Where the Forest Whispers: Walking Mumbai’s Soul with Rahul Kadri

At the break of dawn on Malabar Hill, Mumbai speaks in hushed tones — a blend of rustling leaves, groggy sibling debates, birdcall symphonies, and the distant laughter of elderly men swapping inside jokes. I’m perched at the entry of the city’s latest marvel, the Malabar Hill Nature Trail, waiting for someone whose work I’ve long admired from a distance. As the minutes pass, I’m gifted a front-row seat to the joy of people discovering a corner of Mumbai that feels like a portal to somewhere far more ancient, more serene.

A father placates his sleepy kids with a soft, amused retort:
“Aise subah mein ghumna kabhi hota hai?”
Where else, indeed, does one get the chance for a morning like this?

Clusters of women, animated and awestruck, marvel at this unexpected slice of paradise. Their enthusiasm is contagious. Around them, two elderly men laugh so hard, their joy echoes through the trees. I never do catch the punchline. Just as I’m about to ask, a gentle tap on my shoulder draws me back — the “certain someone” I’d been waiting for has arrived.

Rahul Kadri, principal architect at IMK Architects, is here. And while he may not be cloaked in a hard hat or holding a blueprint, the pride in his eyes says everything — this isn’t just a walkway. It’s a homecoming.

Into the Wild, Designed

The nature trail opened to the public on March 30, 2025, but walking through it, you’d swear it had always been there — hiding just beneath the city’s consciousness, waiting patiently to be found. Rahul doesn’t need to follow the signs or pause to orient himself. This isn’t just his project. It’s a memory map.

As a child, he roamed these woods with his dog. Decades later, he returned with a new companion — vision. Alongside the Nepean Sea Road Citizens’ Forum (NRCF), the JSW Foundation, and support from the BMC, Rahul helped build a path through the forest that doesn’t pierce or claim it — it listens. It moves with the land like poetry.

“No trees were cut,” he tells me, with a hint of pride and a lot of care. Instead, the path gently hovers, supported by epoxy-coated steel columns and lined with Kerala-grown teak — a material choice that’s both elegant and environmentally sound. The structure glides above the forest floor like a wooden ribbon, allowing water to flow, snakes to stay hidden, and roots to breathe.

A Personal Blueprint

What Rahul has built here is more than architecture. It’s a dialogue between childhood and legacy. His father, Iftikhar Kadri, now 97, gave the city the Nehru Centre, a towering ode to India’s first Prime Minister, designed with metaphor and intent — a cylindrical monument with a cross-lattice, echoing the rose Nehru wore.

Rahul, it seems, inherited both the talent and the soul behind the sketch. His own design philosophy is rooted in restraint.
“I wanted people to experience the forest and its views. I didn’t want the structure to be too intrusive,” he explains.

And it shows.

The trail hums with biodiversity — copperpods, gulmohars, jackfruits, jamuns — standing tall like elder guardians. Birds flit past, chattering like gossiping neighbors. Nameplates along the path identify your chirping companions: bulbuls, hornbills, parakeets. It’s a wild orchestra playing for anyone willing to stop and listen.

The Walk that Changed Everything

The idea sparked, quite literally, by a fence-jump.

During the lockdown, Rahul and his wife were walking their neighborhood when he impulsively climbed over a fence and landed in the quiet of the Doongerwadi Woods. That spontaneous act birthed a project that would one day be known as Mumbai’s greenest miracle.

He didn’t rush into construction. Instead, he spent weeks reading the site — walking every inch, understanding how light, water, and wildlife moved. “I believe in understanding how the site works. I love to be on the site alone and need quiet,” he says. That stillness helped him imagine a structure with the lightest touch — both physically and metaphorically.

It spans 482 meters, starting behind Kamala Nehru Park on Siri Road, ending in the thickets of Doongerwadi. And it carries with it no pomp, only purpose — a path that lets you see Mumbai differently.

“Rahul, What Have You Done?”

As we walk, Rahul is stopped — again and again — by people wanting a photo, a thank you, or just to ask, “Are you the architect?”

But one compliment trumps all.

“My dad called and said, ‘Rahul, what have you done? Everywhere I go, people talk about the walkway. I think your idea was excellent.’”

If legacy is a relay race, this moment felt like the baton being passed with pride.

The Gift that Keeps on Giving

To the kids dragging their sleepy feet behind their father, it’s a rare morning adventure.

To the women laughing as if they’ve discovered a secret garden, it’s a respite from routine.

To the two uncles with the mysterious joke, it’s a reason to come out and laugh.

And to me? It’s a gentle, unexpected reminder that Mumbai still has quiet corners where stories bloom and the air smells like possibility.

Rahul Kadri hasn’t just built a walkway.

He’s written Mumbai a love letter — one you can walk through, one birdcall at a time.