Bombastic last day in India
Trip Start
Feb 11, 2009
1
63
74
Trip End
Ongoing
Mumbai (Bombay),
Maharashtra,
India
Sunday, May 24, 2009
Our last day today, so Antti and I were up and packed for our 9am checkout time. As we munched on breakfast, we discussed plans for the day.
Some people had told me the night before that they had been on a 'slum tour', and had found the experience excellent. While part of me would have quite liked to have done this today, the idea just didn't sit right. In a city where 55% of the population lives in the slums (Lonely Planet fact there), it is undeniable that poverty and overpopulation play key roles in defining Bombay's character. However, a guided tour of the depravity sounds to me to be an exercise in humiliation for both sides, turning real lives and conditions into a zoo and turning tourists into an unwanted intrusion or a source of shame for the slum dwellers. Perhaps the tour was handled with dignity, but the probability was against it, and Antti and I decided it was not a chance we wanted to risk. We eventually decided that we'd do our own thing for the day before meeting up around 4 to head to Chowpatty Beach before the airport.
I strolled around the nearby area for a few hours, doing a few odds and ends, seeing a few sights. Other than the usual crowds, sweat and honking, nothing much of interest happened to be honest and I soon started to feel a tad peckish.
Arriving in Leopolds for lunch, I stumbled upon the whole crew of Salvation Army folks sitting chatting and talking. With the chirpy Irishman lording over the group with his stereotypically upbeat and loud demeanour, I soon got bored and ended up looking around the room listlessly. For the first time, I noticed the bullet holes - in the roof, in the pillars and in the cracked mirrors at the back. I'd been aware that Leopolds had been one of the targets in Bombay's recent siege, but seeing the evidence really brought it home. You could imagine that if a gunmen walked in, you'd have had very little chance of escape - truly terrifying. I was told that nine people had been killed here and it wasn't hard to imagine the scene. There was a buzz and a normality about the place, but the scars of the slaughter kept reminding you of what had happened here so recently. I would have thought that by now the management would have filled in the holes, so I can only imagine that they have kept them purposefully as a sort of macabre selling point. 'Look! Not only are we in Shantaram, we also featured in the terrorist attacks! We're THAT popular!'. Shamelessly profiting from a bloody notoriety is rather crass in my opinion, although perhaps there is a less tasteless reason why the holes remain.
After lunch, the Canadians and a talkative Mancunian were heading to a nearby Indian heritage museum, and I thought I'd join them. After a 1km walk, by the end of which I was drenched in sweat, we reached the gates and were faced with the pricing system. 6 rupees for students (any nationality), 30 rupees (I think) for Indians and 300 rupees for foreigners. This kind of institutionalised racism really, really pisses me off. It is common all over Asia, but has no defendable, rational standpoint. Some have tried to defend this double pricing by likening it to a form of progressive taxation, which in my opinion is complete horseshit. A progressive tax would consider both wealthy Indians and less wealthy foreigners, but naturally this doesn't happen. Scandinavians have more money than the British, but can you imagine the outrage if museums in London charged Britons 2 pounds and our Nordic cousins 5? So enraged was I at having to pay 10 times more than the Rolexed Indian fellow next to me, I thought I'd try my luck at passing off as a student. Unfortunately, with a disapproving shake of the head the guard busted me and pointed out that my student card was over a year out of date. Balls. So I handed over my 300 rupees, grumbling all the time about horseshit, muaderchauds and racists. It sure is tough being a minority, the man keeping ya down!
The museum itself was only fairly interesting. Bustling with hot, sticky crowds, it was mainly full of ancient carvings of various Gods. For the knowledgeable and the educated, no doubt these would be fascinating, but for someone as uninformed on religion as myself the scene got rather tiresome after the 100th seemingly identical statue. There were some highpoints however. Upstairs I found some old photographs of Tibet, some beautiful wooden carvings and of course, the ancients weapons display (every boy's secret favourite). There was also a collection of European paintings from Sir Ratan Tata's (an industrialist Parsi of TATA fame) personal collection, which I thought were brilliant (Sir Ratan is clearly a man of impeccable taste). The building itself was also highly impressive, complete with a commanding dome which dominated the view from the outside.
Meeting up with Antti, it was time to bid farewell to Colaba and make our way, via a couple of detours, to the airport. We first stopped off at a couple of shops where Antti could do some shopping. He looked hopelessly and hilariously out of place, the big brutish Finn perusing the local shops for silk for his mother. But his charm won over even the toughest salesman, and he eventually walked away with a bargain (we think). Arriving at Chowpatty Beach, I can only say I was amazed. With the city looming all around, the vast beach was literally full of people. Admittedly it was Sunday afternoon and this was India, but still, I've never seen crowds like it. Amongst the swarm were people selling food and beach toys, cameramen, funfare rides and all manner of other items you may or may not need. Every conceivable type of person was there enjoying the sunset, from toddlers to the aged, sitting around in groups, playing in the filthy water or just standing about chatting. It was a sight to behold, and a great way to say goodbye to India. At one side of the beach stood a mini Ferris wheel, that was powered not by electricity but by people and gravity. Teenagers would climb the rickety structure before leaping and catching onto one of the gondolas, riding it down and propelling the wheel at a frightening speed (so much so that the gondolas were flapping and almost overturning). It was a death defy stunt, with the operators hurtling through the air, legs kicking wildly, letting go milliseconds before they were crushed to death in the metalworks at the bottom. I kept expecting someone to die a horrible death at any minute, but nobody did. These guys were good, this was their profession and their livelihood.
As we drove to the airport, passing slums and highrises in equal measures, I contemplated what I'd seen in the past few days. Bombay had certainly been a city of extremes and disparities, of beauty and of ugliness - rather like, from the little I've seen anyway, a microcosm of India in general. Rohinton Mistry is one of my favourite authors, and I'd gone out of my way during my time here to see some of the settings and landmarks of his excellent novels - the Eros theatre, Marine Drive, Nariman Point and Chowpatty Beach. His books are centred around Bombay's small but distinguished Parsi community, and I'd also wanted to see some of their religious sights - most notably the Tower of Silence, where the dead are taken for their send off to the next world as their bodies are devoured by vultures. Sadly for me, the Parsees are fiercely protective and as such the Tower was strictly off limits to outsiders. A shame, but it did nothing to dampen the fondness I'd developed for Bombay even after such a short time here. I can certainly see why Mistry is clearly so nostalgic for the city of his youth.
As we entered the sterility of the airport and the doors closed, we were immediately shut off from heat and the energy that is India. I experienced a definite sense of sadness to be leaving this mad but captivating place behind - an emotion I certainly wouldn't have anticipated during my first, food poisoned day here! If I ever get another chance to take to some extended time off in the future, India will be near the top of my list of places to go. It's addictive!
After our plane left at close to midnight, I uncharacteristically managed to sleep most of the way to Bangkok. Must have been the long, hot day. On the journey Antti got the shits, which turned out to be an ominous prelude of what I had in store for me in Bangers. Stay tuned for deets!
