Wandering the streets and getting lost is probably my favourite way to explore a new city. However, this method of discovery cannot be recommended when it’s (a) late at night and (b) you’re on an urgent dash to the supermarket.

I found this out the hard way while heading to the shops recently. Wandering along the streets, lost in thought (not a good idea in Bombay traffic) I took a wrong turn and found myself in an unfamiliar side street. Being male I was unable to turn back and retrace my steps, so I soldiered on, certain that my innate sense of direction would guide me to the store. And if that failed, I’d use my tried and tested technique of following people who looked like they knew where they were going.

The first sign that things weren’t quite going to plan was when the streets started becoming narrower and my fellow pedestrians disappeared. It wasn’t long before I was deep in the back alleys of Bandra with little light and rubbish piled by the side of the road. Thoughts of being mugged or sold into the white slave trade entered my mind. “Is there really a white slave trade?” I wondered. “I’ll have to look it up when I get back.”

The alleys had now turned to tracks and local residents were sitting outside going about their business of cooking and sleeping. I was walking through people’s kitchens and bedrooms – the situation was clearly getting ridiculous. I had been gone for what felt like a good hour, although I noted I hadn’t received a single call inquiring after my well-being. (In reality I’d only been gone half an hour, far less time than I spend in the bathroom, so my absence would clearly not have been noted at this stage).

Back in my back alley I was stepping over people’s cooking equipment and wishing them a good night’s sleep as I picked my way through their alfresco living arrangements. Desperately lost and about to abandon all hope I suddenly popped out into a small courtyard with a brilliantly lit shrine to the Virgin Mary. Her bright blue vestments were highlighted by a mesh of fairylights and at the base were candles and marigolds. Sitting by the shrine were an elderly couple locked in conversation.

I had stumbled one of Bandra’s many “plague crosses” erected by Bandra’s Catholic community to protect houses from bubonic plague – or to thank the Lord for being spared. They can be found across the suburb in people’s front verandas, at junctions, by the side of narrow lanes or grouped in a bunch of six or more: an indication perhaps that the area was hit hard by disease. Others mark the old coastline and given their extreme inland status these days, it’s clear how much land has been reclaimed in Bandra.

These crosses aren’t just relics of the past: all day, every day people stop and touch Jesus’ feet or hang marigolds around his neck, an Indian slant on a Catholic symbol. Nor are they the sole preserve of Bandra’s Catholic community. Across town is a plague cross that has been protected and maintained for years by the local Shiv Sena, a strident right-wing Hindu organisation. As sure a sign as any of the suburb’s religious tolerance.

Back at my shrine I was happy to be lost for a while and stood there enjoying the quiet of the courtyard – silence is a rare commodity in Bombay.

When I eventually popped out into mainstream Bandra again I was, fortuitously, right next door to the supermarket. Of course, by now I had forgotten what I was meant to be buying and a quick call home didn’t help.

“Are you at the shops? I thought you were in the bathroom.”