There are trips that stretch lazily like an old Indian summer, and then there are those that swirl past like a monsoon gust. Our recent 88-hour escapade to Mumbai for the Drone Expo 2025 was one such blur—trains, taxis, technology, and a whole lot of human stories packed into a single weekend.
The romance of the rails
We are part of that special tribe that still prefers Indian Railways over quick flights. There’s something meditative about watching the countryside slide past the slightly grimy windows of an AC compartment—tea sellers at dawn, children waving from crossings, coconut groves fading into dry plains, all tinted by the coloured glass of the coach.
Our chosen comfort zone was Second AC or First AC, where noise is less and conversations more measured. Yet, the journey from Kochi to Mumbai CST kept us alert. Co-passengers changed at almost every major stop. The Kochi group got off at Kannur; the Kannur crowd disembarked at Goa. Everyone was polite, but the constant movement made us instinctively protective of our bags.
What fascinated me most was the cheerfulness of Malayalis heading back to Mumbai after visiting Kerala. The younger ones were brimming with optimism; the older folks, too, carried that unmistakable Mumbai pull. Years ago, I remember the gloom in compartments when students returned to far-off hostels after summer vacations. Mumbai and Bengaluru, however, radiate a different energy—an eagerness to return to the grind.
Our compartment was filled with laughter, gossip, and shared snacks. After a 24-hour ride, Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminus greeted us with its Gothic grandeur at 8:30 am. The porter charged less than expected—a pleasant surprise—but the taxi driver restored normality by demanding extra midway, citing traffic.
Checking in and heading out
We checked into a modest yet comfortable hotel near the Bombay Exhibition Centre, Goregaon, close enough for me to rush to the Drone Expo while my wife explored Mumbai’s fashion hubs.
Having pre-registered, my entry was smooth. Inside the hall, a separate Fire and Rescue Expo buzzed next door, but it was the whirr of propellers and animated chatter that drew the crowd. The air itself seemed to hum with innovation.
Where India takes flight
The Drone Expo 2025 was a revelation. As a photojournalist familiar with aerial imagery, I have always seen drones as tools for storytelling. But here, they had transcended photography, becoming instruments of agriculture, surveillance, logistics, disaster response, and defence.
Companies such as Aarav Unmanned Systems, IdeaForge, Garuda Aerospace, Vyom Drones Private Ltd., and Carbon Light Pvt. Ltd. showcased machines that could map hundreds of acres, spray fertilisers, deliver medicines, and even assist in firefighting operations. Start-ups from Pune and Hyderabad demonstrated AI-based autonomous flight systems capable of detecting intrusions and coordinating drone swarms.
Farm owners thronged booths with practical questions: how many hectares per battery cycle, how to handle uneven terrain, and whether drones could survive monsoon humidity. A retired army officer, now an entrepreneur, explained how his models were used for border surveillance.
But the heart of the expo belonged to a small stall run by students from Pragna Bodhini High School in Mumbai. Their drones couldn’t even fly—built with ordinary DC motors and salvaged plastic. When asked why, they smiled and said, “Brushless motors cost Rs 400, and we had only Rs 100.” Yet their understanding of aerodynamics and theory was impeccable. Visitors lingered longer there than at some of the bigger stalls. It was innovation in its purest form—curiosity without commerce.
For me, the expo captured a powerful message. While China may dominate the global drone market, India's momentum was real. After the Sindhur border conflict, where Indian systems reportedly neutralised incoming drones, the focus on indigenous capability has only grown. The hum inside that hall wasn’t just from propellers; it was from ambition.
Mumbai between markets and memories
By evening, I rejoined my wife for some shopping therapy. Colaba Causeway was our first stop—chaotic yet charming, where antique maps, silver trinkets, and cotton kurtas coexist in harmony. From there we ambled to Fashion Street and Crawford Market, both institutions in their own right.
In Mumbai, bargaining is choreography: the first quote is fiction, the last one performance art. You haggle with a grin, and both sides leave happy. Still, one eyesore persists: the endless paan spitting that stains corners and pavements. No smart-city campaign can succeed until that habit is spat out of our civic DNA.
As night fell, the city shimmered with monsoon reflections on tarred roads.
The return ride
Our return train was delayed by three hours due to incessant rain. We waited in a space called the paid waiting room-cum-eatery—a place that would make anyone lower their head in shame, resembling a second-hand sofa warehouse crammed with weary passengers.
When we finally boarded, we had a First AC cabin to ourselves. That sense of comfort, however, evaporated quickly when, around midnight, my wife spotted a healthy rat perched on our table, happily munching on the biscuits we had kept as reserve.
A quick message to the grievance cell registered our complaint, and within 25 minutes, a staffer arrived armed with rat stickers. He promptly placed them under the seat and asked, “Was it you who complained about the rat?”
With years of home experience dealing with rodents, I knew bait was key. I asked him if he had any nuts or sweets to lure the intruder. He shook his head confidently: “The sticker will do, sir.” I seriously doubt a rat would willingly grind to a halt without a reason, but the optimism was admirable.
In the same coach, an elderly couple travelled with their son, daughter, and a small disabled dog. They had found it years ago, abandoned on a Mumbai street, and had raised it with devotion. Now they were taking it home to Kozhikode for a three-month vacation, planning to bring it back once their leave ended. Watching them care for it so gently amidst the chaos of train travel was oddly moving—a quiet reminder that compassion travels light.
As the night deepened, the rhythmic clatter of the Duronto Express mixed with the scent of rain-soaked tracks. The train pulled into Ernakulam South Junction by dawn. Hopefully, somewhere in that distant coach, the rat had finally met its sticky fate, or a housekeeping staff had a rat sticker stuck in his broom.