A steaming plate of pasta, a cricket match, just another day... Mumbai comes back to life

Dilip Waghmare stands opposite the Sundance Café outside Churchgate Station, holding on to the grille around the Oval Maidan as he watches a Cricket match in progress. He applauds loudly as the batsman, wearing a bright orange baseball cap, pulls one to the rather short square-leg boundary. Waghmare, 40, is an 'office boy' at Lloyds Insurance. It's his lunch break, and like everyone out and about and bustling past, he is trying to convince himself that life is back to normal.

"I feel less scared now that there are more people around me," he says. "On Thursday and Friday, these streets were empty, and that was scarier than anything I watched on television." He's thrilled there's a game on again. "For some reason, I feel more secure."

On Monday, five days after the nightmare began, Mumbai tried to wake up again, somewhat reluctant, slightly scared, with generous doses of relief thrown in.

P Ethiraj, the 7-foot tall ticket-checker at Churchgate Station (he plays basketball for Western Railways) has been smiling down at the world streaming past since his shift started. "It feels like a Monday morning. It feels good." He excuses himself to usher a ticket-less traveller to the office.

Colaba Causeway is packed. The hordes pass each other, shoulders banging as they hustle for room. And with the city getting back to breakneck speed, there's no time for such niceties as an apology.

At Café Mondegar, the manager asks a television crew to leave. "Please don't shoot here, it's a request. It's normal, it's peaceful, don't disturb that."

Inside, Jaime and Elisa, Spanish journalists here to cover the terror, placed their orders for pasta a while ago, but are still perplexed that it looks so appetising when it does arrive. They're getting used to that. They've been here since Friday, and what they can't understand is how so many people are already out and about. They were back home during the Madrid blasts. "People were scared for a while after that," they say.

But the anger, the helplessness, is simmering. It's visible in numerous, slogan-shouting peace marches around the city and in bouquets of flowers and lit candles outside Café Leopold. All around, in fact, if you look hard enough.

It's just past lunch hour at Gokul Bar and Restaurant -- bang in the middle of Leopold and the Taj Mahal hotel. Here, Mumbai comes to gulp down spirits, served by the quarter with large lumps of 'kaccha baraf'. The panwallah outside snaps when asked if he was there on Wednesday night. "Yes, I was here, I saw them run past. I'm just trying to forget." A customer asks for change for a 1000-rupee note. "Kahan se milega? Aaj hi toh khola hai (Where will I change from? I only opened shop today)."

... contd.

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