Mumbai Dreams

Nothing can quite prepare you for Mumbai – it grabs you and doesn’t let you go. Most westerners struggle with the noise, pollution, over population and abject poverty. However if you allow yourself to stop fighting against the traffic, people, touts and beggars and begin moving with the city, listening for its beat, you’ll experience a welcoming, beautiful and tropical metropolis.

I arrived in Mumbai yesterday morning. After a long drive from Navsari in Gujarat my parents and I parted ways at Chatrapati Shivaji International Airport in floods of tears. I quickly said wiped my eyes dry made my way to the Colaba Fort area to distance myself from the emotion I felt leaving my parents for a 2nd time in my life. As I rushed past the tower blocks, slums and Marine Drive, I wondered when I might see them again. Just as the heavy haze which hangs over Mumbai in the dawn light, I too felt burdened as if somehow I was letting them down by leaving on my own journey. Time will tell.

Arriving at Mistry Court in Churchgate I was met by Hairy (Pravir), an old friend who had just rolled out of bed. After a delicious breakfast of curried potatoes and rice, fresh fruit and coffee I was ready see more of this fascinating city. Following Pravir’s father’s advice over lunch at the CCI Club, I made my way east along beautiful canopied streets reaching the Oval, a large park opposite Bombay University’s imposing Gothic building. Fittingly the Oval was a hive of cricketing activity. 50 or so games taking place all at the same time. Dodging several outfield shots I reached the other side with my head still firmly on my shoulders. I found a palm tree to sit under to cool off. It’s noticeably hotter in Mumbai than in Gujarat and the palm trees provided a welcomed relief from the afternoon rays and an opportunity to watch the cricket from a safer distance.

After cricket I thought I’d continue East towards Kala Ghoda (Black Horse), Mumbai’s Museum district. Currently there is an arts fair in the area, with many of the streets closed to traffic, selling amazing jewelry from across India. In the evenings there are live performances from traditional and more contemporary artists. This, I thought was an excellent place to spend a few hours taking pictures, shopping and soaking up the atmosphere.

After the afternoon’s explorations, Pravir and I went to play a spot of 5-aside football off Marine Drive in sweltering heat, before heading out for food and a few beers in Colaba. This town is certainly not cheap! But boy did the beer taste amazing. What a day – worth every penny. I’m looking forward seeing more of this incredible city.

India by Bus

A seat, finally! But my respite is short lived when a young lady carrying small child fight their way through the hordes to the back of the bus where I’m seated. Making eye contact, and being the gentleman that I am, I sacrifice my lower back ache for her. She seems genuinely appreciative. We NRI’s are too weak sometimes.

The bus ride back from Vapi and Daman was supposed to a relaxed affair. Instead it has been anything but. We later learn the train line between Mumbai and Gujarat is riddled with cancellations; the bus network taking much of the strain.  A morning at the beach, sipping beer and and barbecued corn (appropriately given an Indian twist of lemon, salt and chilli powder) has been replaced with sweaty bodies, packed into a coffin of metal and exhaust fumes. The seats are quickly taken by women with children, the disabled and fat men chewing paan. The more polite society, or those who are just down right unlucky, settle for standing room – what did we expect for 63 Rupees?

An hour in, with sweat dripping down my face, the journey is interrupted by a loud explosion at the front of the bus. The brakes are applied, and the conductor together with several passengers alight to see what has happened. I join them if only to allow blood to circulate through my legs again. I understand Gujarati perfectly, but here, its spoken so quickly that I’m only able to catch a few words from the driver in English. Among those words is ‘air-brakes’. I figure we’re not moving anywhere for a while so quickly rush back into the bus where the air, while acrid is cooler than the 35 degree midday heat outside.

My mother, who successfully managed to find a seat, passes me a bottle of now boiling water and I take a swig. My thirst is anything but quenched but at least it dilutes the sand and dirt that had settled in my throat.

A quick phone call or two and we’re informed a replacement bus has been dispatched. 15 minutes later, I’m grabbing my bag, jostling my mother down the bus steps and running for the replacement bus which has pulled up beside us. Trucks, motorcycles and auto rickshaws all blast their horns as we move into oncoming traffic. My mother and I find a seat; my father is not so lucky. Enter young lady with child. Crap!!! I could feel my lower back groan again.

The next 2 hours are spent trying not to step on anyone’s toes and attempting to sleep while standing. We stop in Valsad to switch buses toward Surat. Sadly the first bus is already fully packed with a large group of passengers still trying to squeeze on. My mother and I take a seat in the bus depo. and wait for the next bus to arrive. We sit and watch as the large group of unlucky passengers somehow manage to squeeze themselves onto the Surat bound bus. Babies and small children are past through open windows, a reorganization of limbs takes place inside creating a few inches of space; just enough for another 10 passengers to cram themselves in. Incredible – but not for me. I’d rather wait this time.

Finally the next bus to Surat arrives. I hustle my parents into seats and then find a seat to rest up against as sadly in my attempt to stow luggage the last seat is taken by some irritating kid playing the latest Hindi tunes incredibly loud on his mobile phone. Seems like Indians really love their phones. They protect them with plastic cases, leather holsters and use all the functions that you or I could nott care less about.

The next hour is uncomfortable and long eventually arriving in now familiar Navsari.

An experience that with no doubt will be repeated as I traverse the breadth of India over the next 3 months. I can’t wait 🙂

Hot New Route

The locals have noticed the heat. I’ve noticed the heat. In a matter of days the temperature has risen to 32-33 degrees and I’ve started to burn. Its still the winter, so Lord only knows how hot its likely to get come June. I’ve reorganised my route so that I’m high in the hills and mountains of Himanchal Pradesh by May/June when things really start to cook.

For now, my time in Navsari Gujarat draws to a close. It’s been educational and a lot of fun, however I’m ready to part ways with familiarity and a common tongue for the brash cities of Mumbai and Kolkata. My route now starts in the East and meanders its way back to Mumbai via Varanasi, Jhansi and Bhopal, at which point I take a sharp right turn, northward to the hill stations and yoga retreats via Delhi. In totality the journey will take me 2-3 months and I’m eager to go it alone, as family is become a little tiresome.

Along the way there is the small matter of finding travel partners, gaining entry to local businesses and meeting artists for work. (Continue to check Boticca.com for my first piece on the Surat diamond industry). Thankfully eating, traveling and sleeping is cheap here, so money can be saved for more expensive parts of my trip later in the year. [Note to self: begin researching trekking tours in Nepal].

In other news, I’ve had my first bout of Delhi Belly and uploading pictures to the web has been troublesome. I apologise to readers; once I have a more secure and speedier internet connection, I’ll post some good stuff from Surat, Dandi and Vapi. I head to Mumbai on Wednesday night to connect with Mr. P at the Black Horse arts festival and interview several of Mumbai’s fashionista.

Bas! Danyavaad.

Stepping back in Time

The evil-eyed monkey brandishes his teeth as my father and I stand motionless in, what we now know is, his territory. This old house, with bleached walls, stone floors and a small veranda belonged to my great grand parents in the village of Supa. It seems as though the new owners, a family of white haired monkey’s were not too pleased to see my father and I. He bounds toward us across the corrugated aluminum roof panels and takes a swipe at my father. Then turns to face me. “I think we should retreat dad – he’s pretty pissed that we’re here”. We head for safety inside, where its cool, and dark and ancient. Some 48 hours ago I was in London’s Terminal 5, a feat of engineering, technology and design. Here I am in rural Gujarat in 28 degree heat and a monkey just tried to attack me.

I arrived in India after a comfortable flight from Heathrow, arriving in Mumbai early Saturday morning. My train to Navsari some 300 miles north of Mumbai was due to depart from Mumbai Central at 5.30, so I had a few hours to kill. Stepping out into the heat, smell and swarms of rickshaw drivers of Mumbai’s arrival’s square was truly overwhelming. This place is crazy … but I instantly felt at home. I wrestled my pack off my back near a small cafe on the edge of the square and sat down with a small cup of hot, sweet, milky chai to pass a few hours. Tourists, Indians, Holy men,  NRIs from all walks of life passed through the main square searching for their taxi or family. All with smiles on the faces, happy to be in this amazing country. Many were carrying what seemed like their worldly possessions; TVs, 6 huge suit cases, refrigerators, instruments and even a canoe. There I was thinking I was carrying a lot. As 4pm drew closer and after my 6th cup of tea, I decided to jump in a taxi and head toward the station. The driver looked like a 15 year old boy. He sped at suicidal speeds past Mumbai’s slums, high rise complexes and temples; arriving with a screech outside the main gates to the station “Sir, tip please”. NO – sorry. Efficient but cheeky.

I quickly found platform 3, bought some water and snacks and waited for the Gujarat Express to arrive. It emerged through the dust and steam at 4.55am, passengers clambering to get to their seats as the train was still pulling into the station. I also panicked and began to shove people out of the way to find my carriage. Thankfully I had booked in advance and my air-conditioned carriage was almost empty. It only cost me 250Rupees (3 GBP). As I settled down, for the 4 hour journey I was happy to be here. Alone, on this adventure, me and my thoughts. I dozed off with dreams of greater journeys, amazing people and landscapes.

I arrived in Navsari at 10am to meet my father and Nitin Bhai (cousin). Huge hugs ensued and a short rickshaw ride to our new apartment, I could finally rest before a full days worth of food, fun and family.

Next:

• Pictures from Gujarat
• Vapi
• Dandhi (Ghandi Salt March)
• Contact Details