Many people were heading to the Haji Ali Dargah through a single road stretching out to sea

Every time I visit Benten-do Temple in Ueno, Tokyo, I find myself thinking about the same thing—the way a journey changes depending on how you reach your destination. Walking along a direct, solid path feels entirely different from crossing water by boat. There is something undeniably special about traveling over water.

The same thought struck me at the Haji Ali Dargah in Mumbai.

Once, this shrine stood on a small island, and visitors had to time their approach with the tides to avoid being stranded. Reaching it must have felt like a ritual in itself, a passage into another world—one where faith and the natural elements intertwined.

But today, both Benten-do and Haji Ali Dargah are firmly connected to the mainland. What was once a sacred crossing has been replaced by a simple, accessible walkway. The convenience is undeniable, but at what cost?

Perhaps, in making these places easier to reach, we have lost the sense of crossing into the unknown.

The pathway to Haji Ali was crowded with people. Pilgrims walked in silence, families chatted cheerfully, and street vendors lined the way, calling out to passersby. What was once a solemn pilgrimage route now felt more like a lively marketplace.

There was a time when visiting this shrine was a test of patience and devotion. Now, it has become part of daily life—a routine trip, stripped of its original challenge.

In exchange for convenience, perhaps we have lost something intangible.

Something that once made these places feel just beyond the reach of the everyday world.

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