Ladies dabba. Those two words were my initiation into the world of the women's compartment on a local train. As an unsuspecting, 'kachcha' commuter, fresh out of school, that universe was an entirely new experience. Soon, other words entered the glossary: fourth seat, down-up, window seat, and the mother of them all, the heavyweight phrase, thoda sarak. A mishmash of Hindi and Marathi, it was a suggestion to the fellow commuter to make space on a seat in a second class compartment that could ideally accommodate four. It was likely to be a squashed up quartet for all occupants, but nevertheless, it was the most crucial, unsaid rule on the local. If you dared fail to oblige, there would be hell to pay, during rush hour in particular. Over time, that frame came to be an endearing, lasting one for me, of how women in Bombay somehow manage to find their space in this alternative universe of train birthday bashes, saree days and space (and motion) defying garba dances, without a care about everything around them.

Cut to another frame. It's nearing sunset on a Sunday evening. You'd expect an endless crowd of large groups and families spilling into the place of worship to pay their respects at the dargah. And, lots of noise, too. But, that wasn't to be. Instead, a steady trickle of women, children in tow, silently glide through the open courtyard and make their way to the main sanctum sanctorum to pray, offer namaz at the Ma Hajiani Dargah in Worli.