After a in-flight screening of Life, Animated, (excellent) and a slightly delayed flight we got to the Bombay Airport around midnight on friday. We pre-paid for our taxi from the airport as recommended via guidebook and sat in relative silence on the way to the India Guest House. The streets were lit up and it rained sporadically – the end of August is the end of the rainy season. Our driver swindled us out of an additional 60 rupees (approximately $1) by taking us through a “toll” that was clearly not a toll. We didn’t have the mental reserves or the social knowledge to fight back after the long flight.
The India Guest House was located behind a suspicious looking door in Colaba, a neighborhood in Mumbai. The buzzer woke the desk man up from his cot nearby and we settled in for the night. The rooms were relatively barren with two worn single mattresses on frame and wall partitions to divide up the rooms (cost: 750 rupees/night).
At 10 am I woke up and walked downstairs to the slightly pricier Sea Shore hotel and snagged a room with a private bathroom and AC for the following two nights at a price of 1750 (approx: $25 dollars). Both of the hostels lacked a common area to socialize which I’ve missed… difficult to meet other people when you’re in solitary rooms.
After we migrated our stuff downstairs we walked along the water towards the Taj Mahal Hotel where within five minutes we were asked for selfies with three different people. Louise was quite popular. Eventually we stopped for lunch at Oye Koke, a vegetarian restaurant near the central train station. We both ordered Thali plates – a large platter including three different vegetable based dishes, a yogurt based dish, a salty coconut milk infused drink, naan, and rice. Louise topped off her meal with a sweet lassi. My order was largely influenced by the fact that I had absolutely no idea what anything on the menu was except for the Thali. The food was phenomenal and the spices top notch. My next menu order will be a random selection.
Louise returned to the hotel for a nap and I wandered around the city. Eventually an Indian guy came up to talk to me and introduced himself as Martin. He offered to show me around and we set off into the mayhem of Mumbai. Martin explained that currently we are in the middle of a ten day festival celebrating the Hindu god Ganesh. Ganesh is a multi limbed elephant god who represents the sun. We stopped by one of many pop-up shrines around the city containing a 14 foot replica of the god. Around the corner, a line of men served food to anyone who approached. Martin invited me over and explained that during the festival generosity and selflessness are emphasized greatly, hence the free food. I ate the curry dish like all the people around me: with my hands, slurping the residue off my fingers.
We wandered further, and Martin used his ID to help me get an Indian SIM card. Eventually, I asked him why he was helping me. He replied that it was a holiday and that when you do good it comes back to you. That was all.
Intermittently throughout the day the sky would open and we’d be soaked. Martin joked, “the water comes from the ocean dirty, but comes from the sky sweet. Why is it sweet? Who is in the clouds putting sugar in our rain?” I laughed about this for the rest of the afternoon.
I asked about Martin’s childhood, and he explained that his parents were farmers outside of Mumbai. At 7 years old, Martin stopped his formal schooling to help his parents with their work. Now, at 28, Martin works in a storefront (he didn’t say what for) and chats up foreigners in his free time to practice English.
Eventually Martin took me to try on the traditional celebratory garmet (sort of a long sleeved dress) and we parted ways.
Louise and I ate the leftover Thali from lunch for dinner and then went to walk around Colaba market. The streets were alive, and groups of drumlines marched in front of statues of Ganesh wheeled behind them. Towering sticks of incense roasted alongside keyboard players leading the groups with woody, strident, monophonic riffs played through jerry-rigged loudspeakers.
As the only foreigners in sight (literally) we inevitably were dragged into the dance. Afterwords I bought two delightfully flakey samosas for 20 rupees (around $0.30).
I’ve never stuck out as much as I do here.
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