several cities across India—Goa, Bombay, Delhi, Jaipur, Haridwar, and Dehradun—and took place from December 17, 1988, to January 6, 1989. We stayed at various places like Mumbai’s Red Shield guest house and a youth hostel in Delhi, among others.

Our very first flight took place during the All India Tour, from Goa to Mumbai. I still carry the thrill and excitement of that day with me, even though it’s hard to find the right words to describe it.

That first flight was delayed, and the airline made up for it with a grand dinner at the Oberoi Hotel in Goa. It was our first-ever experience of a five-star buffet.

We happily mixed fancy desserts with spicy curries on our plates, fully confident that we couldn’t possibly go wrong. After all, we were engineering prodigies from God’s Own Country.

After successfully surviving the dinner, we all squeezed into an elevator, pressed a button that didn’t work, and laughed until we cried when the doors opened on the very same floor we had started from.

Once again, we proved that being super-brains of the nation does not automatically come with practical life skills.

Fast forward to January 2026: we flew from Trivandrum for a five-day trip to Mumbai on the morning of the 9th. We (6 ‘girls‘ and 2 ‘boys‘) were just as excited as we had been on our first journey. We got seats in the same and the next row.

For the entire two-and-a-half hours, even during the meal, we were the only ones talking and laughing nonstop. The other passengers probably wondered what the fuss was about. We knew—it wasn’t the destination, it was us.

When we landed in Mumbai, we were warmly welcomed by our old classmates who now live there. A few of them are still working and hold very senior positions, with apartments just a stone’s throw away from the Ambanis’ skyscraper residence. Their generosity was overwhelming—they offered their own apartments for us to stay in, which saved us the cost of booking an Airbnb altogether.

On our All India Tour, we stayed at the simple Red Shield guest house and looked across at the famous Taj Hotel. This time, things came full circle. We didn’t stay at the Taj, but we did have a wonderful birthday dinner there for two of our friends.

But this time we didn’t mix fancy desserts with spicy curries on our plates—not because we’ve mastered the fine art of five-star dining, but because we were cautious, frequently reminding each other of the great Oberoi experiment in Goa.

Now, the view was reversed: we looked back at Red Shield from the Taj, the dream finally realized. But if given the choice, we’d go back to being those twenty-year-old students in a heartbeat.

During the five days, we covered in and around Mumbai—Haji Ali, the Elephanta Caves, and, of course, the one and only Lonavala.

Elephanta’s ancient rock-cut Shiva temples left my friends awestruck—1,500-year-old wonders of Indian craft and engineering, named by Portuguese explorers for their massive stone elephants, now a UNESCO gem.

I couldn’t venture into the Elephanta Caves this time due to my physical limitations, but my friends made the journey.

They returned full of wonder and with vivid descriptions of the Elephanta Caves. I experienced them through their eyes and voices, which was its own kind of journey.

Standing before the Gateway of India after 37 years—this grand waterfront arch, built in 1924 to hail King George V’s coronation visit—I knew with certainty that this monument would be here for another 37 years and beyond. But I knew with equal certainty that these eyes would not.

We enjoyed a wide variety of food, from the nearby Mani’s Café to the Taj. The antakshari we played on the way to Lonavala is still echoing in my ears—and possibly in the poor driver’s, too.

The jokes are the same, but the laughter is even louder. We still mix up pachas (50) and pachis (25) when we bargain—some confusions stay with you for life. And whether we were bargaining at a street stall or wandering the aisles of IKEA, the thrill of shopping was still there—but it was the joy of being us together that made it truly special.

We also had our share of minor calamities. One lost her phone at the airport; another misplaced her gold chain (thankfully, it was later found in the apartment). One friend felt dizzy and took a fall, while I performed a dramatic vomiting scene—all thanks to some Pav Bhaji.

When my kids called to check in, I told them I’d call back soon—but “soon” stretched into much later, lost in our late-night laughter. We were in the middle of a girls-only fashion show—modeling our new dresses in the wee hours. Gossip and inside jokes flowed on an endless loop. We were too busy being twenty again to answer the phone.

That’s when I realized how much I must have troubled my kids while they were travelling with their friends. I consoled myself with the reminder that I was only being a mother—and that the part of my heart that holds a mother’s love is just a little bigger than all other kinds of love.

This trip was also a reality check. I now needed help with what I once felt effortless—crossing roads, navigating stairs, getting on and off buses. And each time, a friend’s hand was already there—steady, offered without my asking, and always with a smile.

Additionally, Air India provided no aerobridges on either flight—only stairs and shuttle buses. The universe was testing my structural engineering skills all over again.

Even just a year ago, I’d take stairs two at a time and walk quickly without thinking. The contrast with today’s pace quietly pinched my heart.

I tell myself it’s only a temporary phase, yet sometimes, just for a fleeting moment, it aches a little, and I let myself feel it.

On the fifth day, we packed our suitcases with new purchases and sweet boxes from our friend, who was also my front-bench mate throughout our four years of engineering. With our minds full of memories to last a lifetime, we left for the airport to catch our flight to Trivandrum.

When I looked down from the plane after taking off from Mumbai, I could almost see them—that same group of 20-year-old CET students, still standing in front of the Red Shield guest house, full of energy and enthusiasm, looking up at the Taj and waving goodbye to us. They’re still there, those students. And somehow, so are we.

P.S. After reaching home, I almost believed I’d just returned from 1989. Then my knee ached, and reality limped back in—literally. The 20-year-old me is now a cherished memory.

P.P.S. I didn’t get my dream photo with pigeons flying around me at the Gateway of India, like in the movies. I’m not sure when I’ll be back, so for now, I’ll edit them into my picture. After all, some dreams become even more beautiful with a little creative help from Canva.