Are you a hard-core Maharashtrian?” a young friend from South India asked. “Hardest -core,” I replied. Another teased, “You sound like a modern-day Mumba Devi—so protective of your crazy city.” I said I was flattered. Mumbai extracts this level of loyalty and love. It is precisely this “hard core” Mumbaikar behaviour that is proudly flaunted during Mumbai’s best-loved, 10-day annual festival—the rambunctious Ganesh Utsav. Mumbai goes fully myaaaad! My own conduct turns more demented than it usually is.
Last night, I was stuck for hours on Colaba Causeway behind a stationary truck bearing a gigantic Ganpati moorti (idol), majestically seated on a throne. Accompanying the deity was a noisy procession of young devotees making their way to the mandal near the historic Sassoon Docks. Ganeshji was staring unblinkingly and benignly at the charged–up dancers grooving in the rain to ‘Aavan Jaavan’, the current hit item song from War-2 (we won’t mention the movie’s flop status).
Illuminating the deity was a strange contraption mounted on a tempo with a wall of blinding studio lights and six old–fashioned loudspeakers. We were right outside Café Leopold, opposite the Colaba Police Station—the two iconic reminders of the horrific 26/11 Mumbai terror attacks in 2008. A few metres behind us was Café Mondegar, clearly overbooked, with a small crowd of idle fatela firang tourists smoking bidis and staring at restless natives dancing in front of an elephant-headed god. Colaba Causeway is always like this—frenzied… on the verge.
A few miles away, Mumbai’s extraordinary dhol-tasha—all–female percussionists were rhythmically escorting Bappas to their temporary homes in elaborately decorated community pandals. Some of the drummers, as young as eleven, impressed milling crowds as they pounded away on drums almost as large as their bodies. It’s an amazing spectacle featuring beautiful young ladies, traditionally dressed in nine-yard faux Paithani sarees, donning Peshwa naths (nose rings) and Peshwa pagdis (turbans). The professional dhol-tasha groups make no caste, community, or religious distinctions—many Muslim enthusiasts train all year round to participate in the processions, proudly wearing skull caps and sporting beards. So far, I have not spotted a Parsi dhol-tasha player.
My hardcore Maharashtrian heart soars each time Bappa visits us. I marvel at how wholeheartedly Mumbai welcomes Ganpati. And how tearfully Mumbaikars bid the deity goodbye at the visarjan, after ten days of festivities.
A month ago, Narali Poornima heralded the start of an auspicious period, when our Koli community propitiated the sea gods with an offering of coconuts, as fishing fleets slipped into the now calmed waters of the bay amid joyful singing and dancing. I invariably associate this day with Dimple Kapadia. Why? Remember Dimple playing an unlikely Koli girl while dancing tantalizingly to ‘Jhooth Bole Kauwa Kaate’ in Bobby (1973)? The movie was Raj Kapoor’s cinematic tribute to teenage romance à la Mohit Suri’s Saiyaara. It miraculously saved Kapoor from imminent bankruptcy after the disastrous box office performance of Mera Naam Joker (1970). If you have not watched Bobby, consider it a major lapse in your liberal education.
Swishy soirees set the mood
First came the stunning ‘Ravissant’ high tea during Mumbai’s deluge. Undaunted by the downpour, Mumbai society’s grande dames showed up to raise a glass or two—or 15—to Delhi’s Chawla family, the OGs of fine sterling silverware since 1991. The big reveal this time was the Ravissant carpet collection of the most exquisite hand-knotted Persian carpets, beautifully mounted and displayed on the walls of the Gateway Room at the Taj, like the best artworks, which they indeed are. At more than 50 lakh a pop, most were gone by the time I managed to make my way to the venue.
Then came some more gorgeousness from Delhi. Rahul Mishra’s couture conquest of Mumbai was carefully timed during the shubh period. His debut was a suitably restrained and classy entrée into the savage Mumbai fashion market. This says a lot about Mishra’s good sense and sensibility. He knows. And invitees to his tastefully curated opening night party at Maison Rahul Mishra, also knew. Please note: It’s a “Maison”. Not a pleb “Atelier”.
Success whispers. Mishra’s success cannot be questioned after his highly applauded show at the Paris Haute Couture Week Spring/Summer 2025. The collection, called ‘The Pale Blue Dot’, was aptly described by WWD (Women’s Wear Daily) writer Jennifer Weil in a review titled ‘From Dystopia to Utopia’. It put the show into context when she commented, “[Rahul] was struggling as a father and as a son thinking of issues impacting the world and especially cities.”
His Paris show opened dramatically with a black cape, symbolic of “dark cities”, which Rahul agonises over as he confronts climate change. In the interview, Rahul stated, “We struggle, definitely, to deliver a message through clothes…” I am not sure if the ethereal pale mint green gown I was sent to wear for the opening, was delivering a climate change message.
Thank god he didn’t insist I wear his black sculpted gown with angry sequinned ravens swarming around my head in 3D. All I know is I felt fabulous wearing my flattering, strapless outfit. I preened and pirouetted in front of my husband, who looked visibly impressed and boldly said, “Please don’t return it… I’ll get it for you.” I dared not reveal the price. And no, I did not keep it. Crying emoji.
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Mr Cool Cat
Our Minister for External Affairs, S Jaishankar (a serious cutie), speaking at the World Leaders Forum in Delhi, took a masterclass in sangfroid and sophistication when he handled a tricky question about US-Pakistan ties. “They have a history with each other. And they have a history of overlooking that history,” said our stiff upper lip ministerji. How wow and sexy is that dismissive comment! Dhanyavad, Shri Thandi Billi.
The disdain for Donald came through, but with diplomatic finesse. The minister was asked about the appointment of Sergio Gor as the next US ambassador to India. Our man merely said, “I have read about it.” Kya baat hai.
So… can haters and doubters kindly stop spilling the tea about a possible successor waiting in the wings to replace Mr Cool Cat? Who can be cooler? Not even Shashi Tharoor, showing off his trendy new eyewear, which makes him resemble a Bollywood senior actor auditioning for a role in YRF’s next Spy Universe sequel.
Shobhaa De is an author, columnist, social commentator, and opinion-shaper. She has written 20 books. She tweets @DeShobhaa. Views are personal.
(Edited by Prasanna Bachchhav)