Mumbai and Nasik

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We made the trip to the new international Airport at Bangkok with growing anticipation. That afternoon, lunching on Middle-Eastern food (falafels and schnitzel, with humous, fries and salad in a place that caters mainly for Israeli backpackers, we saw part of a rather violent but sexually repressed Indian film. It seemed to be that Fate had provided us with a sort of cultural appetiser, a teaser for what was to follow.

I remember that the first thing I wrote about on my arrival to Southeast Asia, way back in Singapore, was the smell: noodles. Either that smell must have pervaded all urban areas, or it was masked in the dirtier countries that followed, 'cause by the time we left Bangkok, I couldn't smell any noodles at all. Anyway, the point is that the first thing I was expecting from India was a full on olfactory assault. Once we'd cleared the airport and got into Mumbai, I wasn't dissapointed. More on that later.

My first real, defining, experience of India was in leaving the airport. We bought a taxi at the airport (you pay a sum at the counter) to the hotel we'd booked online a few days before. The man handed over our receipt and scribbled (in appalling handwiting) a four digit number. "Seven Four Nine Seven," he said (or something similar).

"I'm sorry?" My slightly bemused reply.

Apparently, this was the number of my taxi, over in that direction. We wandered over and found ourselves in the middle of a rather large carpark absolutley full of yellow and black taxis, each with a number on the side, in no particular order. As in all things I've seen here so far, the infrastucture is there, it's just a little confused and complicated.

Eventually, having found our cab, we were tearing along streets with no speed-limit amidst three of four lanes (depending on the size of the vehicles cramming in, rather than any markings on the actual road. Here came the smell. Most of it was traffic pollution, though the other smells seemed to range from incense to sewage, brine to (?) sulphor. We passed plush hotels nearer the airport, swerved dangerously and noisily around other cabs on the highways (the drivers here seem to think that the horn is necessary for making the vehicle go), and passed long stetches of people just sleeping out on the pavements.

Our hotel was probably the worst-for-value we've had so far. I think it's a combination fo generally lower standards in India, coupled with high accomodation prices in large cities like this one. The walls were bare plaster, brown with grime, the beds a bit hard (though seemingly free of bedbugs, and not too bad if you lie on top of the blankets). I realised on seeing it we were going to have to drop our standards somewhat here.

Our first full day in India, we breakfasted on Masala Dosas (our first Indian Indian - rice-flour pancakes wrapped around veg curry - traditional here, apprently) and set off to sort out our train tickets on from Mumbai.

We weren't applying our full attention to this, otherwise we'd have sorted it out sooner, but it did turn out to be our full day's "work". This is owed to the complexity and sheer enormousness of the Indian rail network (which, incidentally, is the largest employer in the world). I won't go into the details, but eventually, we emerged from the right office, still confused, with our tickets to Nasik. Somewhere along the way (walking between stations in Mumbai) we stopped off at a very upmarket-looking cafe for drinks and a slice of cake. It cost me nearly 1 pound (British), which is astronomical for food here, given that we can both eat well and drink in most places for about 50p.

I've found India so far to be a very bustling and alien place. This makes it both intimidating and exciting. I'm loving every second of it. The streets are crowded with groups of men and groups of women. Apparently, I'm a celebrity here - everone shouts "hello, sir! Welcome to India" (even if they don't want my money or custom) or at least stares as I pass, at either me or Jen (who seems to be the hottest little piece that ever walked the Earth to the ubiquitous chauvinists here - she's learning to ignore their leers and put up with it).

Today we've spent a full day in Nasik, a town that's intreresting to us in that it's designed to accomodate and provide for an influx of tourists, but almost entirely Indian ones, though tourist is the wrong word, really - most visitors are pilgrims coming to visit the Ram Kund - one of the most holy bathing sites in the country.

We were venturing out to visit it ourselves, when a respectably-dressed teenage boy approached me requesting permission to ask me a few questions. In a place like this, people are so fascinated by foreign people, and so keen to practice their English that they will approach at make vigourous efforts at friendly conversation. Discreetly checking that this wasn't a diversion -i.e. ensuring that nobody was going to pick my pockets from behind, I consented, and was subjected to a not-unfriendly and slightly apologetic inquisition: What was my name? What was my mother-country? What was my profession? My qualifications? How tall am I? How old? Jen was subjected to the same. Our guidebook had told us to expect these questions - there's no stigma in being curious about a stranger here. He took us over the street (more of an alleyway) to the entrance of his house, though apologised for not inviting me in, as his grandfather is distrustful of foreigners, remembering colonial rule all too well. I was introduced to almost the entire family (cousins, uncles, bothers and aunts), everyone wanting to know the same things. The brought out chair for us, and brought cups of chai, we felt a bit enthroned there, everyone crowding, curious, friendly but not menacing. Normally, I feel sllightly uneasy conversing with Indians here, as there are a handful of communication problems - their English is great, but the body-language is entirely different. They come accross as a little brief, and I get concerned that I came across the same way, but here I felt at ease, reassured. Eventually, we graciously took our leave, escorted by a guiding group of four of the children, showing us how to reach the Ram Kund. The kids wouldn't even accept any gifts for it. Just being friendly!

The Ram Kund is lined with dhobi-wallahs (washer women) and naked kids, priests, beggars, trinket-talls and auto-rickshaw drivers, not to mention the odd Hindi temple and a few cows wandering around. As we arrived there, a wild-eyed long-haired dye-anointed holy man, whose demeanor seemed strangely familiar, grinned at me and waggled his eyebrows as I passed, directing me towards the river. A moment later, I realised where I'd witnessed that spiritual-but-slightly-insane attitude before - I've seen it reflected in the stares of a thousand zoned-out older hippies who attend gatherings like Glastonbury Festival, whose New-Age 60's philosophies stemmed from these Eastern influences. Experiences like this, coupled with the realisation that most of Asia is, or has been Buddhist or Hindu at some point in the last 2,000 years, lead me to truly appreciate the strength of this country's culture. I read an account of Alexander's conquests somewhere that attributed his inability to conquer Asia to the subcontinent's complexity and diversity. I'd wholeheartedly agree that this was the reason he turned around and rode away. How could he tame the untameable? Even today, what other country on the face of this Earth is at once so familiar and yet so alien?

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Comments

[mum]

Really glad to hear you are OK, and have arrived safely in India. Sounds like quite an overwhelming experience so glad you are enjoying it. I remember when we were in India people were very keen to talk to us and to welcome us. I don't think there was quite the same problem with the men in Kerela though, perhaps because of the communist rule, or very high literacy rates, or maybe because Caroline and I are rather older then Jen! And we were less on the streets anyway I suppose. Anyway love to you both Mum