A year after reading Gregory David Robert's Shantaram, I had moved to Mumbai for an internship. I barely got any time for myself or to explore the city in its entirety. The time that I did manage to step out of my lonesome bombay apartment was only after exhausting work hours. During those two months, I visited Leopold's only twice. My first visit was on a regular work day, after exhausting myself at work, I headed home. Sitting by the window alone, overlooking the city bussel and the skyline, I decided to get my jhola and immediately leave. Despite my tiredness and knowing that it was late to be heading out for anything, I booked a cab and left without getting ready for this special visit, which I had anticipated for about a year.
There isn't really room left for choice when it comes to entering the cafe or even choosing a table. People stand in queues for a long time as it's mostly completely occupied inside and overcrowded because if its legend. Luckily, because I was quite late, I didn't have to stand in any queue. Although, even at that hour, the place was packed. The only table left for me was one somewhere in the off centre. I didn't adore the spot much but didn't have a choice either. I sat there. Soaked in the moment. Took out my copy of Shantaram and came a full circle to experiencing the book. I had lived that book. Through each page. Visualised it's story like a film only I have seen and in that moment, I became a part of it. At least it felt like that. Overwhelmed, I looked around every corner, at every waiter, every person, the posters, the rustic walls and the vintage furniture, the cash counter that had a pile of Shantaram's copies to be sold and placed an order. Completely indulged myself into that brilliant ice cream coffee and exotic chiniese bowl, which I had to get packed before leaving as it was too much for me to finish alone. While sipping on the coffee, I read a few pages I had folded. I fold a bit of the corner of the pages that touch me, that make me cry, make me feel something and hold a special place in my heart. Read a few of those pages and lived Gregory's experience of being there. Read the pages where Leopold's was mentioned too. The book came alive for me all over again, in that instant. The waiters looked at me and smiled at me reading the book.
Fun fact: every waiter at Leopold's has read the book!
I struck a conversation with one of the authorities, who had been working for decades there. He infact, has met Gregory many times. We spoke about the book and he showed me Gregory's pictures from when he was residing in mumbai, still displayed at the cash counter. He showed me the table where the masterpiece of Shantaram was written! He told me Gregory's interaction with the cafe's workers and waiters and kind acts of him generously rewarding them for their services. Every time he visited Mumbai after having shifted abroad, he made sure to visit Leopold's and have a good time and always rewarded the workers. Although, his visits seized about three years ago. He also told me about all the area beggars circling Gregory's car outside the cafe, each time he visited, knowing that he will not let them down, and he never did.
The rush of getting to know about his real stories and experiences is something I will always cherish. It felt very personal to me, which only a good book can achieve.
After this memorable visit to the cafe, I knew I had to make a return before I left Mumbai. And so I did. On my second last day in Bombay, I visited the place with my flatmate. I knew I wouldn't see it for a very long time, and I was right. Which made it even more sentimental. We ordered pastas and desserts, this time sitting on a table at the corner, I always prefer corner tables at cafes. I took out my copy of the book again and for me Leopold's wouldn't have had the significance it does, if it were not for Shantaram. Over the years, many tourists have flocked in here because of the story's legend. I met that guy once again and told him that I was leaving the next day. We couldn't talk much because the place was much more crowded than the other day, but the connection I had built in a day, was enough for our hearts to be filled with a bittersweet feeling.
I stood outside for a while and spoke to a lady who had been working her for a very long time. After finishing up the dinner this time, I took sometime to bid goodbye to the place that reserves a special spot in my heart, only because of a story, which we don't know for sure is fiction or not. And it doesn't matter.