Friday, July 20, 2007

Mumbai impressions

Today I'm lazy. I have exhausted my resources yesterday. Ever since I got here I have lost my normal rhythm. I went faster or slower, but I couldn't go steady. After arriving on Tuesday suffering from jetlag I managed to go to bed early on Thursday only to get up at 4 am. So I watched TV and tried to do some work, and, as soon as there was some daylight, I went for a morning walk in the neighborhood.

Easier said than done. Approaching the slum I keep thinking that it's not necessarily a smart thing to do.
I'm the day's entertainment highlight probably. Everybody stares at me as I walk with my big Nikon "gun" around my neck.
After a while I decide it's probably better to turn around. I'm - so to speak - in the middle of the slum. Time to turn around. So I head in the opposite direction and keep going until I find again that it's better to turn around.

It's quite frustrating because this is where the real life happens, the life of the majority of these patient, friendly people. Not in the high end residential area where the hotel and company building reside. With swimming pool and fitness centre, with a beautiful park and children's playgrounds colorful and sophisticated just like the ones in America.

There are issues at work. Late in the evening there's a conference call. I offer to help though I don't have all the information. It is almost 3 am when I need to go downstairs and get another Internet paycard. The system sucks, but it also sucks money out of you. Tameshwar tells me that his broadband Internet at home costs 600 Rupees a month. Well, here, at the hotel, I pay 700 Rupees for 3 hrs. Capitalism at its best. I end up working through the night. But I also climb Everest with Eric Weihenmacher, trek to Macchu Picchu and have a few more adventures along the way. Comes daylight I'm still fresh and energized. So I decide to go to the gym. It is only at 10 am that the arrangement was made for us to be picked up and taken to visit the city.

So I go for a "biking" session and feel quite embarrassed to see how serious people are about their fitness here. You'd never expect. I pedal for about 1.5 hours at a slow 13km/hr speed. It feels like climbing a hill. I am soaked within minutes and, of course, I wear street clothes. Well, even if the men are wearing shorts, the women are still wearing long pants, or even their sarees while exercising.

Around 10 am we get picked up for a tour of the city. We are 7 - the driver, me and 3 others from 724 (my boss and a co-worker from Toronto plus a guy from China) and 2 guys from Xoriant who serve as our guides. Whereas all the Indians are sitting comfortably in the 2 front rows of this airconditioned SUV, the 3 of us from Canada are sitting pretty squeezed in the back. That's part of the fun.

We visit the Gateway of India, the Art Gallery and an old Hindu temple and we get to see a few other monuments from driving by.
We go to the famous Chowpatty beach and stroll along with the crowds. Funny, I'm thinking how similar people across the globe are: whether rich or poor, young or old, they all seek the sound of the waves, the peacefulness of the sea.

I don't get to take the pictures that I would like, but I get an idea. The old is intermingled with the new. The rich with the poor. And the contrasts are enormous.

Anyway, this was Saturday when I crashed early onto my bed, after more than 36 hours without sleep. However, yesterday, Sunday I took things under control.
I decided to go and explore the city on my own. To see more, walk more and take some more pictures.

In the "typical situation" only I can get into - I got a drive in an air conditioned cab from the hotel into the city. A young, cool, arrogant guy is
driving the cab. He looks like a pirate, dark, with long, sleezy hair. He's pretending not to speak or understand English when he picks me up. Of course
he does speak and understand some. He looks like a teen gang member - what he may also be ...
Anyway, the car - his car - is a cool air conditioned new car (don't ask me the make, maybe Honda or Toyota or something). In order to be nice and not have him wait for me everywhere as it is customary, I suggest I meet him again later in a certain place at a certain time. This way he could have the whole day available for his own stuff
- Arghh... nodding and chewing...
So I figure - "you think I'll get lost ?"
- Yes, he replies. Do you have a mobile?
- No, I don't - I reply
- You don't have a mobile?! and he nods again and his disapproval is open and genuine
- So you think we can't meet at 7 pm at the "Gateway of India" ? - I repeat
- No, not without a mobile, he replies.

So I'm only too happy to get rid of him even though he rips me off. But I'd rather not argue with him in the middle of nowhere. I know exactly how much the ride should cost, but ... I'm a nobody even in India without a mobile.

I'm now in the plaza in front of Crawford market. It is hot and humid but it's not raining. I am "assaulted" by spice vendors who insist on dragging me into the market and to their spice shops. I refuse, telling them I will come a bit later. Well, this is one instance when Indians are not happy about "later". Otherwise that works just fine. However, this time I'm determined not to give in. Later. The sun is shining through the clouds, so I better use the opportunity to take some pictures outdoors ...

I venture onto the streets around the market. There's so much going on already. Although it's Sunday and the stores are closed, things are moving, people are working.
Above the street level stores are apartments where people live. The buildings are old and you can see through their current miserable state that they have known better days, that there was an initial plan and beauty to them.

To tell the truth, they are now falling apart. Colorful clothes are hanging to dry from the windows. They are dotting the otherwise grey surroundings, brightening up the cityscape. There is beauty, though in a somewhat abstract sense.




Below, on the sidewalk there are also the homes of the less fortunate. There's basically a tarp, grey and dirty that's delimiting their private space. Their living space is far larger though as it extends onto the sidewalk where they may sleep or cook.

A woman is cooking on a small stove at the corner. I stop to take a picture.

Men carrying heavy loads on their head are passing by. They are all busy going somewhere, doing something.
I decide it's turnaround time for me, so I close my loop passing by a major police building.

A few meters away on the sidewalk there's a butcher selling goat meat. The beheaded skinned goat is hanging from a tree and he cuts pieces for his customers.
However, I missed this moment with the camera, as my eyes wandered and focused - why am I not surprised - on the goat heads nicely lined up on the red plastic sheet on the ground. Tens and hundreds of flies are buzzing around them. I have to admit, it wasn't them but the red sheet that caught my attention.

Obviously, I am a colour freak. And India, from that perspective, is the perfect location. I love the colours of the sarees, the bright colours against the grey or brown background. The way they reflect the sunshine, the way the sun light penetrates them.
Anyway, I take the picture and I continue my way.


Back at the market the vendors are "assaulting me" again. I follow the one to his spice shop and I am disappointed. It's not what I expected - the bags of spices lined up nicely with their many colours and patterns and textures. No, the big jars are nicely lined up on the shelves. It's nice and neat, all good reason to be proud of as the "King of Spices" as the business card informs me.

So I leave the king of spices in his sterile kingdom and head to the bulk fruit and vegetable vendors. I have to be careful where I step as the dirt is deep and slippery. I imagine it must not have looked much different a hundred years ago when the market was built and opened. The fruit lie nicely piled up in heaps. They look so good and inviting. Too bad I don't have my knife so I can't buy a pineapple or peel and slice an Asian pear. How can I be so stupid to have forgotten this important tool ? Well, I did, so now I look and salivate and go on.

A few meters away is the livestock area. Here they sell everything from chicken and turkey to parrots and ... goats and fish and cats and rats and puppies. A few dalmation puppies are whining in a small cage waiting for a rich buyer. Who else could afford a pet while dozens of stray dogs are starving on the streets, feeding from the dirt and garbage that's spread all over.


I watch how the chicken get butchered and the pieces are rolling down on the dirty floor, bounce against the wall and eventually get to a stop. The flies are buzzing like crazy. There's two men watching while waiting in line. They don't like me taking pictures of this. I'm moving on to the main butchering area. The butchers master their skills, the knifes look sharp and are hitting exactly the spot. Above, dozens of crows are watching for opportunities to steal bits and pieces of meat or bone and continue their feast.

On the floor cats are lingering around satisfied and lazy. A pile of big bones lies further ahead. I cannot stand the smell any more, so I leave the area and return to the main market building.




On the way out I pass by the flower stand where a man cuts roses. A few meters away another man sits on the floor behind a pile of marigold. A huge orange pile. He's making the traditional garlands, the garlands I've always seen in temples.

I leave the market and return to the street. It's drizzling lightly so I'll have to protect the camera. I'm heading towards Victoria Terminal. On the way I pass a College of Art. The name didn't stick to my memory, but the beautiful garden did. There are lots of orange petals on the wet soil, forming a beautiful and delicate pattern. I take a picture of that when a guardian attracts my attention. He signals me to follow him by whistling, making sounds and noises. So eventually I follow him only to get to the entrance and be told (by somebody else) that I'm not allowed to take pictures. How can I explain that I wouldn't have entered the garden had he not asked me to follow him.


By the time I reach Victoria Terminal it starts raining. More and more heavily. I seek refuge at the entrance like many other people do. The Gothic style building is beautiful and majestic. It's a major transportation hub for all the commuting people. Very busy even today on a Sunday. I wait for the rain to ease off a bit and head out. The camera is stashed safely in my backpack under my raincoat.
But it's not pleasant. The farther I go the more it rains and I get soaked. Under the raincoat I feel equally wet, because of the condensation. I'm only worried about the camera. I don't mind the rain, I don't mind getting soaked as it is warm and feels like a great relief in this humid heat.


I intend to follow the description from my guidebook to get down to the Gateway of India past many other interesting historical buildings. I am drenched but continue my way followed by the staring of people.
Pretty much everybody has seeked refuge from the rain except for the kids. They are playing cricket on the sidestreets and having lots of fun. When I pass by them they stop for a short time before they continue their game. I cannot take pictures because of the rain. If I had a place to "hide" and take pictures from...
I not only get soaked, but also dirty. There are huge puddles and deep potholes. There's also a lot of dirt that has turned into a black muddy, sticky, slimy mass. I have to be careful not slip. I'm trying to get to the old University building I got a glimpse of yesterday, but would like to explore more. I somehow missed a turn in the heavy rain and now I need to get back. But after asking several people for directions I'm back on the right track. The rain also stops eventually and I can take off the raincoat and out the camera. My clothes are almost dry in short time.
The building is beautiful, with its Gothic arches, the pillars and gargoyles. The interior is also beautiful and the garden is like a small peaceful paradise. Lots of blossoming trees and shrubs. There are even some benches to sit on and relax and take in this peacefulness and beauty. Perfect. The next rain session is about to begin. But I am starving and not sure where I could stop to eat. I have a bag of almonds with me and my bottle of water. So this is lunchtime. Late lunchtime. There is some sort of activity going on in this garden. Workers are about to build one of those bamboo scaffolds. They sit on the upper poles with their feet dangling in the air and tie the poles at the corners. I take a few more pictures in spite of the raindrops, ask for directions and continue my way.


I eventually reach the plaza where the beautiful David Sassoon Library building stands across from the Art Gallery. On the opposite side of the street is the restaurant we had lunch at yesterday. Great food and embience.
But it's not my lucky day - they just closed until 7 pm. Hungry, but unabashed I prepare for the rain that is just starting again and head out on the street. Most of the people do the same, enjoying the cool rainwater.


When I reach the shore and the Gateway of India near the Taj hotel it is pouring again and I am again soaked. I cannot take a picture of the crowds of locals who have gathered here to enjoy the rain. Too bad, because the colours are beautiful and the curtain of rain makes it look more like an aquarelle. Right, this is where I am - in the middle of a large vibrant aquarelle.

I realize that my private journey here has come to an end. It looks like the clouds will not give way to the sun anymore today. I am hungry, soaked and don't know where else I could go. I mean where else I could go and take pictures or see new things - especially that it's raining and it will soon get dark. So I ask a valet at the Taj hotel for help and he stops a regular cab for me. I am going to enjoy the ride back in the rain. Hopefully now, that I asked the valet and he asked the driver to start the meter, I will get a fair fare for the ride.

It is raining all the way. Again I admire the streets with their old beautiful buildings falling apart. I would like to stop and take pictures but my driver does not speak or understand English. Nevertheless he keeps pointing to - I guess - attractions on the way. He stops to refuel, then later stops to buy paan. Stuffing his mouth full with some paan he also offers me some. No, thank you. Then he pulls his water bottle from behind his seat, drinks some and turns to me offering me the bottle. Water? No, thank you.

I find it extremely refreshing. So much more fun than the first driver.
No need for water. But I wouldn't mind a filter for all the bad air and pollution that makes me feel like suffocating and coughing.

Some time later on the highway we slow down to ask for directions. What better way than to parallel drive with a rickshaw and then make funny sounds to capture the rickshaw driver's attention? Then ask, and repeat, and repeat and ... eventually get an answer that gets partially lost in the traffic noise ... We keep going.

I've had my share of excitement yesterday, so I think I can afford to be lazy today ...
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