When one thinks of vintage in India, one either thinks of Delhi or Kolkata. And then there are the Bombaiyas. There exists a clique of these familiar faces in Bombay that one is bound to spot in every cultural festival, Opera House performance, art history seminar, heritage walk, jazz night, theatre play or even in an Irani Café. Howbeit, a large chunk of the very large populace of Bombay still live in their shoebox of a house, oblivious to the fact that their shoeboxes stand on very vintage grounds and how!

I’d like to think myself a part of this clique; however, I deny whatsoever that it is elite. We’re just a bunch of enthusiastic people from varied cohorts and walks of life. And it is because of this full-to-the-brim kind of enthusiasm that we’re wary of bombarding one with the unrestrained non-monetary charms of Bombay. Perhaps this is why it so often remains untold.

It’s a dilemma of the moral kind to zero down on where to initiate the enculturation. Perhaps gushing about the aeons-old Heptanasia would be a start or the Catherine-Charles dowry deal of the 1660s but one also has the arrival of Garcia D'orta to mark. Perchance I may skip all of that and tell you why we named our fancy locality after pirates from the Malabar and then take you to the museum that was almost not. I could tell you of the Parsi man who unwittingly domino-ed the Dabbawala machinery simply because he wanted hot homemade supper in his office but then I won’t be able to resist telling you about the erstwhile McDonald’s Studio above the contemporary Mondegar that made you Tango not till you dropped but until the vinyl record between you and your partner did!

Let me not start something I can’t finish because just like the Bombay rains, I am in no mood for leaving you high and dry. What I am in the mood for, however, is to Eat, Pray and Love. So when in Bombay, here’s how to!

If you think about vintage eateries in the city and tout de suite conjure up the image of an old restaurant around the corner with checkered tablecloths and bentwood chairs, you are absolutely unerring. When Persia witnessed the first exodus in the 8th century, Bombay (eventually) got its Parsis, when there was a second a thousand years later, we got the Iranis and it is through their courtesy that we now have frequent Parsi and Irani Bakeries & Cafés. These are usually found “around the corner” because unlike the Hindus and the Muslims, the Parsis/Iranis of the Zoroastrian faith didn’t hold any superstitions against starting a business in a corner shop.

Kyani Bakery & Co on Marine Lines is one such archetype. The toffee-filled glass jars and baked goods on the shelves of the oldest Irani Café in town witness an influx of nearby school/college . students and polite biker gangs alike. The quintessential Bun-Maska Combo is just what to start with, only to be gulping down your Keema Pav with a Raspberry flavoured Pallonji's drink soon after. If you are in the mood to avoid celebrities, you can pack your Polaroid camera in your hand-embroidered hemp bag and move to the tucked away Japanese Bank turned Yazdani Bakery to feast on their special mawa cakes instead. However, if what you crave cannot be found indoors, you might as well step out of the cafés and into Chowpatty to guilt-trip yourself with street style chaat by the sea. Originally invented to provide affordable snacking options to those awaiting the stock exchange scores before the days of technology, the Bhel and Sev Puris have found their way into people’s hearts as well as their flight luggage.

Bombay may have its fair share of notoriety manifesting itself in the underworld or Bollywood clout but this does not prevent it from having an equal, if not bigger, share in spirituality. The oldest continually inhabited area in the city, Bang Ganga on Malabar Hill is a sacred tank which is said to have erupted out of dry ground upon being hit by the Baan (Arrow) of Shree Ram. It’s also said to be a tributary of Ganga (hence, Banganga). The stepwell is surrounded by ancient houses of the descendants of Gaud Brahmins and sages from the time of the legends. Women dressed in minimalistic sarees holding diyas and thalis invoking the gods with their archaic incantations are a daily sighting at the steps of the well. A stone’s throw away stands the Walkeshwar or ‘Wal (sand) ke Ishwar' Temple which along with the sacred water body was frequented by the pirates of the Malabar when they dropped in to settle scores with the British. Speaking of settling scores, many underworld bhais regardless of their religion had been famously visiting the other sanctums of the city, its dargahs.

Qutub-e-Konkan Makhdoom Ali Mahimi Dargah is the namesake of the area it is located in with the former inspiring the latter. It is the resting place of the Iraqi Qazi (head priest of the city) of the 14th century Bombay. One of the oldest in the city, it is also the only one to house the holy remains of its saint and allow the entrance of women all the way through. A literal overarch of emerald hue welcomes you to the sacred abode, the insides of which resemble exactly that of the dargah shown in Singham (because it was shot there). Mixing of the khaki with the holy is not just a fictitious phenomenon. In fact, since the time of the Bombay Militia, the predecessor of the Mumbai Police, their officials have been seeking the blessings of the saint to rid the city of crimes and repaying by being the first ones to present chaddar at the mazaar during the annual Urs for almost 500 years now. The Urs is accompanied by the Mahim Mela which makes it one of the most famous festivities of the city. The narrow streets that lead to the dargah are flooded with hawkers selling diet-wrecking rich desi delicacies with old worn-out radios reminiscing qawalis and ghazals of the bygone eras. If one leaves this space seeking some tranquillity, it is only wise to pay your respects in the oldest church of Bombay in the same locality. St. Michael's Church is a 486-year-old Portuguese Church on the island turned junction of Mahim. Few know of the heritage of the unsuspecting structure as it has been rebuilt a few times over.

Now since one has eaten and prayed all that is left is to love. However, dictating one what to love about Bombay would be a motley-minded delivery so I’m just going to bid adieu with the declaration of what I love. It is the joy of riding a bicycle on a Sunday winter morning in the quaint bylanes of the Victorian Fort stopping only to warm up with a cup of tea or to admire the pastel vintage wheels that the old gentry bring to the unofficial exhibitions on the streets. The ecstasy of seeing the city transform from Mumbai to Bombay one bylane at a time has only a few parallels.