 |
| Bombay, India |
Kelly and I were returning to our hotel when a man approached us selling something or other. Each of us, in turn, gave him the disinterested response, characterized less by the mild shaking of the head than the lack of energy displayed in our response. This came instinctively to both of us, and was executed without becoming the least bit nervous or agitated. Ah, we have adjusted to Bombay.
We saw a movie at a theater right near our hotel. It was “The Terminal”. We were both pretty disappointed in Steven Spielberg. It was semi-entertaining, but full of so much obvious cliché and things that happen in movies but never in real life. The Indian movie-going experience differs from the American one in two major ways. One, they issue assigned seats. Two, cell phones go off, and people answer them. No less than four people in our immediate vicinity took cell phone calls in the middle of the movie. Many others received text messages, their bright cell phone displays drawing my eyes away from the screen. Granted, they talked very quietly on the phones, but not granted, some let their phones ring for 10 seconds (on the loud ring setting) before answering them. I’m pretty cell phone liberal, but I’m sorry, if you hold high government office, maybe it makes sense your answering a cell phone in a movie. If you are a teenager, Rajesh who lives next door can wait an hour and a half to be told you were in a movie when he called. I’ve heard during the Bollywood films, people sing and dance in the aisles along with the movie. I hope to experience this before I leave India.
We went to the train station to buy an advance ticket for our trip to Goa. Walking in, we were offered help by a gentleman, who walked us over to a desk, explaining we had to fill out a form. He told us the fast train to Goa was canceled, and we would need an overnight one that cost $50. We balked and decided to sleuth around ourselves. Another guy enthusiastically pulled us out of line to visit the “tourist desk”, which turned out to be an empty desk where he could do the same thing the first guy had done. Indians are nice, but nobody wants to help you *that* badly unless they’re making money somehow. We finally found a really nice guy to help us who was buying a ticket himself (we approached him…it makes all the difference). He explained our train was $12 and told us how to fill out the form and where to drop it off. Unfortunately, when we finally got to the front of the line, we found out the train was in fact, canceled. Were those other guys on the up and up? I just can’t see how, but maybe they were…sometimes touts get kickbacks just for bringing in regular priced business. Our choices narrowed to an expensive overnight train, an expensive 11 hour day train, or a cheap day train in second class. Our new friend said he thought the second class day train would be just fine, but in the end Kelly and I followed the advice we had read always to go first class in India. In this case, we decided to fly. It was pricey, but man is it a fast and comfortable way to travel. The train station was our first taste of Indian bureaucracy, and it was a doosy. They have forms to fill out and lines to wait in just to gain access to the line where you can buy your ticket. The procedure is explained in English nowhere in the station. Later I was told we are better off going to a travel agent, as it’s only a little bit more and they’ll do it all for you. Lesson learned (but I’m glad we saw how the train station worked).
Although we had been in Bombay for almost a week, we decided to stay an extra day, and I’m glad we did. On this last day, we experienced more than the whole rest of the week. We hired a car to drive us around for 3 hours to hit some major spots. Our first stop was a forgettable temple. The Jain temple, which we had seen before, was much nicer, and had many people carrying incense and candles toward idols they would then bow before and worship…cool!
Next we saw Dhobi Ghats, the clothes-washing place. In Bombay, this is the one spot where laundry is done for the whole city. I had some clothes washed at my hotel, and I now understand they were transported to this place and back. It is an enormous block filled with people doing laundry by hand. There are large basins of water, people banging clothes against tables, and tons of finished product air-drying. The pictures I took will say it a lot better.
Next we stopped at the Haji Ali mosque. Similar to a temple, except there was a guy with a broom-like device that would whack the faithful on their heads and back as they leaned over to kiss and sniff something I couldn’t see. The mosque was at the end of a half-mile or so concrete pier, extending out into the sea. On our way back, we clued in that all the handicapped and deformed people we had seen lining the way to the temple were beggars that are commonly given some money by mosque-goers. Kelly had heard there are those near holy places that have given up their worldly possessions and survive off handouts. Whether these people were those people I don’t know. Every 7th beggar or so there was a beggar selling a stack of ½ rupee coins. I bought several stacks of these coins (worth about a penny each), and Kelly and I methodically put one in the hand of each sitting beggar, as well as those that walked up to us with arm outstretched. These people were much worse off than those collecting 10-spots near our hotel.
Along our long, charitable walk back, two kids (a boy and a girl) began following us and saying “Pepsi?” Their questions about “Pepsi?” soon turned into enthusiastic, commanding declarations of “Pepsi!” As we walked and didn’t say anything to shoot down the children’s request, their numbers grew. Within seconds there were four children, and one began to hold up fingers to show us how many should get a Pepsi, and then pointing to them all. Kelly and I love Pepsi, and I can’t say I would have had the same response if they had wanted Coke, but dammit I was gonna buy these kids a Pepsi, assuming I could confirm it was not some sort of scam. It wasn’t. By the time we reached the Pepsi stand, we had gathered around 15 kids, and loitering at the Pepsi purchase counter brought the total to about 25. I thought our Pied Piper Pier march was impressive, but the guy at the Pepsi stand explained, “You’re lucky you only have 25.” When I found out the Pepsi bottles were 15 cents each, I motioned that all the kids could have one. The store helpers got out sticks and herded the children into an organized sitting line, where they were each given one Pepsi or Mountain Dew. A couple of feisty kids grabbed one with each hand, but a quick tap with the stick on the second hand solved that little problem. Man, they enjoyed those Pepsis. Kelly had carried one of the girls halfway down the pier, and continued to hold her. She hadn’t gotten a Pepsi, and was having a hard time convincing any children to share theirs with her. She asked one child, who shared his. Kelly praised him so much for his altruism that about five other children immediately held out their Pepsi for the little girl, and in the end she got more than her share. The walk back to our car was still rather long, and we had a following for this journey as well. They were happy with our generosity, but also wanted more. The shopkeepers lining the sidewalk (now we were back on the main street) tried to disperse our followers with sticks and trays, whatever they had in their hands. Many still remained, and followed us until we crossed the street and got back in our car. I didn’t give them any more money or treats, but my celebratory shouts of “Pepsi!” were echoed by all the kids. When the last child jumped off the bumper, we knew we had lost them. I’m sure I can speak for Kelly as well when I say it was the best experience we had in Bombay. We made no pretense that we had effected any change in the Haji Ali pier community, but it felt really good to buy 25 kids a cold treat on a hot afternoon, for a total cost of $5.
From there we drove to the Gandhi house. The day we visited was actually Gandhi’s birthday, which may have explained why it was fairly crowded. The house is where Gandhi used to live in Bombay, and has been turned into a museum. It houses photos and many glass cases with doll displays enacting the many scenes from the movie “Gandhi”…errr…I mean from Gandhi’s life. But thanks to having seen the movie (a second time recently), the posed scenes made sense to me.
That ended our car tour, but Kelly and I headed for an hour ferry ride to elephant island, where the elephant caves are. The caves had big figures carved into them, but after the hour-plus long boat ride and the half hour walk from the dock, they didn’t really grab us. The monkeys we saw along the way, however, grabbed very much. One grabbed an egg from a local kitchen and made off into a nearby tree to enjoy his stolen feast. On the boat ride back, I met two young Indian brothers who were very inquisitive, and we chatted the whole way back. They worked in the software and technology field, one in Bombay and the other in Bangalore. From them I learned that the average Indian employee in Bombay makes $1000 a year, the average software engineer makes $5000 a year. We talked about many other topics, too many to list here. They were extremely nice, and displayed an unusually large amount of interest in me. They asked many questions and wanted to know where I had been, where I had worked, and what America was like.
Once we got back, we headed straight off to Chowpatty Beach, which we wanted to see before we left. We had dinner, then hit the beach to seek out a snake charmer and a head massage. We found no snake charmers, but were approached about a head massage, which quickly turned into a most-body massage. The massage was very different from any I’ve had, and began with a vigorous rubbing of my hair and scalp. It is like when they wash your hair at the salon before a haircut, only 1000 times more vigorous. At one point, both masseurs stopped and scooted away from us. We thought the massage had ended, but rather it was just the police driving by. It is illegal to do scalp massage on the beach (it is, after all, the work of Satan), and we were told if caught we would have to pay them a 10 rupee (a quarter) bribe. I was out of my element on the beach and didn’t negotiate well, so we overpaid, but it was still very cheap by American standards, and the kid had even (mom, skip to the next sentence) cracked my neck better than any chiropractor has.
Kelly and I liked Bombay very much. Bombay is much more crowded than Bangkok (my closest city of reference), but I liked Bombay much better. The food is just amazing, there is plenty to do, and after we adjusted to the constant hounding, I found the city really fun. At least part of my affection for it must come from being treated like a king. Bombay is the most expensive place in India, but still the dollar goes so far that you can walk into any cab or any restaurant and know it will be surprisingly cheap. The people there know you are (comparatively) wealthy, and treat you as a superior (not to mention a consumer). I began to notice the stares I received often had the unmistakable hint of intrigue and awe - the kind of stare I might give a celebrity. I wonder how much of my enjoyment came from that feeling of celebrity - that I was special in a way I am not when I walk around San Diego. While I think (for me) it adds to the experience, it is mostly the charms of India that leave me smiling.
