As I stepped out of the airport in Mumbai, I could hardly believe my nose. It's going to sound like a cliche, but that doesn't mean it's not true: the air smelled of curry. Even when I got home and unpacked, my clothes smelled a little...just a little, mind...like curry. Which in the end sums up my whole whirlwind trip to this crazy city: exotic, fragrant, a little overpowering, and not advisable in large doses.
The city is so huge and traffic is so bad that the best way to get around is by train--trains which don't seem to have been upgraded since the British laid the tracks a hundred years ago. My fellow teacher and I probably wouldn't have had the guts to venture out like this by ourselves had it not been for the convenience of cars entirely reserved for women (and a few sons, obviously from the picture above).This brings up another fantastic sensory experience in India, which is color: women's saris are bright, beautiful, and unique. It's a refreshing change from the States, where most people not only wear the same drab colors, but most likely the same labels and styles from the same store. Another insigificant observation: all saris are long skirts, and even those women in Western clothing wear long pants covering their legs fully. I did not see a single woman in shorts or a short skirt (without leggings). Yet it is not considered immodest to display an entirely nude midriff. In fact, saris seem to be designed to do just that, yet in a way that appears comfortable and natural, and not necessarily sexy (though that probably depends on who's wearing the sari).
Other than train, the only other way for us to travel through this absolutely enormous city was either by motorized rickshaw (first picture) or by native-built taxi, a 50s-style contraption seen above. Both operate with meters that are reminiscent of old British mail boxes, though often for us tourists prices were not scientifically determined. Instead, they were negotiable throughout the entire trip. Once I stopped to argue with our driver, but then I realized that the entire bill I was quibbling over was the equivalent of one dollar. I smiled, handed over the 50 rupees, and moved along. I hated to get cheated, but I also didn't want to risk karmic retribution over an amount so easy to part with.
Frankly, much of Mumbai was pretty disappointing. It actually made Manila appear clean and prosperous, which I think about says it all. Our hotel was up by the airport, an hour from downtown even without traffic. The conference was further north than that. Our one evening in South Mumbai, though, helped me warm up to the city--the old, aging colonial buildings revitalized with new shops and restaurants charmed me. Vendors, like the one above selling sugar cane juice, plied their trade eagerly, but not over-aggressively. If I were to live in Mumbai, I would want to live here in the original city--alas, but I probably could not afford it. The one thing that costs in this city is rent (and hotels): it is the seventh most expensive city in the world in terms of living accommodations. It costs on average $10,222 per square meter to live there, according to this report. Who in Mumbai, other than Bollywood stars, can actually afford that?It certainly explains a lot about the vast discrepancy between the rich and poor there. Everything else was cheap--food (all decicious), textiles, and cab fare. I made sure we took advantage of all three, which is probably no surprise to anyone. Eating and shopping my way through a city is pretty much my default plan. Tomorrow it's on to Manila for Thanksgiving.
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