Ferry - go - round: Why no Mumbaikar should miss out on this experience at sea

Roar, shsh. Roar, shshh. Roar, shssshhh…the song of the sea as it swells, surges and then lashes at the shore is like a lullaby—calming, soothing and so very caring, especially when the breeze comes caressing.
 
Gushing, rushing, swooshing, swishing, sloshing, splashing, crashing...streams, waves, waterfalls, showers…I love them all for how they silence my mind. So much so, I video-record them on trips. And yet, my relation with water is strange; seldom am I tempted to swim or sail. In that, I’m very much like the rest of the city—we engage with the Arabian beauty passively at the sea faces, but rarely set out to sea from our multiple waterfronts. Given the inexpensive tickets and how quick, frequent and hence, convenient ferries are, why don't we go on ferry rides like we do on long drives?

Fishing boat leaves Bhaucha Dhakka with a group of fisherwomen set to return to their village

But it’s never too late, so on a rainy morning, I make my first-ever trip to Bhaucha Dhakka (Ferry Wharf) in Mazgaon to go to Mora (Uran’s port). It’s one of the few ferries functional in the rains (from June to August, most aren’t allowed to ply due to risk of casualties). Surprisingly there’s no rush at 8 am. But a group of Koli fisherwomen hop onto their boat to return to their village. One of the two fisherwomen, taking the same ferry as me, explains, “We usually arrive by ferry, but return on our fishing boats.” They’ve sold “teen petis” today. I interrupt their conversation, curious about how they are returning so early. With an early bird’s chirpiness she tells me, “By 3am our men catch fish, we arrange them with ice in boxes and leave for Mumbai in an hour. By 5 am, we offload them at Bhaucha Dhakka, sell our fish in Mazgaon market and return around this time. We are done for the day. You see, we aren’t the tokri wali bais, we are wholesalers.”

This fisher woman catching up with a comrade is a wholesaler, whose work day gets over even before most of us in the city wake up

As they launch into the day’s deals and happenings in Marathi, I get into tourist mode—clicking the harbour, the skyline, the myriad small and big vessels we pass by, and quiz the crew about the green isle with a fort-like structure, near the pier. Cross Islands on Google maps, they call it Chinal Tekdi and say its uninhabited. The smell of fish and incessant rain don’t manage to bother me, instead, I’m fascinated by how the colours of merchant ships close to us standout in the background of grey that has brushed the sky, the sea and even the skyline of vessels in a distance. Oblivious to it all, the only other passenger, a middle-aged man, seated crossed-legged, is engrossed in a newspaper. By now my mind, which was earlier organising and reorganising the day’s to-do-list, has lost its restlessness to the laps that are making us sway.

Left: Lovely view of the sea and skyline from our ferry. Right: Middle-aged man engrossed in the newspaper seems very much at home on the ferry

After 45 minutes, as we near the peninsula port, lush islands come into view—Jawahar Dweep, Gharapuri (home to Elephanta Caves) and Jawaharlal Nehru Port Trust (JNPT) to the left, and the Alibaug stretch to the right. At the jetty, people in queue are armed with umbrellas and armoured in raincoats.

As ferries return to Mumbai at one-hour intervals and I have only a couple to spare though it’s my maiden trip to Uran, I try to discover all that I quickly can. Mora is quaint with mostly single-storey houses and colourful bungalows, but Uran’s centre is urban like any small city’s. At the market, I realise that a lot of the wares—garments, utensils, mobile phones, fruit...come from Mumbai. While fishermen sell small jinga and bombil to Mumbai, they buy the big catch from Sassoon Dock and Colaba to sell iin the local market here. Uran seems like a paradise for meat lovers with the variety of fish, poultry and animal parts on display. Realising where I’m from, a snack-shop owner shares, “I used to attend college in Mumbai”. Turns out, many locals do, as Uran has no higher education institute. But plans are underway to develop Uran and connect it to Mumbai by road and rail. That fact though doesn’t impress the old men, who with other locals direct me to tourist-worthy spots. They complain, “We had great wildlife, but no more; even Pirwadi beach isn't the same. There’s nothing left to see here.”

Fisherfolk on Mora jetty pulling a handcart of big catch they've got from Mumbai to sell to Uran's local market

With no time to explore promising places faraway, I visit Pirwadi—at present swallowed up by the high tide—a few temples and a church. I discover, Uran too was colonised by the Portuguese and incidentally, its verdant lanes resemble South Goa's. Given its proximity, it would be fun to ferry bikes here and ride around.

That's a lot of bikes lined up at Mora jetty!

Now, it's time to head back and my rickshaw to Mora takes six in sharing! Drivers don’t go by meter, but charge Rs.15 to most places. At the jetty, numerous bikes are lined up and railings are covered with the vibrant nets that were earlier at sea, catching fish. Some old men show off, “You want? It’s fresh.” As the fisherfolk crush ice and segregate their aquatic find, exiting passengers balance household items they've probably purchased in Mumbai, on their heads.

Old man sewing up his net after returning from sea, beneath cloudy skies at Mora jetty and a backdrop of numerous colourful boats

The fog has cleared and seagulls are out, so I take the rooftop seat and can't help but notice the sheer number of boats. A young man next to me says, “It’s our parking lot for the season.” He lives and trades in Colaba, but had come to check on his big fishing boats, ready to venture out. “Small boats catch 2 - 3 tonnes from nearby, ours carry 30. We go till Ratnagiri for ribbon fish, pomfret, squid and prawns, and Gujarat for catfish and Bombay duck.”

Fish, ice and tricks of the trade

15 years old in the ferry business, the jovial motorman steering us homewards, easily tells illegal vessels drilling oil from the legal ones. JNPT has a refinery. But the low passenger count has him pulling at his half-bald pate. “Speedboats have reduced my business to 50%”. Dock staff say, “They are speedboats, but take 40 minutes to reach like us. They were rejected by JNPT for not meeting requirements, but ply here as 'speed boats'. You see, their owner has BJP connections.” I walk down the stairs to lower deck to find two people lying down and a family is discussing about their property in Uran. We total to just seven, which is an unviable for a ferry with 100-plus capacity.

Having uncovered so much about Mumbai and its ‘fishy’ and not-so-fishy relationship with Uran – merely toing-and-froing on ferries – I leave company for solitude to savour the rest of my breezy, refreshing ride.