Mumbai Part 1: So Hot Right Now

July 11, 2010

Mumbai Part 1: So Hot Right Now

Monday, May 24

To my surprise, flying my two-leg journey on the government-run Air India from Shanghai to Delhi, wait an hour, and then on to Mumbai, wasn’t all that bad. The 10pm flight was about 40% full, so I got a full row to myself to stretch out, and the 3am flight from Delhi to Mumbai, crowded with what seemed to be the epitome of the Indian entrepreneur, straddling two Blackberries on each ear, talking to someone just as excited on the other end at 3am on a Monday morning.

As we exited the plane I prepared myself for the heat – a fellow traveler in Beijing had told me about the heat wave sitting on India these days, reaching temperatures of 47 C, yeah, about 115 F ever day. Mumbai didn’t disappoint. At 6am, it was already about 90, and I was drenching myself all over again.

When I booked my hostel Mumbai while I was in China, I had read that getting from the airport is a really difficult thing to do without getting ripped off, so the Anjali Inn, with free airport pickup, sounded great. Without any hassle, they met me right at the exit with a nameplate and got me in the car for the 2 minute drive to the hostel. A funny moment happened when I got out of the taxi, and the guy who met me at the airport turns to me and says: “The driver was very good no? Maybe a little tip?” Absolutely startled, I came up with the “I didn’t change any money” (false) excuse. I had never heard anything about tipping in India, and I wasn’t about to get jipped into something that doesn’t happen. I’d heard that there’s a lot of crude bargaining in India, more so than in China, so I didn’t feel too bad. I decided that, if it were indeed a legitimate request, I’d give enough on the way back to the airport.

I arrived at Anjali at like 7am, and was led up into what basically was an apartment building. I was a bit confused, but too tired to realize how in-the-middle-of-nowhere this hostel was, located in a back enclave of residential housing.

About a minute after knocking, a man in s security guard uniform opened the door followed my a large beige Labrador retriever. I was, again, too tired to care that I was being slobbered all over, after which, the guard, a Nepalese man whose name I forget, smacked the dog on the nose. This startled me.

Settling down, he offered me breakfast and coffee, which was to be put on my tab and paid for later. After my experience in the Philippines, I was much more cautious with my running tab this time. I settled into my 6-person room, and decided not to sleep as it was already time to get up and start the day. A few minutes later, a 20-something year old Brit named David stumbled out into the common/dining area as I was browsing the PDF version of an India Lonely Planet, waiting for breakfast.

He was a really nice guy, who had also arrived early that morning, and we decided we’d traverse the city together that day, hoping to get out to the famed Elephanta Island early and then figure out the rest of the day later.

After a light breakfast of eggs and toast, we were on our way out into the unbearable heat and humidity of suburban Mumbai to get into the city. Unbeknownst to me, this hostel was not close to the city, and we’d need to walk a mile to the train station, and then take the 40-min train into the city before doing any kind of sightseeing.

So began our first meeting with India. Just walking that first mile from Anjali Inn to the Andheri train station was full of irreplaceable images. The sheer dichotomy of this area, and India at large, was astounding. At one intersection, a highway underpass that we walked under, you could see within 10 feet of each other, a pair of brand new Mercedes towncars and a family of five sitting at their “home” on the street, children begging me for money and food while mother sat in the shade avoiding the heat. As hard as it would be, I chose to ignore the begging on my trip, and this was the most difficult encounter yet.

Indian trains. You’ve seen Slumdog Millionaire; you’ve heard the rumors. It’s all true, I promise. Lucky us, we boarded the train going into the city directly in the middle of rush hour. Price of my train ticket for a 40-minute ride was 8 rupees, less than 20 US cents. Before we could even think about getting on, we were herded on by other locals trying to get on the train as it was pulling away. Really cool experience jumping onto a moving train – I felt like I was in a movie! The train was super-crowded, just enough space to stand with my backpack on, but nobody moved just because it was too hot. Everyone just enjoyed standing under the many ceiling fans as a smelly breeze wafted through the openings (note, not doors). Most shocking part was when a young child, maybe 6-7 yrs, jumped on from the train tracks at one stop, and started wiping down the floor of the train car, tugging on legs, begging for money. Someone gave him a bottle of water. He then jumped off as the train was moving. I couldn’t believe it. It was just so shocking that this was so inhumane, so wildly different from my world.

After briefly falling asleep standing, David jostled me to get off the train. We jumped off before it stopped moving, in true Indian fashion. We arrived at Churchgate Train Station, which I would later realize was the same location of the terrorist bombings two years before. That was crazy to see!! It was so bustling and busy, such a scene. Walking towards the exit, you pass through an underground walking area filled with stalls selling all sorts of delicious Indian snacks and plenty selling mango shakes and water – the staples of getting through a hot Indian day. According to Raj, the man who ran the Anjali, I was in India in the absolute worst week of the year, right at the end of summer before he wet season starts. Plenty of people would ask why now? And I would have to explain, well, there’s only so many opportunities to get here, must take advantage of it while I can.

After piling into a taxi with a couple of locals, we headed down to the southernmost part of the Churchgate area, the Gateway of India. This famous area, just on the harbor of Mumbai, was constructed to welcome Prince Edward of Wales (King of GB later) after some kind of military victory. It is truly magnificent, and reminds me a lot of the Arc de Triumph in Paris. Unfortunately, it was Monday, Elephanta island was closed, and we had to make alternative plans – walking.

(The Gateway of India)

(Forced smile through the sweat)

We first took a stroll past the Taj Palace, which is a monstrous hotel fashioned to be the most amazing in the area, because originally, Indians weren’t allowed to stay at the hotels there, so they built their own. Then we walked along the water for a while before heading inland and walking around Churchgate to get to the National Museum, named after Prince Edward of Wales, and then recently named something really long in Hindi that I can’t write or pronounce. Upon our arrival, we found out that, it too, was closed on Monday. Absolutely exhausted, and a bit discouraged that everything was closed, we decided to make one last stop at the High Court before giving up all hope.

(The Taj Palace Hotel)

(Love the traditional Indian garb)

(One of many words to describe Mumbai - dirty)

(Throughout the city there are tons of colonial British-style buildings)

(Good idea, but bins were basically nonexistent)

This is the High Court of Mumbai, basically the Supreme Court of the area, and is in an extremely old, beautiful building. What this also means, is that the inside is equally old and disheveled. It must have been spring cleaning time, because it seemed like on every floor, there were piles upon piles of paperwork, which people were walking all over. I bent down and picked up some trial files and just couldn’t believe how easy that was. Here I was, some random tourist, and I could effectively steal some important legal document without anyone blinking twice. I guess this is the major obstacle of a democracy and fair judicial system for one BILLION people. Many of the employees there stared at us, probably confused why we were interestedly walking around their office. Unfortunately, they held our cameras at the front, so no physical proof, but just imagine 6-foot mountains of paper sitting on open-air balconies, literally flying into the courtyard below, and you can grasp the Indian judicial system, and how corruption has become a norm.

(The High Court)

We also got to walk in on a live trial. This was really cool. First, because we got to take a break in a lovely air-conditioned room. But mostly, because we got to see a real trial happen, something about a property dispute. What was surprising to me was that the trial was conducted in English. To me this seemed very elitist – I mean how many people can really defend themselves and speak English in a situation like this? The presiding judge made some funny quips at the defendant, and we left thereafter. I later asked our hostel-owner Raj about this and he explained that, during unification in the 40’s, there was so much dispute between the North and South, differences that continue to this day, that they couldn’t decide on which of the many Indian dialects to use as the national language (they say language changes every 200km), and instead chose English. One of the only good things that the British left, as Gandhi puts it.

After the High Court, we tried walking to a lunch place mentioned in the LP. Some 30 minutes, and many circles later, we gave up our goal and settled for a sidestreet restaurant. A little wary of the meat, I opted for a veg dish (a great country for vegetarians, as it is full of them) called Bhel Puri (I think), which was a tomato based curry and chipatti with some spicy chutney. Now, I have always enjoyed Indian food, but this just put me over the top. It was so so so so delicious. Especially after a straight month of Chinese food of noodles and some steamed vegetables, having tomatoes and spices was like a tsunami in my mouth. Aboslute glory.

Also, randomly on our walk through the Khala Goda area, we passed one of only two synagogues in India. This one was quite large, and bright, shining blue and white outside. Unfrotuantely, I didn’t take the chance to go inside, but just seeing the outside was amazing, knowing that even though there were only a handful of Jews in India (a historically tolerant place), it made a big impact on the scenery.

(Major traffic circle with beautiful fountain)

(More British architecture)

After grabbing lunch, and some more walking around (being caught in a Bollywood movie shoot even), we headed back to the Churchgate Train Station. David was trying to get a train ticket onwards to the beach area of Goda, but we couldn’t find the long-distance part of the station, and just settled on going back to the Anjali to avoid the mid-afternoon dread of heat.

(My first encounter with Bollywood)

Some things to note after my first day. Traffic is bad here, but I’ve become numb to that idea. In my view, the biggest cities in the world (Mumbai is estimated between 15 and 30 million depending how you count) all have the worst traffic in the world, just in their own different ways. NY traffic is as bad as Beijing, and Mumbai just different. All taxi drivers are crazy everywhere, and don’t follow rules. There, done, now we can move on. The black-and-yellow taxis were everywhere in Mumbai, along with endless seas of Tata cars and motorbikes.

Navigating Mumbai was much more difficult than any Chinese city. It seems that Chinese cities were laid out very logically, with streets named north, south, east and west, and a very logical grid. Mumbai on the other hand, is full of circles, twists and turns and names that I can’t pronounce. Luckily, and unlike China, I would say there was a 70% chance of asking someone for directions who could speak English. This made htings just as easy as China.

Some things about Indian people. They are very nice, but can be a bit confusing. There is this head-nod thing that all the men do. It seems that they can’t say “yes” or “okay” – they just do this head wiggle thing. And I have no idea what it means. I learned that it was better to ask straight up for directions rather than propose “this place is down to the right” and look for them to agree, because they will just nod/wiggle and you’ll have no clue what they’re talking about. A weird finding is that lots of Indian men have dyed their have red, like copper. It is really strange, and I was not able to get a good explanation. Just strange and funny-looking. Also, after my first day in the heat, I started carrying around a small towel like the rest of India, to keep a little bit dry and presentable.

As soon as we arrived back at Anjali, Raj made us some Chai and samosas and we all relaxed on the couch for the rest of the afternoon, napping in and out. Upon Raj’s recommendation, we hired a rickshaw taxi to take us to Juhu Beach near famed Chowpatty beach for some drinks and dinner and walking around. It was a really lively place full of families and couples out at night, enjoying the plethora of food stalls and cool(ish) ocean breeze of the Atlantic. We enjoyed some stall food and a couple drinks before hiring a rickshaw back the Anjali, which was not so easy since nobody knew where it was, even though we had one of their business cards with the directions clearly in Hindi and English. Early to rise, early to bed.