Indian Farewell

MUMBAI, MAHARASHTRA - 24th November 2009

It's the end of days for Mumbai - tomorrow I depart on Qantas flight 52 to Singapore as my 7-month journey heads another step eastward. However, departure is not before a couple more action-packed days...

Our journey back from Matheran turned into a minor epic - after climbing up we decided to take the toy train back down, and hop onto the mainline suburban train from the bottom of the hill. The toy train journey was epic - certain stretches provided spectacular panoramic hilltop scenery akin to that of the Bangalore-Mangalore line through the Western Ghats (photos will follow in a few days); the difference being that our toy train ran on a 2ft narrow guage and simply worked its way progressively down an isolated hill, as opposed to carving a route through the middle of a range.  It was 2 hours down to Neral at the bottom, but it was there where the wheels somewhat fell off what would have been a relatively quick journey back to Mahim.  It turned out - much to our chagrin - that the Central Railway line into Victoria Terminus was undergoing Sunday maintenance for a stretch of our journey, so we'd have to switch to bus.  

Simple enough?  No chance.  

Unlike the UK, when weekend maintenance is pre-planned and forewarned with posters for months in advance (leave alone announcements to the same in pretty much every station within 100 miles), this is India.  Maintenance wasn't mentioned when we bought our tickets in Matheran, and it's a fair probability that most of the people at Neral station had no advance notice either.  The consequence, naturally enough, is another aspect of chaos - our train terminated at some station up the line and we exited the station to find a state of total bedlam.  Buses were nowhere to be seen, instead was a wall of traffic punctuated with auto-rickshaws jostling for the custom of the hundreds of displaced rail passengers, themselves pouring out of the station and out into the middle of the vehicles.  And a scene of general bedlam was finished off by the ongoing construction of the new Mumbai Monorail directly above our heads and on top of the middle of the road.  

Auto drivers are a crafty bunch, and they clearly they'd got wise about railway maintenance - rates across the 10-15km distance to the next station were off-meter and suitably hiked up.  However, with little alternative and my 7-year-old cousin generally unimpressed with the state of affairs, we hopped on board one - only for the driver's seat to be flanked by another two lads heading the same way.  One auto-rickshaw, 6 adults and a kid, at the height of the midday sun... combined with a massive increase in traffic due to the rail passengers... and you have yourself an hour and a half journey and a half.  Personally, I loved it - going on the old "When in Rome" dictum, there's little India does better than chaos, so make hay when the sun shines!  

Monday was supposed to herald a trip to the Elephanta Caves - a UNESCO World Heritage Site located on Elephanta Island, an hour's ferry from downtown Mumbai.  Thankfully, however, Anna called us up just in time with insider info that the ferries don't run on Mondays... so the trip got postponed 24 hours.  Instead, my uncle gave me a comprehensive tour of downtown Mumbai on his motorbike - with the 2 wheels of the bike we were able to cover a distance in 2 hours that would have probably taken at least double on 4 wheels.  It's always satisfying when you realise you roughly know your way around a city - particularly one as intricate as Mumbai - so I was pretty pleased with myself whenever I knew where we were and where we were going!

The trip to Elephanta did indeed proceed 24 hours later, and we got on board a launch from behind The Gateway to India - adjacent to the Taj Palace Hotel that was the centrepiece of the terrorist attacks here almost a year ago to the day.  It's about an hour's ride to Elephanta Island, from which you have a 120-step walk up to the Main Cave.  First, however, came entrance fees - and another opportunity for an argument over whether or not I could get away with paying the "Indian" rate of Rs.10, as opposed to the foreigner's rate of Rs.250.  Mssrs. Dowson, Marshall and Nimmo will remember similar situations occuring fairly regularly last year - most notably at the Taj Mahal in Agra, which boasts one of the most crooked pieces of price discrimination I've ever seen.  Indians: Rs.10.  Foreigners: Rs.750.  It's a safe policy - no foreigner is going to mind paying the equivalent of £10 to see one of the most beautiful structures on Earth, and furthermore no one who's come all the way to the dump of city that is Agra is going to leave without seeing it's only jewel.  But the audacity of charging 75 times the rate... unbelievable.  

Anyway, my uncle told the guard that I'm from Mangalore, and I had to answer to a bit of cross-questioning, but after various backhand comments from all sides I got in for the "proper" rate (though there was no chance of this for Anna the Ukrainian!).  The Main Cave is spectacular - the walls are filled with intricate carvings of Hindu deities and scenes from mythology (such as the one of Ardhanari to the right - a half-male, half-female god) - but, much to my disappointment, the supposed army of theiving-monkeys on the island failed to materialise.  And having seen the litter pollution dumped near some of the island's other caves, it's apparent that despite its UNESCO status, Elephanta is typical of many places in India - a cultural monument that needs a great deal more care and attention in future years to ensure its proper preservation for future generations.  

That's pretty much my story from India tied up though... 7 weeks of travel have already flown by, and from here it's Singapore and onward.  I'd like to take this opportunity to say a massive thank you to everyone who has fed, housed, entertained or otherwise helped me over here.  India is home, so needless to say I'll be back.

Departure and Dharavi

MUMBAI, MAHARASHTRA - 20th November 2009

Surprise surprise, leaving Mangalore yesterday wasn't exactly fun. Without wanting to sound like a broken record, leaving "home" is a pretty uniquely emotional experience for me (and, I guess, most of my family), though trying to articulate why is always hard - after all everyone always says and knows holidays have to come to an end - and 6 weeks is certainly enough. The only way I can think to describe it is like this: coming to Mangalore isn't so much a holiday, which is a break from your normal life, as a shift to another, equally integral part of your life. So when you leave, you're also leaving that part of your life too... which is pretty gutting. What made it harder than usual was that, unlike almost every other time I've left before, this time I had no idea when I'd be back again.

However, it's pretty pointless for anyone to sit dwelling on sorrows, especially when time in India is limited - and coming to Mumbai presented 6 days to achieve a whole swathe of new experiences, beginning immediately after i landed yesterday with a trip to a Hindu wedding. As is standard here, there were something in the region of 1000 attendees - all dressed in the most vibrant colours imaginable, and none moreso than the bride's family. The level of gold and general jewelry on display would have had a souk owner licking his lips - there were things glistening on pretty much every part of every girl/woman's body. It would have made an excellent fashion parade.

The bridal couple had, funnily enough, been inadvertantly set up by my aunt. As kids they'd played together in the same block of flats, but years later, when they were teenagers, my aunt gave them and a load of friends a bunch of free tickets to the movies. These two sat next to each other, and the rest is history...! (As an aside, kudos to my Dad for jumping at the opportunity to suggest Mamta give me some free movie tickets... )

I jumped from one end of the opulent spectrum to the other today though, when fellow Pembrokian Anna (lately of "Young Pavlova" fame) invited me to join her and her friend on a tour of Dharavi - Asia's biggest slum. The tour was pretty impressive - people see Dharavi stretching for miles in every direction when they come in to land in Mumbai, but only by being on the ground can you appreciate the sheer level and scale of industry happening under the corregated iron rooftops. Our tour took us inside plastic recycling houses (guess where you're white recycling bags in Sevenoaks ultimately end up...), leather manufacturing shops, pottery barns and bakeries. For sure, every one of your senses takes a battering - the sight of rotting garbage, the stench of sewage, noise of machinery and motors in every direction, and of course kids jumping to shake hands with you every step of the way - but it's great to see how people don't stife in adversity, but work as hard as the next man. The place may be a slum, but it's got the productivity of Canary Wharf - perhaps not in value, but certainly in effort.

En route, I jumped at the opportunity to bowl a few balls at the local slum kids playing make-shift versions of cricket. It really is true that whatever language you speak, or wherever you're from - sport unites everyone.

Rain, rain, go away...?

As has been previously mentioned, after a dry, humid and all-round stuffy first 24 hours, my arrival in India saw greeted with some seriously mega rainfall, with dire consequences for all forms of transport.

Northern Karnataka - immediately south of Mumbai - does not usually experience heavy monsoon rainfall as it is largely on top of a plateau by the Western Ghats. On this occasion, however, it bore the brunt of a massive late summer monsoon, wreaking havoc in the region and resulting the closure of Goa's international airport, the suspension of long-distance rail services down the west coast, and the closure of the main highway linking the southern states with Mumbai.

My uncle, taking an overnight coach from Mangalore (in southern Karnataka) to Mumbai to meet me, basically raced the storms - his coach was unable to return to Mangalore as 4 landslides closed the highway just minutes after they had passed them.

The floods from the rains have caused untold damage and several deaths... but represent one of India's annual ironies - without such heavy rain, the suffering in a few months would probably have been a lot worse.

The day I arrived in India, the headlines in the media concerned the "worst drought in Mumbai since 1972" - a summer of failing monsoons had left the lakes that provide the city with water more than 30% below on required water levels as the monsoon season drew to a close. With next-to-no rain falling between November and May, an urban area the magnitude of Greater Mumbai requires all four of its feeder lakes to be overflowing come the close of the monsoons; the massive failure to do so brought fears of a shocking lack of water next summer.

So while the downpours brought suffering to Karnataka, as those same rains headed further north they brought untold relief to Mumbai's 15+ million inhabitants. Some sort of pun involving clouds, silver-lining, etc., can probably be inserted here.

Training

MUMBAI, MAHARASHTRA - 6th October 2009

With our bus tickets to Mangalore booked for Wednesday afternoon, the latest episode of "D-Rod" on tour saw us take the opportunity to go gallivanting around Mumbai's city centre. Stage 1 of the plan, however, involved the not-so-simple task of hopping onto one of Mumbai's infamous suburban commuter trains.

I've been in some pretty damn crowded places in my time - being rammed against the metal barrier in front of 40,000 people at T in the Park to the beats of Kasabian was pretty mental, though in transport terms I always thought the Jubilee Line towards Canary Wharf at 8.45am would take some beating. That was before I saw this video of Japanese "train pushers" ramming a few extra passengers onto the Tokyo Metro:



But - and I'm sure everyone can guess what's coming - Mumbai trains take the metaphorical biscuit. The train pulls up into Borivli station, already with people hanging out the doors. Before the train stops, the wall of waiting passengers engulfs each and every doorway and ram-roads their way into the carriage - it's dog eat dog and anyone left by the wayside gets no sympathy. Tokyo-style train pushers are not necessary not because there are fewer people - there are probably more - but because nobody has any qualms about quite literally rucking their way into the carriage. "Into" is probably an exaggeration - as long as they are close enough to put one foot inside the carriage and have one arm around a handlebar, they'll be happy as larry just dangling outside the door frame. Contrary to popular beliefs, closer examination at a later stage revealed that the trains do, in fact, have doors... but are left perpetually slid open.

Credit where credit's due though - the trains run like clockwork, and the train leaves the station no more than 30 seconds after it arrives - regardless of what anyone is doing or attempting to do along its 16 carriage length. The economist in me appreciated the true efficiency of it all.

Anyway, about 30 minutes later we'd pulled up to Churchgate Terminus in the heart of Mumbai's old city centre - the moment you step outside you see the British influence on all the architecture. Most spectacular is Victoria Terminus - still called VT by everyone despite being renamed Chhattarapati Shivaji Terminus a few years back. VT is up there with St Pancras for grandeur - its outer facade mimics the London termini on which it is based, but towers above its surrounding in a way far more impressive than its British cousins.

Some of you may have heard of/noticed the England 2018 "Back the Bid" campaign on Facebook, where 40 *lucky* supporters got a free scarf in return for sending in photos of them "Backing the Bid" around the world. I managed to snag a couple of photos into the album from my pre-travelling sojourn to Switzerland (here and here), but the real snappy snaps have been here in India. Some classics in Mumbai town included one with one of the world-famous dubba-wallahs (see right). To quote Wikipedia (the source of all knowledge),

More than 175,000 or 200,000 lunch boxes get moved every day by an estimated 4,500 to 5,000 dabbawalas, all with an extremely small nominal fee and with utmost punctuality. According to a recent survey, there is only one mistake in every 6,000,000 deliveries, statistically equivalent to a Six Sigma (99.9999% accuracy) rating.

Photos of this, and several other Backing the Bid cheesy grins, will probably appear on Facebook in due course.

Anyway, we had a fairly comprehensive wander around downtown Mumbai, swinging by the historic Crawford Market (whose structure was designed by Lockwood Kipling - father of Rudyard) for a falooda. Somewhat an acquired taste, faloodas are made by soaking tapioca seeds in water, then mixing them into rose syrup with vermicelli and adding milk, basil seeds, sugar and ice cream. Bloody terrific for digestion.

Moving slight away from the touristy region, we wandered through "Chor Bazaar" - literally "Robbers' Market" (I'm fairly sure it's an unofficial name), where you can pick up pretty much anything under the sun for a bargain price that is solely attributable to the good old five finger discount. I'm reliably informed that if you go there wanting something that they don't have, they'll get it for you within half an hour. I'm fairly sure that whatever economy Liverpool has is built on this principle, but they clearly haven't perfected it quite to the same extent as these guys.

We made time to stop for a pint at Leopold's in Colaba - a tourist hotspot that was one of the places gunned down during the 26/11 terrorist attacks on Mumbai. They've left the glass with bullet holes ridden in as a reminder to all its vistors (see right) - it's always chilling to think that a couple of months before then Simon, Jamie and I were in there being the very English tourists that those nutters were looking to murder. From there we had lunch at a brilliant Goan place called Martin's - off the tourist trail but damn good food. The afternoon passed with various journeys around Mumbai's districts - Worli (to add Mumbai to my collection of Hard Rock Cafe t-shirts), Sion and Bandra were all visited before the forced our way onto a train back up to Borivli. End of days for Mumbai - next stop, home - Mangalore.

96 not out

NASHIK, MAHARASHTRA - 5th October 2009

A day that began with a 4.30am alarm to catch a 5.30am, five-and-a-half hour bus, and finishes with a seven hour return journey back to Mumbai, really doesn't sound like one to write home about. The latter part in particular included one of those painful experiences that is made infinitely more infuriating by the fact that there's absolutely jog all you can do about it (an experience it seems I have the pleasure of revisiting on a remarkably regular basis).

Much akin to getting smacked in the groin and recovering, only to get repeatedly smacked again, we were making great progress on the road until we hit Mumbai. From 6pm to 8.30pm, however, we proceeded to move in the sort of stop-start manner that is arguably more annoying than idiot drivers hogging the fast lane on the M25 (and, as anyone who's been a passenger in my car knows, that is saying something).

Between 12 hours of bus rides, however, we were in Nashik to visit my great-aunt - my oldest living relative and indeed the oldest person in the history of our family. Auntie Martha, going strong at 96, was in great form - albeit form that lacked any memory of who we were or pretty much anything else. I think it's the first time I'd seen Auntie Martha in about 15 years, and I was simply speechless at her physical fitness. Bar memory loss, her body is as fit as a fiddle - she gets up and down and walks around without any help, and even kneels at Mass without anyone telling her to do so. My conversations with her were pretty entertaining for all present - what with my accent and her confusion about who we were, neither of us really had any idea what the other was saying. Nevertheless, she knew a good joke and still has a hearty laugh to accompany a heart-warming toothless grin!


All in all, those 30 minutes were worth 12 hours of traffic times 1000 - to see someone that fit at her age, and that happy to eat Cadbury's Dairy Milk chocolate bars without a care in the world ("Do you want some chocolate?", "Yes!"), was absolutely incredible. Great stuff.

Incidentally, the journey there involved a continuation of the mother of all monsoon storms. But more of that to follow.

Step 1. Mumbai.

MUMBAI, MAHARASHTRA, INDIA - 3rd October 2009

Sitting down to write this, I didn't think I had much to blog about at this stage. However, it will be scant surprise to anyone that, when push came to shove, I had a fair amount to say...

Arrival in Mumbai turned out to me more action packed than I realised at the time. Sure, there was your bog-standard one hour delay at Heathrow thanks to some numpty who checked in his bag but didn't get to the aircraft in time. Instead of letting him on board a few minutes late, whichever genius runs British Airways' operations decided the best option would be to unload the entire baggage store in search for his one bag. 45 minutes later, they were still searching. I couldn't help thinking that Eamonn would not be impressed.

Eventually we were moving, albeit moving in no systematic direction as we rolled around the Heathrow airfield for 25 minutes. Still, we caught a jet stream and landed only a little late. The real action was a few hours later when the BA plane started its return journey...

A British Airways Mumbai-London flight with 207 passengers on board made an emergency landing in Mumbai early Thursday following a fire.

The captain of the BA-138 flight, which took off from the Chhatrapati Shivaji International Airport at 3 a.m., heard a fire alarm in the cockpit about 30 minutes after take-off.

He immediately decided to return and a full emergency was declared at the airport.

Great entertainment for everyone on board, no doubt, but a shame it wasn't 24 hours earlier. Then the real entertainment would have been my Mum's blood pressure!

Anyway, as has been the norm for every one of my previous 12 visits to Mumbai, everything has changed, but everything is still the same. The former, in that every other building you pass, down every road you drive down, is brand new. And everything new is modern. But the constant change is equally the thing that stays the same. Everything is always changing here - the one constant is the chaotic traffic. When I say "every road you drive down", "drive down" is used in its loosest sense. "Plough through" is probably more appropriate. Its stated so much that its pretty much cliched, but Mumbai traffic tops anything, anywhere. Particularly in the suburbs - in the main city limits auto-rickshaws are banned, so things are relatively (at least by Mumbai-standards) civilised. The moment you're outside - all hell breaks loose. Yesterday we saw a guy in a Merc attempt a three point turn on a two lane high street that had 3 lanes of traffic moving in both directions. And that way remarkably normal. It has to be seen to be believed.

The other constant is the heat. We left the plane at about 12.45am local time, and were greeted by 29C heat and 98% humidity... so pretty toasty really. 3 days in and you're used to it though - and the healthy combination of fans and air-con do their bit as well.

A new experience for me was hitting Mumbai by night with my cousin. A few beers and some nice food preceded a walk along one of Mumbai's infamous beaches. Golden sand, check. Adjacent slums, check. A healthy level of dirt in the sea, check. But it was night, so it was still beautiful... though we did end up getting stuck at a dead end between a river and the slums. Good times.

Plans for the next few days include a trip up to Nashik to see my eldest surviving relation - Auntie Martha is going strong at 96, and the odds of her remembering who I am are about as remote as England winning this year's Champions Trophy (which, as of last night, are pretty remote).

Right now though, it's off to the pictures.