BY PRASHANT KUMAR MISHRA,
(EX GM, MODERN COACH FACTORY, RAEBARELI & RAIL COACH FACTORY, KAPURTHALA)
MUMBAI | 1 APRIL 2026
This morning, I visited the park—not merely as a walker, but as a committed researcher of one of Mumbai’s finest open-air theatres. Here are the field notes, which I can now confidently present as near-complete taxonomy of its inhabitants.
First, the Commandos of Cardio. These warriors march with grim determination—firm, galloping strides, eyes locked on destiny, barely oblivious to the others. The rest of us instinctively clear their path. They accept this silent tribute as their birthright, never acknowledging the poor soul who has leapt aside for survival.
If you cross their path, they will look through you , if you smile then they might look at you or often look down upon you.
In their world, there are only two kinds of people: those in motion… and those in the way.
Closely related are the Fitbit Philosophers. They don’t walk—they audit. Every few steps, they consult their wrist like stockbrokers tracking the Sensex. If the numbers disappoint, they take corrective zig-zags, sometimes overtaking the same lamppost multiple times to restore personal GDP.
Then come the Aspirational Yogis. These noble souls begin with the purest of intentions. Two deep rounds of Anulom-Vilom are completed with serene focus—and then, the Motherland calls. Out comes the smartphone. Suddenly, the rhythmic breathing is paused so that Democracy can be monitored. Within seconds, they have transitioned from seeking inner peace to solving the nation’s geopolitical crises, sacrificing their lung capacity for the greater good of the Republic.
Then there are fitness freaks, the Perpetual Starters, who are engaged in an elaborate warm up routine that would impress Olympic coaches—neck rotations, toe touches, philosophical lunges. Having fully prepared their bodies for the rigors of the track, they squint at the sun, check the zenith, consult their watches, and decide the cause has been sufficiently served. They go home immediately. The fire remains; the sweat is optional.
And there are those who believe in taking contra position, the Reverse Walkers. Marching backwards with confidence and zero rear-view awareness, they seem determined to reconnect with their past—occasionally by colliding with someone else’s present. They teach you the constant need to be alert, vigilant and agile. A timeless wisdom to guard against the lurking dangers of real world.
Then come the Conference Call Champions. Bluetooth headsets glowing like cybernetic implants, these titans of industry and behemoths of trade stride past the hibiscus bushes negotiating global mergers and domestic grocery lists with equal authority—and identical volume.
Their voices carry across the park like a public address system nobody asked for. One moment it’s “Let’s align on Q3 projections,” and the next, without missing a beat, “No, no, don’t buy that okra—it’s outrageously overpriced today!” Strategy and सब्ज़ी, seamlessly integrated.
The rest of us become their unwilling but fully briefed audience—privy to margin pressures, team inefficiencies, and the tragic inflationary trajectory of ladyfinger.
You cannot help but admire the crisp command, the clarity of thought, the sheer professional confidence. Though, occasionally, you do wonder whether the person on the other end is even speaking… or has simply put the phone down and gone to make tea, trusting the Champion to carry the meeting solo.
At a fixed hour, the Laughing Club Loyalists erupt into laughter, deep guttural sound emanating from bodies of various shapes and sizes startling the park goers. It is a sound that startles the pigeons and sends the stray dogs into a state of existential confusion.
Now to the more emotional zones.
The Gate Gazers arrive early, scanning the entrance and road with devotion. Upon successful visual contact, they relocate to a remote corner where deep conversations of national and personal importance unfold in hushed tones with closed embrace. Who says all issues can’t be discussed in the environment of pure love and openness.
Observing them are the Self-Appointed Moral Police, who pass by with profound frowns— guardians of public virtue, burdened by responsibility, yet mysteriously unable to look elsewhere. Their expressions sternly reminding no more to this amorous morphing.
The park gardeners play a subtle double role. One particular “Conscience Keeper” managed to point his water hose firmly at a marigold patch while his entire ocular focus remained locked on Bench No. 4, ensuring romance stayed within “acceptable environmental limits.” One day he realized the threshold of conscience was about to be breeched , he kept on flooding the surroundings of the bench , making the lawn muddy and slippery, a not so subtle sign of the path ahead.
In another corner sits the Resident Expert. He speaks with terrifying authority on local drainage systems, interplanetary travel, and the secret motives of the White House. He offers tantalisingly simple solution to immediately end the gulf war. His audience maintains a spectrum of engagement ranging from “genuine interest” to “polite suffering “
Providing the spiritual bassline to the park’s ringtone symphony, the leading protagonist of the Bhakti Brigade starts the chant ,”Hare Vithala”, and whole brigade joins in clapping and singing “Hare Vithala,” in chorus offering a soothing counterpoint to ringtone symphonies and heated debates.
Equally important are the Bench Occupiers—early settlers who secure prime seating and engage in discussions that appear to have begun decades ago and show no signs of resolution.
Then there are the Shortcut Specialists. Half a round, one glance at the watch, and a satisfied nod—the day’s fitness goals achieved with admirable efficiency.
Then there are Sprinters. Suddenly inspired, they break into a heroic sprint for 40 meters, only to slow down dramatically, as if reconsidering the entire concept of ambition. Where can you learn the concept of Nirvana in a such a short sprint.
Finally, perhaps the most subtle category:
A few women who have discovered that the park offers not just fresh air, but a brief, sacred escape from domestic hierarchies. And equally present, though less discussed, are a few mothers-in-law who appear to have discovered exactly the same truth. More about their discussion in next episode.
Thus, the Mumbai park thrives—not merely as a place for exercise, but as a vibrant microcosm of society: disciplined, distracted, devotional, dramatic, romantic, and gloriously human.
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