The girl with the big eyes was sitting in a bright red chair

While in Mumbai, I visited several places known as tourist attractions—UNESCO-listed cave temples, grand colonial-era buildings reminiscent of British rule, glittering hotels and museums. All of them were carefully maintained, easy to walk through, easy to photograph, and clearly designed with the idea of being “on display.” Tourists eagerly snapped photos, ice cream sold briskly at the kiosks, and guides waved their flags with cheerful smiles.

And yet, I couldn’t shake a sense of something missing.

The scenes before me were undeniably “Mumbai,” and yet I struggled to catch any real glimpse of the people who lived there. The city’s outlines were visible, but its warmth—its breath, its pulse—felt strangely absent. It was less a journey and more like tracing the lines of a well-rehearsed stage set.

I had hoped to experience everyday life here. That was the plan. But all I seemed to find was the déjà vu of a well-studied destination.

Wandering with that vague dissatisfaction, I caught sight of a narrow alley.

It wasn’t marked on the map, nor was there any sign or guidepost. Just a quiet shaft of sunlight filtering in. Only a few steps from the main road, and yet the air itself seemed to change.

Along the alley stood rows of humble row houses pressed closely together. A small stream flowed quietly beside them. Lines for drying laundry crisscrossed overhead, and beside the walls were flower pots, worn-out buckets, broken chairs, and tools whose use I couldn’t guess—scattered in a way that somehow still felt intentional.

After walking for a while, I came upon a small square. Plastic chairs were set out, and a few men and women lounged in relaxed poses. No TV, no radio—only the breeze, and the faint sound of someone’s laughter drifting in from somewhere.

In one corner of the space stood a little girl.

She wasn’t doing anything in particular. No one was paying her special attention. She was just there, like part of the scenery—quiet and natural, yet undeniably present. When our eyes met, she turned her head slightly, as if shy, or uncertain.

She wasn’t unaware of me. But no one around seemed surprised or particularly interested. They simply accepted my presence, silently, as though I were just another part of the scene.

It wasn’t in any guidebook. But it was, without a doubt, one irreplaceable glimpse of what Mumbai truly is.