MUMBAI SUBURBAN

Mumbai's urban sprawl grew northward at an exponential rate throughout the second half of the 20th century. This growing population spread across the Bandra and Mahim creeks and eventually took up nearly all of the land in and surrounding Salsette Island, the group of islands to the immediate north of the original seven, which includes the modern-day Bandra, Andheri, Kurla, and the area between Chembur and Thane.

The northern suburbs are not particularly popular among visitors to the city. Apart from the Kanheri Caves in the Sanjay Gandhi National Park and maybe the nightlife on Carter Road or Pali Hill, there isn't much to see here. Only Goregaon's packed roads, Andheri's complex train station, and the general loudness of an overgrown urban centre remain.

Years before the Portuguese arrived in 1534, Salsette Island experienced a golden era of political, religious, and commercial success. This was an age when monarchs fought for power and authority over the island, carved cautions and praises on 'hero-stones', and entertained Buddhist monks in magnificent caves.

From the 8th to 13th century, the Shilahara Dynasty established themselves in north and south Konkan, including Mumbai, with Thane serving as their capital. Originally vassals of the Rashtrakuta dynasty, the Shilaharas rose to prominence through royal land transfers, establishing one of the most powerful kingdoms in pre-modern Konkan. Their contributions to Mumbai and its environs are particularly notable, including the Walkeshwar and Ambernath mandirs, hero stones in Borivali honouring the royal fleet, and the cursed 'gadhegal' or donkey-stones. The gadhegal stones, found throughout Mumbai's suburbs and beyond, were statements of land transfers accompanied by the iconography of a donkey with a woman.

The Kanheri Cave complex is another surviving emblem of old Mumbai, attracting people from all over the world. The complex, located among the lush greenery of Sanjay Gandhi National Park, includes over a hundred caverns of various sizes. Kanheri is derived from the Sanskrit 'Krishnagiri' or 'Kanhagiri', which means 'black mountain', possibly referring to the Konkan's abundance of black basalt. During the monsoon season, the caves served as prayer rooms and dwellings for Buddhist monks for almost a millennium, from the first to the eleventh centuries. The complex developed chiefly due to its proximity to the historic port town that includes today's Nalasopara (formerly named Sopara), Kalyan, Thane, and Vasai. These active trade centres established commercial relations with countries as far as Mesopotamia and Egypt, the revenue of which was then used lavishly to support the monks in residence. It is not uncommon to find all major monastic establishments of ancient India situated along major trade routes and near trading towns.

Ancient artefacts can be found across the present metropolis of Mumbai, including forest reserves, government parks, and reclaimed sites, but the treasures are not confined to these locations. A location that appears on every tourist's itinerary in Mumbai is located just 10 kilometres into the Mumbai Harbour from the Gateway of India. The Elephanta Caves.

Originally known as Gharapuri and recognised as the capital of the Mauryas in the Konkan, the island is divided into two hillocks separated by a thin valley and is littered with various archaeological relics dating back to the 2nd century BCE. The 5th-century Hindu and Buddhist caves, which have withstood centuries of occupation, invasion, and neglect, are the island's main attraction. The main cave in the complex is dedicated to Sadashiva (a fully manifested form of Shiva with extremely complex iconography that is a story for another time), and as guests enter, they are greeted with a twenty-foot-tall statue of Trimurti. The cave is designed to imitate a structural temple, including a mandapa, garbhagriha, two lateral rooms, and three doors.

When the Portuguese landed on this island in the 15th century, one of the first things they saw was a basalt elephant standing right on the edge, as if defending the country and its ancient mysteries. Because of this statue and the imperialists' usual lack of imagination, the islands are now referred to as Elephanta. Aside from renaming the island, the Portuguese are reported to have caused extensive damage to caverns, with ancient statues allegedly being used for target practice by soldiers.

Mumbai is well-known for being the result of a marriage between two worldwide commercial corporations and a dowry payment. However, this city is older than most people realise. It has been hiding a secret past in plain sight for generations, predating the arrival of Europeans and migrant labour. From Jogeshwari's bylanes to Chowpatty's beaches, scattered stories of meditative monks, courageous monarchs, and immortal navy men await discovery.

In Mahim, a small flat on the third floor of a rundown building, a family gathered around the dinner table, their laughing and chattering filled the room.

Em, the mother, was the heart of the family, a lively and active woman with a quick wit and a sharp tongue. She was the glue that held the family together, but her rough appearance concealed a deep and wounded soul. Em had bipolar disorder, which has been a part of her life since anyone could remember.

Em's husband, Augustine, nicknamed the Big Hoom, was a lovely soul with a good heart. He had met Em in his teenage years and, knowing about her mental illness, had still fallen madly in love with her. Together, they had created a life full of love, laughter, and a strong feeling of family.

Their son, the storyteller, is the product of their affection for one another. He was a bright, curious boy with a mop of curly hair and a sharp mind. He had grown up seeing his mother's emotional swings, from exhilarating highs to terrible lows. He had learned to manage her emotions, to be sympathetic and understanding, but he still fought to make sense of it all.

As the family gathered around the dinner table, Em's mood began to change. Her eyes flashed with enthusiasm, and her voice became frantic. The Big Hoom and their son exchanged worrisome looks, realising Em's mood swings were an indication that her bipolar disease was gaining hold.

The narrator watched as his mother's behaviour got more unpredictable, her words coming out in quick succession. The Big Hoom attempted to calm her down, but Em was being unreasonable. She was immersed in her world, a realm of delusions and fancies.

The family's difficulties were not just due to Em's mental illness. They confronted the difficulties of living in a busy and chaotic metropolis where the distinction between truth and fiction was sometimes blurred. They negotiated the complications of their own identities as Goan Catholics in a mostly Hindu community.

Throughout it all, the family remained committed to their love for each other. They found comfort in their connections, in the laughter and tears, in the times of joy and sadness. They understood that their love was the only constant in their lives, and it could never be taken away.

As the night progressed, Em's mood stabilised. She gazed around the table at her family, her eyes filled with sorrow. She was aware that she was not like other mothers; her mental condition put her apart. But she was also aware that her family loved her.

The Big Hoom stretched out and grabbed her hand, his eyes filled with genuine empathy. "We love you, Em," he stated quietly and gently. "We love you, no matter what."

Em smiled, her eyes filled with tears. She realised she was fortunate to have a family like this, one that loved her unconditionally. And as they sat around the dinner table, surrounded by the bustle and splendour of Mumbai, Em realised she was precisely where she belonged.

Even as a child, I was always uneasy around Aarey Colony's dense, gloomy forest. The stories of terrible spirits prowling in the darkness were well-known, spoken among the residents with a mix of terror and curiosity. But on that fateful summer day, I was about to confront the unearthly horrors that inhabited this beautiful expanse.

I'd heard rumours about a mysterious abandoned hostel called the "New Zealand Hostel" hidden away somewhere in central Aarey, and my inquisitive 12-year-old mind was anxious to discover its secrets. As I travelled down the winding, tree-lined lanes, the air became dense and oppressive, as if the forest itself was monitoring my every move.

Mustering up some courage, I made my way deeper into the colony,  goosebumps down my spine. And then, in the distance, I saw a Tata Sumo, parked carelessly on the side of the road, its windows dark and menacing.

As I neared the car, I could feel uneasiness take over me. There was no sign of life inside, and no silhouette of a driver or passenger. And then, to my shock, the car began to shake, gently at first, then rapidly, as if some unseen force was swaying it back and forth.

I stood paralysed, my heart rate pulsating, my thoughts racing with unsettling scenarios. Was this the work of the evil spirits who plagued Aarey? Had I come onto some paranormal activity that I couldn't quite understand?

Without delay, I turned and sprinted away from the scene. The shadows of the trees appeared to reach out to grab me, and the air became colder with each step. I continued to run until I reached the main road, where the soothing noises of traffic and the warmth of the sun began to ease the icy grip of terror.

Now, every time I walk through the lush expanse of Aarey Colony, a cold sensation passes through my spine, and I can't help but wonder what additional secrets this unsettling area hides. What unknown horrors may be hiding in the shadows, waiting to show themselves to the unwary?