Back from Mumbai and it was an adventure.
The flight out from Dubai had a frenzied energy. I was surrounded by people who were restless despite the fact that it was barely dawn. It drove me crazy as I tried to close my eyes for the 2 ½ hour flight to Mumbai. The woman seated beside me kept shifting in her seat. Each time, her well-developed hips stealing a valuable millimeter from my seat. She was the personification of submission. Her husband’s every word dictated her behavior. She ordered a glass of water for herself. And when it arrived, he reached for it and drank it all. She never said a word but politely drank the last couple of drops left. She caught my eyes watching her and she smiled shyly and cautiously. Submission is a curious thing.
Upon arrival in Mumbhai, I walked into a beautiful new airport which was well organized and seemed a lot more orderly than I expected. Serves me right for expecting less. Immigration was painless and soon I was walking out to meet my driver Jugar.
Jugar came from a village 3 days’ train ride from Mumbai. He complimented my name and said it was a good name. His sister was named Anita and he reassured me that she was a good person and shared a picture of her and his niece. Due to the distance, he was only able to see his family for a couple of months every year. He worked 10 months in Mumbai and went home for 2. He was sad about this but he needed to support them.
As we drove out of the airport, the Mumbai I expected showed up. We were suddenly thrust into traffic with slums around us. I hate to use the word slums but that is what it is. The slums I saw were enterprising. Businesses and restaurants were run out of them. How they survived the Monsoon season every year, I have no idea because the ground looked damp and the vicious open gutters looked ready to swallow some of the aluminum shacks.
I was surrounded by humanity and they used a language I didn’t understand. It wasn’t Hindi, it wasn’t a dialect. They all spoke the vital language of Honking! So in Mumbai, the painted lanes on the road, are not a rule to follow but merely a suggestion. No car stays in lane. Everyone cuts each other off and honks while they do it. Some honks were subtle, others accusatory, others told you where to shove it and a rare few apologized.
Jugar was fluent in this language as he wrestled for vital road space with the army of Tuk Tuk taxis and lorries. When I thought we were safe, you were cut off by the motorcycle mafia and face to face with a decorated cow pulling a cart. The cow, looked unbothered by the traffic and kept moving. I just held my breath and tried not to scream “WATCH OUT!”
The advertising along the roads were amusing. I saw one for Desi Hip Hop. I wondered if these were the culprits behind the hit “Tanda Tanda Pani” (Ice Ice Baby) when I was Tween.
After 30 minutes of this, we finally passed the airport traffic and entered a beautiful cable bridge as we heading towards South Mumbai. It seemed out of place after the poverty I just witnessed. 30 minutes later, we arrived at my art deco decorated hotel after passing 2 weddings being set up by the beach. I was exhausted but it was time to work.
I will skip the work part but it allowed me to travel 40 kms outside the city to a small town where a lot of manufacturing for major brands took place. They suffered a couple of power outages while I was there and the workers scrambled to power up the generators to continue with their production.
Being a passenger in a car allowed me to peer into Mumbai’s world. The Baba’s combing their long beards and the sun shining on their toned no chemicals added bodies. School girls giggling and singing along to their favorite Bollywood songs as they skipped along the Paan decorated streets. The evils of the caste system were on display. I witnessed a man kicking and throwing a darker skinned man who was laying on the street as if he was a sack of coal. I was distressed, everyone else was oblivious. This was normal to them. The man who was attacked, never fought back but lay down in submission. There was that word again.
Security in Mumbai was quite tight at shopping malls, hotels etc… The city had suffered several terrorist attacks in recent history so this was necessary. I wished that same care was allotted to the infrastructure. Unfortunately, like many other parts of the world, the city was forgotten. The colonial era buildings were a reminder of the British, the disrepair the buildings seemed to be reminiscent of a passive aggressive protest to their former colonial powers. Most of the buildings were terribly old, with tears of dirt and mold running down their facades. The colonial relics which were ignored by mankind were being slowly reclaimed by nature. Many trees had grown strong stems around the buildings in some parts.
The food in Mumbai is delicious. The layers of flavors coat your mouth and make you scream for more. From Seekh kababs from a local favorite to Vada Pav and Pani Puris. Unfortunately, I was only there for a night but next time, I will be eating more. This is definitely a Foodie’s dream city.
I highly recommend Mumbai as a place to visit simply because it has a vibe I haven’t felt before. The people are resilient and happy to share a smile with a stranger. They love to party and work hard to get by. Whether they retreat to a cosy apartment at the end of the night, or to a hard pavement on the street at the end of the night, they have shown me they are true survivors and I thank this city for sharing this with me.
