Wild Mumbai

Mumbai at night from the back of Hardick's bike is spectacular: black sky, covered in haze (presumbably from pollution), the orange glow of streetlights, dark green shadows of palm trees above, a prevasive, sweet smell like something fermenting, mixed with dirt, a moist, cloying heat relieved at times by a sooty breeze, streets crammed with two person, motorized rickshaw cabs, men on motorbikes, sometimes with others, men & women, on the back, ocassionally a woman in a sari riding side saddle, bicycles rode urgently by men in flip flops, at the sides, jostling pedestrians, the small round shapes of wild dogs curled into the dirt, bull cows with horns hitched to fences, then, suddenly an elephant, a grey, round, wrinkled rump and twitching tail towering over the road.

We rode for miles and didn't encounter a single street sign. At one point, we stopped and I noticed a traffic light. In front of us, people were pushing forward on motorbikes and bicycles, rckshaws following. Then, it registers: the lights is red, they are running the light en masse. When bike with Amit on it pulls up and I point to the light, he yells, "People only respond to the light if there's a cop." We go, pushing through in a series of stops and starts through the crowd, moving perpendicular to us.

Traffic is self-regulated largely through horns. Hardick blasts through traffic blaring his horn (which sounds like beep, beep, beep, a child's idea of one) squeezing next to and between rickshaws so that, at times, I think he'll side swipe them. Any semblance of lanes are approximate; people use either side of the road as needed. Sometimes, a rickshaw swerves (possibly to let off a passenger) and I see another seeming to head right towards us. Both the driver and Hardick blare their horns and their vehicles manage to sweep by each other within a few inches. The only law is that of critical mass. We look out for accidents, and don't notice any.

We are in Mumbai, still staying with Hardick and Umakaki. Yesterday, the women of the house, Umakaki and Heena, took us shopping at the mall. The storekeepers laid out multiple garments in front of Heena, and she nixed them over and over again, hundreds of them, before she came across anything she wanted. When she found something desirable, she bargained, complaining about the price until the storekeeper (who meanwhile talked up its quality) dropped it. We bought Heena a beautiful dark-green silk punjabi pajamas outfit for about US $26. I came away with an orange tunic and long skirt in black with gold accents.

I also met Dipumama yesterday at his apartment, Amit's 75 year old uncle. I was able to appreciate his sharp mind since he speaks English. He has translated several volumes of religious texts in the past few years into the Gujarti dialect. In the past 8 months, he has taken up yoga practice which he is learning from a guru with a show on television. He wrapped his legs into a lotus position and showed us a series of breath work. Later, Amit tried to replicate the position and was unable.

We will stay in Mumbai meeting relatives through Sunday. Then, to avoid the most intense heat in the South, we will fly to Karella in the South to begin travelling there for approximately three weeks.

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