Mumbai - The Guru's Tonic, No Bombay Gin Joint.
Trip Start
Mar 03, 2005
1
23
235
Trip End
Ongoing
Mumbai,
India
Tuesday, May 10, 2005
I had a six hour wait at Bangkok airport between my flight from Phnom Penh, and my flight to Mumbai. Although Bangkok airport is a substantial place, there are only so many things you can come up with to keep entertained. I did manage to read most of a book about an English drug courier who ended up in the infamous Bangkok Hilton, by going from bookshop to bookshop reading a chapter or so at a time. After a while I did think about putting the book into a condom and swallowing to smuggle it out of the airport.
India, and the Universe for that matter put on an amazing light show for me on the flight across the Bay of Bengal and over mainland India to Mumbai. I hadn't looked outside from my window seat for a while as it had been cloudy, and with the lights on inside there wasn't much to see. They turned off most of the lights in the cabin and I looked outside and I nearly fell out the window. I've never seen anything like it. There wasn't a cloud in the sky, above or below cruising altitude, so the stars were ablaze, as was the ground when we went over a city. I even spotting a meteor or shooting star (there is probably an official term). No, I am not taking drugs. And I had only had one drink on the plane.
Arrival at Mumbai somewhat awakens the senses all at once, like someone thrusting smelling salts at your nostrils while kicking you in the ghoulies at the same time. Its hot, the building feels like a seventies sitcom set, there are dozens of people just outside the door waiting for loved ones, and you have people talking at you and touching you trying to grab your bags and 'assist' you so they can get a tip. And then you have to catch a cab.
The Mumbai cab is quintessentially unique. All of the non-air conditioned cabs in Mumbai are old Fiats, built in the 1950s at guess, painted yellow and black. Each cab driver adds there own unique touch to their cab. Perhaps they might not have cleaned it since Indira Ghandi was in power in the 70s. Perhaps they might have the most sickliest sweet incense burning in the front. Perhaps they might have a special electric light temple on the dashboard where the flashing lights speed up in tandem with the acceleration (seriously one did).
All however are old stick-shift, cramped, refuse to sit anywhere but in the middle of the two lanes when in straight line mode, constantly spew pollution and appear to have a horn that is on for 85% of the trip. They all have an old meter attached to the front window, outside of the cab, which are so outdated that their prices can't be updated with inflation, so they now provide you with a conversion chart. This means your final price is around 13 times that of what the meter actually says. Very unique.
To catch a cab from the airport you have to pre-pay at a desk after filling in some paperwork on your destination, including your name. Mine was written as "Aswah" because he couldn't understnd that I was saying "Adrian". Its all very confusing and very official, as the piece of paper with my new Indian name on it gets passed around from official to official, stamped, ripped in one corner, and handed back to me. Then you are off in your tiny old Fiat, looking over the drivers shoulder as he swerves in and around other cars (60% of which are other taxis) for the 90 minute trip into Mumbai central.
The road into Mumbai central is a concrete mess - "work in progress for a better tomorrow" the signs say. There are shanty shacks and slums everywhere, yet there are also many people walking round who dress remarkably middle class. Thankfully I have taken my own advice. By the time I made it to my BOOKED guesthouse it is well after 11.30pm.
In the morning the guesthouse delivers to you toast and coffee with a pleasant "good morning sir!" and a waggle of the head. I know I shouldn't laugh at mannerisms, but it is true. A large proportion of Indians, when they talk to you, waggle their heads like a Peter Sellers character. Sometimes it is hard to keep a straight face. I must say that my initial impression of the Indian people is that they are somewhat charming. They'll say hello and smile while starring at you, rather than pointing and laughing. They are a rather friendly bunch. And there's a hell of a lot of them.... everywhere. And its always Mo-vember here, as most of the men have the Kapil Dev look-a-like moustache going on. The flavour-saver is king here in Mumbai.
I spent my first day in Mumbai acclimatising to the conditions, the streets and the Indian people. It is hot, but thankfully its a dry heat, so its far more pleasant than summer in Cambodia for walking around. Crossing the roads is chaotic. I was little concerned about my woosey stomache and the food, but my initial meals have been very good, including a sensational vegetable korma. Those that have the courage to come and have a chat to me only want to talk about one thing - Cricket.
I am no longer from "Australia". I am from "Australia Steve Waugh". Our former captain appears to have left a remarkable stamp here, especially with his charity work. His name is the first thing they say when you say you are from Australia. I also no longer live in "Melbourne". I live in "Melbourne MCG..."
At the end of my first full day I headed down to Chowpatty Beach, which is the general hang out spot for Mumbai's good folk at the end of the day. Even though the water is a ghastly shade of grey/black/brown muck and there is some rubbish washed up on the shore, the children head into it for a splash. It is strange seeing the Indian women, either in traditional Sari or some in Muslim head covering, at the waters edge with their kids. I made the mistake of pulling out my camera, because every kid from then on wanted their photo taken and wanted to see themself on the screen.
The main road near my guesthouse, Colaba Causeway, permanently has market stallholders taking up the footpath. They are constantly saying to you "hello my friend, would you like to buy (insert appropriate word to stall, such as belt, bag, DVD, CD, scarf, sunglasses, drum, cigarette lighter, or vibrator in the case of some stalls)". Thus you are constantly bombarded with questions and requests to stop and look.
One stallholder caught my eye before he had a chance to speak to me - he was an albino Indian. All the characteristics of your stock standard Indian are there - beard, head waggling like one of those fake dogs in the back window shelf of elderly citizen's cars. But his beard, hair and skin were glowing white. Thus I was looking at him, when he caught my vision, and said...
"Hello Sir I have a very beautiful sex tent."
A what? I was trying to take it all in in one go. Completely white Indian. Talking to me. He has a beautiful sex tent. Huh?
I looked at his stall. He was a navigation and meteorology specialist - selling barometers, thermometers and sextants. Not sex tents. Initially, very confusing.
Down by the waterfront, near the Taj Mahal Hotel, lies the Gateway To India. The Gateway is a large Arc de Triomphe structure overlooking the harbour. It is from here that you catch a rickety boat out for 8kms on the high seas to Elephanta Island.
The island contains some large caves which feature stone carvings of Indian Gods. They were carved back in the 600-700 AD period according to the inscriptions. Its actually not that exciting, but it did give an Indian family a chance to have a chat to me on the hour journey back. It was mostly about Cricket, but also asking me to make comparisons between Melbourne and Mumbai. A near impossible task.
I now have a favourite Indian restaurant in the whole world, and appropriately it is in India. Delhi Darbar, on the Colaba Causeway, Mumbai. The Tandoor Chicken Tikka and Vegetable Biryani was quite possibly the greatest meal I'm likely to have on this trip. I'm dribbling again just thinking about it. And the waiter's were friendly too, wanting to talk - about the Cricket. And its not even Cricket season - "too hot for Cricket this time of year".
Murray's Law Of Travel #9 - When travelling in India, if you don't like Cricket, then don't say you are from Australia.
Its a cool 33 degrees in Mumbai. Wandering around is a pleasant experience once you switch off from the vendors, beggars and tootin' horns. Kala Ghoda is an area of colonial buildings, museums and galleries near Colaba, where I am staying. Hankering for some culture, (actually it was more a hankering for some quality air-conditioned time), I spent some time walking through them. A couple of local University lads started chatting to me, telling me about their lives. They invited me for a drink later in the evening, though I suspect given their obsession with Western women, I figure that they think that hanging round with a Western guy is more likely to mean that Western girls will come over and chat to them.
Outside of the gallery I got to reading a few posters, and one was for a well known Indian palm reader. Well, he appeared to be well known as there were a few newspaper clippings around. I'm not really a believer, but I am a curious skeptic. At $3 I figured it was worth the risk. So I let my fingers do the talking as they say.
My palm reading Guru told me a few things of interest. Some are personal (thus you ain't hearing about them), some were very general ("you are fit to work indoors" - no shit Sherlock, these hands are callous free, so that's how you know that one) and some were very specific.
Allegedly I'll be working until 61 years of age, and my work will "feel like its in suspension" when I'm 43. Some midlife career issues. To improve this, I should wear a 4 carat gold Ruby ring on my ring finger of my left hand, according to the guru. He must have shares in Rubies. Next year is important for my career. Pretty clever thing to say really, when I've told him I'll probably be travelling for 6-12 months. I'd suggest finding a job on my return home is probably pretty important for my career.
I'll quote him on this one - "you will have middle upper class wealth and status. You will make your own house property". I'm not sure if that means I should buy a kit home and start building....
I will not have an arranged marriage. Thank you.
I will always have love.
The remainder was of a personal nature. Let's just say he used the words "imaginative" and "above average". Heeeello Laydeeez, bring out the Inflatable Sheep, Grrrrr. Maybe I should have bought one of those sex tent's from the albino Indian. The statement "you are not" was not pre-empting the above words.
I really didn't take too much notice of what he had to say. Afterwards I felt kind of dirty as he'd spent a good 10 minutes rubbing his grotty hands on mine. I hope that a wipedown of my hands with a Dettol Nice 'n' Clean wet towel doesn't mean my future is now antiseptically changed.
The Guru did however give me one piece of timely advice. "Those two Indian boys, be careful of them, they are involved in illegal activities and will put you in to the Police".
Hence I didn't turn up for that drink. Thank you Guru.
I am not sure where the Cricket term "Maiden Over" comes from, but in Mumbai there are parklands around the city that they call Maidens, and it is where they play Cricket. Even though it is not the Cricket season here, their obsession means that they do still play it this time of year. I wandered over and found the Under 15 Sunil Gavaskar XI playing the Under 15 Dilip Vengsarker XI and stopped for a chat to the boys. Actually, I chatted and they just laughed at me to be honest. "Australia Australia Ricky Ponting!" was there favourite thing to say.
I closed my visiti to Mumbai with a final visit to the Delhi Darbar for a top up of Chicken Tikka Marsala. I can't say that I have had many sensational meals while I have been travelling, but this place has certainly made up for previous shortcomings. Even if the waiters did want to talk about the bloody Cricket again.
