In Colaba, Mumbai’s southernmost district, lies the city’s busiest public port. Built in 1875, Sassoon Docks is one of Mumbai’s oldest docks and its fish market pulses with activity. Upon arriving just before sunrise, you are greeted by a grand white entrance. After taking a deep breath, you move between the pillars into what feels like a portal to another world. Your nose reacts to the sharp scent of fresh-caught fish and your eyes are blinded by the saturated colors of plastic crates, huts and saris while your heartbeat adjusts to match the rhythm of the action.
Deciding to let the market wait, your curiosity draws you away from the action to explore where the road leads. After a short walk dodging busy trucks and scooters you arrive at an area where the boats linger. Climbing over nets and ropes, careful to avoid getting trapped and falling into the water, you reach a hidden area where ships burst with morning activity. Sailors brush their teeth while ice is being broken and delivered – perhaps both concluding a previous fishing session and preparing for a new one.
The sun rises steadily. Poetically hidden behind the morning haze while ships move through the sea, silhouetted by the mandarin-colored sky.
As the sun keeps rising, you follow the trail between the abundance of nets. Still careful as not to become entangled, you move with the flow of activity back to the market. As you pass by the moorings you decide to stop for a chai. While sipping the sweet aromatic fluid you exchange some smiling head-wobbles with fellow petit vivants having a small rest, followed by questions about your origins. After finishing the drink and continuing your walk, the calm of the ship area starts to fade, replaced by an increasing urgency in people’s movements.
You can hear the market before you see it. Voices haggling, baskets being moved, and the constant sound of ice being crushed. The sound echo off the century-old blue stone walls, conducting a symphony of commerce, only punctuated by the percussive-like calls from the enthusiastic egrets carefully spotting opportunities for a snack.
The morning air grows thicker with the mingled scents of fresh fish and salt water as you approach the heart of Sassoon Docks.
As mindful as you were about the nets, you now do your best to avoid disrupting the fast and busy movements of market workers. Women balance baskets of fish on their heads, men push wagons of ice and fish. Despite your attempts at nimbleness, you receive occasional stares and probably some silent Hindi curses from the hard-working women puzzled by your presence. Their tools suggest you might not want to mess too much with their mood, or you’ll end up as the fish.
Suddenly you find yourself inside a circle of bidding for some apparently popular catch. Unable to move, you play along and pretend to be part of the scene while subtly looking for an escape. The solidly built auctioneer stands confident and focused, surrounded by a horde of eager customers, and one stuck foreigner looking for a way out. Deep vocal callings intensify as shoulders press against your back and the ring of people gets tighter – you begin to wonder if this is the 8am version of a mosh pit.
Having managed to get past the bidding-war, you now find yourself sheltered from the sun under a rustic metal roof, proudly hold up by decaying stone pillars, in what seems to be the processing area.
In one corner you find a cross-generational sisterhood surronded by a mountain of shrimps scattered on the ground. All dressed in colorful saris, they squat down on the wet ground as they work through the endless supply of fresh seafood. Some practically equipped with rubber boots, others with simple sandals as their chosen footwear. Their hands move at speed while they are methodically cleaning and sorting sea creatures with practiced efficiency. Conversations flow as naturally as their movements as they chat and laugh.
Eyes stare up to you from every surface, the glossy scleras first making them look alive as if they ask for your sympathy – until the stillness of their pupils takes over and empathy is all that you can offer.
Every step you take reverse-impregnate your sneakers with blood-mixed water and crush the bones as you weight yourself down. The lovely smell of a victorious morning is also the stench of the night’s fallen.
Almost without noticing the market has cleared out. seeming to shift from peak activity to calmness in an instant. The egrets and crows are starting to take over the area, searching and fighting for the plenty of leftovers. You find yourself outside the gate again, not sure if you fancy a räkmacka or a vegan salad. The day has hardly begun, but you feel like you’ve lived through a week.
