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A short hop over the Arabian Sea from Dubai, I arrived at Mumbai airport around 04h30 in the morning. It seemed like getting the luggage off the plane took longer than the flight. In the meantime Narayan was on the flight from hell, stopping in two different cities before putting down in Mumbai. We finally arrived at his grandmother at 7AM and hit the pillow for a bit.
We are under tropical climate: hot and humid, but still nice with temperatures in the high 20C's. Finally I am comfortable again, the clothes I packed are for this kind of weather... The city is surprisingly green, with many trees lining the streets: these are inhabited by parakeets and monkeys. There is a vague smell of colonialism left... The name of the city comes from the Portuguese Bom Bahia (which means good bay). During British colonial rule, the simpler English suffix was applied, giving Bombay. Since there is no character in Devanagari (the script use to write Hindu) for Bom, the name became Mumbai after independence.
Under the shade of the trees, the life of the city, loudly. The chaos and poverty are typical of third-world countries, which are not unfamiliar to me — in fact I thrive in this atmosphere. The uniquely Indian aspect is the crowds: imagine the pack at your local mall on Christmas eve, everywhere, all the time. In a city of 18 million, there is nowhere to hide from the crowds.
The local commuter trains are the best examples of this: they are so jam-packed with people that to get off the train you have to start elbowing your way to the exit at the previous station or you won't make it out. As I was trying to make my way through, I realized I was crushing a man about half my size... He said with a smile: If you want to make it out at the next stop, keep pushing; don't mind me.. So I kept going... and made it out of the train all-right. The commuter trains have no doors, presumedly to keep enough air flowing in there for everyone to survive the journey; but the cars are so packed that people are hanging out of the car and holding on as best they can.
Interesting statistic: 11 people are killed everyday in Mumbai while walking across train tracks. I wonder how many fall out each day...
But things are easy here. Indians are friendly, welcoming and speak good English, which makes it easier for me. I find that they are more cheerful than Iranians, but have absolutely no sense of civism — whereas Iran can teach the rest of the world about civism.
Another comparison with Iran: as bad as the traffic is in Mumbai, it is nothing like the suicidal madness of Tehran. Surely there are sleeping cows, ox-drawn carts, elephants and rickshaws sharing the road with other vehicles; but I would say that intersections are still a reasonably orderly affair. However, if you have never seen traffic in the Middle-East or Asia, you would consider it hell! I have just learned not to tense up when I see a vehicle coming straight at me in my own lane, blaring its horn. But stuff does happen all the time: in the few days we have been here, our rickshaw got hit by a bus once; and another time our driver got a ticket for going through a red light while on the wrong side of the road divider. After bribing the cop with 50 rupees — the equivalent of $1.50 — the driver came back angry, complaining that it was getting close to dinner time and the cop wanted money to sponsor his food. Apparently they become much stricter around dinner time...
Poverty in Mumbai is everywhere, like all third-wold countries. But what seems to make the problem unsolvable is the overcrowding. One of the largest slums in Asia, Dhoravie, is right here in Mumbai. Everywhere in the city you can see people who move your heart: from the beggar who had only one finger left out of both her hands — mutilations (self-inflicted or otherwise) are common place — to the little girl who wanted us to buy her some milk, to the eunuchs begging at the traffic light, to the man who was sitting on the sidewalk with a scale because that was the only way he could get any form of income, to the toddler crawling on the dirty floor of the train station... Its very hard to see, but at the same time you feel overwhelmed... Helping one person with a few rupees for a meal seems ridiculous compared to the scope of the problem.
But Narayan and I managed to have some good times in the chaos of the city. Juhu Beach is a great area where people stroll along the beach, purchasing corn, dried nuts, coconuts, and sweets from the various shops. Definitely not a beach to swim in... We saw a couple kissing on the beach, which got Narayan all excited about how Indian society is opening up — kissing is still not allowed in Bollywood movies, and is usually replaced by songs. I was more interested in looking at the women in their saris which I find beautiful. After a long stroll we ended up at the Mariott and ordered Heineken's by the pool: I was choked to find out that the beers were $10 a piece. They were not even trying to fleece us: imported beer, with all the extra tax and duties ends up costing this much. We are sticking to the local Kingfisher these days, which is not bad. The Mariott had a Philippino cover-band which were a lot of fun, and we visited them twice.
Among the many things that we visited in the city, I particularly liked Elephanta Island with its rock-cut temple dedicated to Shiva. The temple dates back some 1500 years (no precise date known) has a wonderful three-headed statue of Shiva looking out towards India. The three heads represent three aspects of Shiva: the Destroyer, the Preserver and the Creator. This was my first introduction to Hinduism, a fascinating religion which I am having a hard time understanding... I guess its the first time I am confronted to a polytheist religion.
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