Hello my friend...

After our escapades around Aurangabad, Jon and I returned to Mumbai. Ok, Jon went to Mumbai and I returned to Mumbai. Whichever, it was together. I know I hadn’t been particularly fond of Mumbai but I wanted to do a Vipassana in Igatpuri (which I shall write about later) and needed to hang around somewhere close, but cheap, and I wasn’t sure where. Which is not why I went to Mumbai, as it’s not cheap, but it’s a place to decide where to go next. Anyways, Jon needed to spend a couple of days there to pickup a new passport and exit visa as I had previously, before we met, manifested that he should lose them. It. They were in the same place. His passport, he lost it.
So, we went to mumbai and, once again, had a great time.
We had a ridiculously expensive meal at a restaurant called Indigo, where we dressed up beautifully and pretended not to feel nauseous at the prices. The food was very nice. We got lots of free bread, which was also very nice. I suppose we could’ve bought nice bread for half the population of Mumbai with the price of the meal, but it was nice. Worth it. Good experience of pretending to be clean and have money. So much so that it was not the place to take photos in as it ruins the pretense that we didn’t find it ridiculously expensive. However, it was nice, if not ridiculously expensive.
We also hung out at Chowpatty beach. And had any conversations with locals. They generally went along the same lines as:
‘Would you like a massage?’
‘No’
How about a head massage?’
‘No’
‘A shoulder massage?’
‘No’
‘A foot massage?’
‘No’
‘It’s very good’
‘I’m sure it is, but no’
‘How about a hand massage?’
‘No’
‘Maybe a back massage?’
‘Er..no’
One tie, just to add a little spice I presume, a man offered me, or it seemed like he offered me, perhaps, with his dodgy smile kneeling close to me (not his smile, him)whilst Jon was on the phone, he was offering me the chance to massage him. He offered me, with gestures, a ‘sounds like’ rock massage. I declined his offer for me to massage him. Or declined his offer for him to massage me, in which case I need to wax my tash. Also, as it goes, I declined his offer to hold my hand, pull my finger, whatever. It is quite noticeable that some men, on me not wishing to buy some nuts, have a massage, have a conversation, er.. hang around in their cab once I have reached my destination, would just like to shake my hand.
I like it, it’s quite funny. ‘Give me money’ ‘No’ ‘Okay, I’ll settle for shaking your hand’ Whilst thrusting it in my direction. She sits firmly with her hand in her lap and smiles menacingly ‘No’.
After some time we decided to entertain a crowd by practicing some asanas. Or Jon did, I took photos. The selling stopped and we continued to have fun.
I also thoroughly recommend Koyla rooftop bar, great atmosphere, great music, great hookah (ask prices- special 400Rs ore expensive than the rest and not particularly special) all under some great stars. Stars courtesy of the Universe, not Koyla, and can be enjoyed anywhere.
Mumbai came to an end as Jon was flying home, and I was leaving for Goa. I’m sure many men would have wanted to put me on train to Goa before, and wave as it comfortingly leaves the station. Jon, not quite satisfied with the fact he was flying out of the country a mere 5hrs later, took this opportunity, and I’m sure, through the sweat of running with my backpack on in order for me to catch the train, relished in every second of watching the train depart, knowing I was safely caged inside. I’m sure he skipped to the airport, plaits a swinging.

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