The Chatting Suburbs of Mumbai

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My arrival into India wasn’t quite what I had expected. Back in 2009 when I arrived in Delhi everything imaginable was moving about everywhere, including the airport access roads. Cows, dogs, and people, all over the place. However, at 4am in this corner of Mumbai the streets were practically empty.

I was staying in a hotel in the western suburb of Khar. The air was sultry and slumbering as my taxi dropped me off in the still black morning. I checked in and crashed out. A few hours later I awoke as the sun began to shine. I wandered downstairs and discovered my hotel’s vegetarian breakfast. After polishing off what I could, I set off to explore the area on foot. India come and get me!

But once out on the streets, nobody bothered with me as I walked around in the hot Mumbai sunshine. It felt so different from my first trip to India. I soon became aware that I was in the need of some water, not to mention protein. Getting used to veg only options in India would surely be a challenge for me. The local shops’ contents were not obvious from the street, but I finally found one that sold me a bottle of Gatorade. I was gratefully gulping it down on my way back to the hotel, when I felt a small tug on fingers. I looked down to see the cutest boy, about four years old. With a big smile he pointed toward my Gatorade bottle. I smiled back, but thirstily kept walking. He walked with me. I couldn’t resist and handed over what was left of my precious orange Gatorade.

For dinner I decided to go to Toto’s, a local bar/restaurant. During the day I hadn’t seen a single cow, although I did see a random goat. I found out however that in Mumbai, the cows come out at night and so do the beggars. One small girl hopped out in front of me and managed to pinch me with surprising force as I passed her by. All things considered though I was pleased with my first full day in India. I could handle this. With the intoxicating smell of India in my nostrils I closed the chapter on my first day back in this strange land.

I arose the next morning thinking about what I had learned already. The taxi drivers here in Mumbai speak English, but are constantly on the scam and hustle. On the other hand, the autorickshaw drivers cannot speak English, but are honest and always use the meter. That is if you can somehow manage to convey the destination you have in mind. Stepping out into the streets there seemed that more people were about than the day before. My plan was to spend the day nearby in the suburb of Juhu. I noticed on the map that there was a big temple called Iskon. I figured why not check it out. Let’s do this tourist thing. I didn’t realize at the time that it was a Hare Krishna temple.

The auto-rickshaw driver stopped outside and pointed me toward the entrance. Inside the gate was a quite formidable metal detector set-up. I was even frisked by one of the metal detector operators, during which he asked me if I wanted something to smoke. I was getting a glimpse about the kind of operation that was being run around here. Once through, I walked toward the temple’s main door. Shouts erupt.

I was informed, in no uncertain terms, that I would need to remove my shoes. So, I gave up my shoes to a guy behind a counter and received a tag to retrieve them later. I hoped no one fancied my freakishly large shoes. I saw that there was an area where people could wash their hands and feet. As I started to remove my socks I was approached by a Hare Krishna in flowing orange fabric. He had a shaved head, big searching eyes, and an inquisitive smile. He said quietly that I did not need to remove my socks.

He lingered about still. He seemed to want to guide me through the temple. He introduced himself as Davin. I thought to myself that I could use the company, so what the hell. The two of us walked in and a colorful world unfolded. It was service time and there were many followers praying at the three main alters to Krishna. Davin showed me the elaborate exhibitions that lined the periphery. We paused at one depicting Ravana being disemboweled and eaten. He asked me what I thought of this. I said wow that is really something. As we moved from exhibit to exhibit, he explained all about Krishna consciousness and the happiness it had brought him. As a New Yorker I was amused to find out that the whole Hare Krishna movement had gotten its start in NYC in 1966. So ancient and exotic.

The doors to the large temple began to slowly close and the interior dimmed. Davin asked me if I wanted to leave. I replied no I desired to stay and listen to the circle of drummers and chanters. He motioned to a spot on the marbled floor for me to sit. He sat down next to me as I took in the clapping, swaying, rhythmic scene. Periodically it can be hard to fathom just what place a journey has led you to.

However, it was kind of hard to relax because I wasn’t sure what Davin’s intentions were. I got up and headed outside. Davin followed and asked me if I wanted to step inside his office. Yeah, why not. Sometimes it helps being a foot taller than a stranger when accepting invitations. In his office Davin kept extolling the wonders of the Krishnas. He gave me the address of a Krishna temple in New York and offered me many books. Not wanting to offend, I took one and said the rest were too much for me to carry. He then gave me his card/email and opened a box of what appeared to be candied fruits. I was thinking, ok here is where I get drugged, leading to me spend a life as a brainwashed devotee. I simply held it in my hand.

We continued our discussion of the Krishna movement. At one point Davin got quite exercised when I brought up Hinduism. He explained that Hinduism was only one way of interpreting the mighty Krishna. The Krishna consciousness was not a religion, but a spiritual way of life through yoga. My head was swimming as he explained the levels of existence. It was then that Davin noticed that I was still holding my candied fruit. Busted. Down the hatch the curious confectionary went. After that I figured I should make my escape. For his time, I made a small donation to his cause and asked for directions to the beach. He amiably pointed me on my way. See, that wasn’t so bad.

The short walk to the beach proved to be leafy and peaceful. Juhu was tranquil relative to the India of my memory. I walked out on to the wide flat beach, which was somewhat pungent. I noticed some small beachside restaurants. I figured I would try one of these later. I set off on a stroll up the beach. It was wonderful being free and unencumbered under the big bright sky.

I began to be aware that I was being tracked by a solitary Indian youth some distance behind. However, since my legs were so long there was not a chance in hell that he would be able to overtake me unless he broke out in a serious sprint. I would have to turn back eventually though. Might as well get this over and done with, so I slowed down and allowed him to catch up. That’s how I came to meet Maryan.

I kept walking as he walked alongside and tried to get a conversation going. He began telling me all about Juhu and how it was wealthy area where many Bollywood stars lived. I was pretty non-responsive in my answers, but still he seemed keen to tag along. He offered to bring me somewhere. Did I smoke? No. Did I drink? No. He asked why not? I told him I was 40 years old and far beyond such shenanigans. Lies, but still.

Eventually, I stopped and said it’s been fun Maryan but I need to get back. He looked startled as I turned and walked back in the opposite direction. He then pulled out a beaten up looking coin. He told me it was an ancient Sanskrit coin and offered to sell it to me for 100 rupees. I politely declined, but he kept on insisting how valuable it was. I took a look at it, paying special attention to the Sanskrit markings. I gave it back to him saying that I couldn’t possible accept it. Those markings could bring me bad luck and misfortune for all I knew. He seemed taken back at this and didn’t have an answer for this unlikely verbal parry.

We had been talking for quite some time though and I couldn’t help but admire his persistence. So, I gave him 90 rupees and wished him a good day. He said that he played soccer with his friends on the beach every night and I should come by some night and join them. See you later, Maryan.

Once it was evening, I ventured out to explore the busy Linking Road. I had come to regard walking around Mumbai, especially crossing busy roads, as a kind of sport. And all sports felt better wearing shorts. So, I ditched the day’s worn cargo pants and felt much better for it. I found Linking Road to be a bright energetic area. It was filled with trendy young people and lined with all sorts of shops. There were international brand outlets like Nike and Sketchers, along with more free form streetside clothing stalls. There were also many coffee shops and tea houses filled with the chatting crowd.

I finally found my goal though, McDonald’s. I had eaten some dosa with sauces at a beach hut for lunch, but it had not been nearly enough. What I craved was meat and something I knew. I stuffed myself full of Chicken Maharaja Macs and soft served ice cream. I was trying to eat enough that I wouldn’t wake up being hungry in the middle of the night. Although, perhaps a hungry belly would draw me closer to the experience of many residents of Mumbai.

Back on the shining street I thought that this might be the area of Mumbai I would wind up in if I had been visiting a friend who lived here. And although there were people buzzing absolutely everywhere, I did not see a single tourist in all my wanderings that night. As I made my way through the streets back toward my hotel, I came to the realization that out here it was so local that no one was prepared enough to hassle me. I went to bed unconcerned and content.

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Comments

[D MJ Binkley]

Going back
We always find it hard returning to a country we enjoyed because the changes are not always welcome. You were very patient with the Hair Krishna's.

[Tommy No Papers]

Return Trips
Yes. Some changes are welcome. Some changes are not. Always interesting to see!