First weekend in Mumbai

Friday afternoon I finally got myself moving and went across the hall to Leah and Lauren’s flat. After some chatting and an attempt on Leah and her Indian friend’s part to give me directions for the train to downtown, I ventured out on my own in Mumbai for the very first time. Across the street from the house is a ‘lane’ with ‘villas,’ I’m guessing from the Portuguese missionaries and colonists, now in pretty bad disrepair—but it’s clear that they were once beautiful and lavish, and even reminded me a bit of the architecture on Fairmount Blvd in Cleveland Heights. I found my way into the market, which is much like the shuk at Mahane Yehuda but with an actual road going through it- which means that pedestrians, busses, taxis, rickshaws, cars, bikers, cyclists, peddlers, hawkers, consumers, and beggars all occupy the same space. Not to mention the cats, dogs, and occasional cow and/or goat. Quite a lot to take in- cilantro and cellphone covers and bollywood CDs and masala milk and rice and dosas and, and, and – Muslim men with henna dyed hair and hajj caps, women in the entire range of fashion from completely western jeans and tee-shirts to saris to salwar kameez to full burkas, only with the eyes showing. There’s also another sect of Muslims, the Booris, whose women wear colored outfits with a hooded cape instead of a full one-piece burka, creating a somewhat amusing subcontinental Amish effect.

Somehow I managed to find my way to the ticket counter and to the train, and to my bewilderment I was the only person in the compartment. Later I understood that’s because I had a first class ticket and it was a national holiday, so the trains were empty. At the time, though, this gave me what I later came to understand was a false sense of security or confidence, really, about riding the trains. Arrived at Churchgate and took a taxi to Colaba to find the Chabad house, which took a fair amount of exploring until it was obviously right there in front of me. I was early (shockingly)- the menfolk were still at shule (the Keneseth Eliyahoo synagogue, which turns out to be right next to my office), so I chatted with Rivky, the rebbetzin, and other people who came in, a young Israeli couple, a single Israeli woman, and a mother and daughter from South Africa and Australia (I was pleased with myself for picking out the SA accent, especially). Eventually the place filled up and I was pleasantly surprised to see I was the only American- almost all Israelis, equally traveling businessmen and post-army travelers, including girls who looked so young I could hardly believe they weren’t 10graders. A few younger Israeli guys work here, for El Al, the consulate, or some sort of defense contractor/arms dealer. Chabad was…. Chabady. Welcoming and friendly, but with its own set of ulterior motives. I’ll go back, though. It was nice to pick up the Hebrew and could be good for meeting travel companions down the line.

I took a taxi back up to Santa Cruz and fell asleep along the way, woke up just in time to see we’d passed the house and had to turn around- I was impressed with myself to be able to even identify that. Saturday I slept late and felt really sick so I spent pretty much the entire day in bed, reading, sleeping, and generally languishing. A few times Patricia knocked on my door to come eat, tell me about the theft of Jen’s traveler’s cheques, and to warn me about watching my drinks when I go out because of date-rape. Stuff like that makes me want to call her a host-mom, whereas other times I just want to think of her as a landlady. We’ll see how that plays out over time.

Sunday I decided it was imperative to leave the house, especially for the sake of getting a cell phone and other necessities. I walked up and down S.V. Road, up and down another perpendicular road opposite the way to the train station (still not sure what that road is called- lots of roads here don’t actually have names, they’re just named in reference to the ‘main road’ or some other landmark, kinda like the address here). Lots of new things to observe: In many places the footpath (sidewalk) is in tact, in others it’s as if they just forgot to finish constructing it- there will just be an open square, wide open for anyone to fall in. I’m amazed that I haven’t seen that happen yet. Instead of benches at bus stops, there is just a bar, and people sit on it or lean against it. Sometimes the sidewalk is built right around a tree. The curbs are higher than in the States. Scaffolds on buildings, even tall, new, modern ones, are simply branches tied together. Looks pretty tenuous and dangerous to me. People try to cross the street in a critical mass- one brave soul will step out first and then others will flank him to ride his wave, essentially. Getting up the nerve to cross the street alone took some time, but now I feel ok about it. Rickshaws slow down for me so I’ve learned to walk with an expression of great determination and urgency on my face so they can tell I’m not just wandering, waiting to hop into a ‘rick’ as they’re called. I found a corner store/grocery/drug store with plenty of American brands, including but not limited to Kraft Mac+Cheese, nature valley granola bars, Tropicana juice, and plenty of western beauty products. I also bought a ‘mobile’ but couldn’t activate it without proof of address, which turned into a whole other story later. With these new goods I headed back home, I was too hot and pooped to continue after just about an hour of walking.

After a good long rest back home, I ventured out again, in the opposite direction as before, towards Khar. It became quickly evident that Khar is a more Muslim community, with lots of men in the hajj hats and long jalabiyas, and women in burkas, plus a few mosques, halal restaurants and shops, and sidewalk shrines. I walked into a political rally- elections were a few days later, and saw lots of storefront party set-ups. Candidates seem to be lauded in a similar way to deities or saints- with lots of floral garlands and revelry. Still trying to figure out how these local elections worked- something like 3000 candidates for 270 seats. What we call ‘running’ for office, they call ‘standing.’ I also noticed lots of street stalls for selling pan, samosas/vada pav/bhel puri/etc, tea, pulses, peanuts, and tobacco (in little foil packets that look suspiciously like condom wrappers), and one area with a bunch of tired looking poopy cows.
28 Jan