After ten months of living in Mumbai, I am now finding my third place in the city. I have lived in more countries than digits on my hands and in every town I have always discovered a ‘third place’, somewhere inviting away from home, where I can spend hours collecting my thoughts, reading a book, or doing very little. In Mumbai I have three such berths.

This idea of the ‘third place’ came to me after watching "You Have Mail" by Nora Ephron the other night. The two protagonists played by Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks develop their friendship by meeting up at third places in New York. They bump into each other at Starbucks or in parks, and these informal, convivial quarters of community life offer them a neutral zone in which to hone in on their chemistry.

The concept of the third place is derived from the writings of the American urban sociologist, Ray Oldenburg. He believes every person needs somewhere to hang out away from their home. The first place is their house or apartment, and where people spend most of their life; the second place is the office; and the third place offers a home away from home in a community setting. In England pubs and parks provide such meeting spots; in Australia it has to be the beaches and Italian cafes; and in America, following the example set by Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks in "You Have Mail", I suspect it could be Starbucks. But I don’t know America very well - I only watch movies made in Hollywood - and might be giving Starbucks too many plaudits.

My ‘first place’ in Mumbai is my apartment in Dadar. This is where I live with my very small family and a menagerie of pot plants that decorate every corner of the lounge room. It is a private place, comfortable, and homely. It has the advantages of having a communal gym and a swimming pool, and the disadvantages of having toilets and lifts that don’t work. The outside environment of Dadar doesn’t shy away from the city’s spirit. The lanes are crammed with shanty homes and pedestrians. The smells of spices and car fumes trickle through the windows of my car when driving into the suburb’s infamous roundabouts, the air waiting for the next wave of rain to wash away this peculiar incense. Around us there are street vendors, flocks of pigeons and piles of tattered plastic bags. Dadar can be described as chaotic and messy, but never, ever dull.

Even in the evenings the sky is plastered by fireworks, canons of colour disappearing into the darkness. There are more festivals in India than tattoos on David Beckham’s arms. Dadar, seldom quiet, celebrates the weekly festivals of India with a childish fever. People dance in the streets and throw paint at each other. In this ethnic chaos of religion and cultures, no one’s festival is forgotten. Never have I been so grateful for my partial deafness than when I fall asleep at 10pm, oblivious to the outdoor clatter of the street carnivals, bottle rockets and crackers which illuminate the sky.

A question mark hangs over what constitutes my second place in Mumbai. Officially, I am not working though I spend many hours behind my computer. My work is of a non-pecuniary kind. But I also spend an equal share of time travelling in our car, which must afford it the status of my second place. In the back of our sedan, I chat to my driver, Raju, who’s become a friend. We talk about everything from the monsoon rains to the state of the economy. Raju’s eyes are always fixed on the road. Motor cycles sway around us and cows bring the car to a halt as they stand rigidly to sniff for food. My body automatically switches on when I climb into the car, rocking forwards and backwards to the rhythms of the traffic lights, and the thumps of the potholes. I don’t think I even notice the hooting any more, hardened to the jamboree of drivers who embrace the signs on the back of lorries and tuk-tuks that tell them to ‘horn please’.

We all need a third place away from home. I thought it might be the swimming pool on my compound but the pool guard is too officious. A third place should be cosy and accessible. In the sprawling maze of Mumbai I have found the coffee shop at the Marriot Hotel in Juhu to be one of my nesting spots. Rubbing shoulders with Bollywood’s set has never been high on my radar, and this very coffee shop is plonked right in the middle of Bollywoodsville. I don’t know why but I like it. In this zone where the customers are more beautiful than in fashion magazines, I can easily spend two hours typing on my laptop, listening absently to the Hindi banter in the background. The waiters are efficient, chat to me as a friend, and the tea’s pretty good. It’s also located close to my daughter’s school in Santacruz.

Then there’s Reenek’s hairdressing salon in Bandra. In this setting of smiling faces, attentive beauticians and shampoo smells, I can quickly lose the trail of my thoughts to the comforts of a hair wash or a manicure. Reneek, the owner, is delightfully affable. She has given me more insights into Mumbai’s history and culture than any travel book has ever conferred.

On the weekends Serafina’s Italian restaurant in Lower Parel is our hang-out. It seems to sum up what I like in an outlet. The food is tasteful and reliable, and the customers treat Sally, our daughter, like every other customer in the establishment. They don’t flinch when she might drop a fork on the ground or pick up the food on her plate with her hands.

Of course, there’s no place like home. The routine of the day, slotted between the hours of 6.30am to 10pm, fall mainly in the confines of my kitchen and study. My apartment gives me structure and security. But I also enjoy the strange sense of retiring to the other quarters of Mumbai, my third places, that let me retreat from the responsibilities of my domestic life to tap into their energies and pleasures.