We left the hotel at around six o’clock. All of us believed that unless one explored a city on foot, one couldn’t get to know it at all. We had roamed similarly in Jodhpur, Varanasi, Delhi and Gangtok. Why shouldn’t we do so in Bombay? A little way away, to the right, was Kemp’s Corner. We found an impressive flyover there. It was like a bridge, supported by massive pillars. Traffic ran both on it, and under it. We crossed the road under the bridge and went down Gibbs Road. Feluda pointed at a road on our right and said it went to the Hanging Gardens. The hill where these gardens were built was called Malabar Hill. We had to walk another mile before we could reach the sea. We crossed the road, managing to avoid the rush hour traffic, and found ourselves standing by a stone wall. The top of the wall came up to my waist. Behind that wall roared the sea, its waves crashing against it. The road on our left ran to the east, then curved and went towards the south, ending where rows of skyscrapers stood hazily in the setting sun. The arc that we could see was called Marine Drive. ‘Never mind if there are smugglers here,’ Lalmohan babu proclaimed, ‘Look at that sea, and the hills . . . I must say Bombay is a champion city!’ We began walking by the stone wall towards Marine Drive. Cars were moving down the road to our left, looking like rows of ants. After a few minutes, Lalmohan babu made another remark. ‘I suppose the Metropolitan Development Authority isn’t quite so active here, is it? They don’t keep digging up streets all the time?’ he asked. ‘Why? Are you saying that because there are no potholes?’ ‘Yes. I noticed it as soon as we left the airport. There I was, travelling in a car, but there were no jerks, no bumps. Amazing!’ I had spotted a crowded area by the sea. It looked a bit like the area around Shaheed Minar in Calcutta, on a Sunday. As we got closer, Feluda told me it was called Chowpatty. Apparently, it was always crowded. There were rows of stalls. Perhaps they were selling snacks like bhelpuri, chaat and ice-cream. My guess turned out to be quite correct. It looked as if a huge mela was being held. Half the city of Bombay appeared to have turned up. Lalmohan babu offered to buy us bhelpuri. We agreed readily enough, as he was about to come into a lot of money, and could therefore well afford to pay. When packets of bhelpuri were handed to us, we left the crowded spot and moved away to sit on the beach. It was a quarter to seven according to my watch, but the sky was still glowing pink. Like us, several others were relaxing on the beach. Lalmohan babu finished eating, waved his hand in the air, began chanting a Sanskrit