Tommy the Mumbaikar

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The night before I had been thinking, try as we might we cannot conform a trip’s purpose to its actuality. I might want this trip to be spiritual or a trip where I meet a lot of fun people, but so far that’s not it. Maybe this trip will be setting myself small yet difficult tasks and accomplishing them. This could be a range of things such as walking across beeping rivers of traffic, eating at adventurous cafes, maybe even surviving a Krishna brainwash could count. Or today’s task: navigating Mumbai’s commuter rail system.

Up in the suburbs it isn’t really practical to take a taxi all the way to the tip of Colaba where the Gateway to India and other tourist attractions are located. If I wanted to go I would have to take a commuter train to the central Churchgate station, from which I could theoretically walk to my destination. After furiously researching how everything worked, I walked the short distance from my hotel to the Khar Road train station and hoped for the best.

Inside the train station might be described as a mild zoo. There was even a cow ambling past the ticket counters. I spotted the window I needed and purchased a first class ticket. The first-class ticket was only a few rupees more than a second-class ticket so that was an easy decision for my first journey. I carefully tiptoed past another large cow who was asleep at the bottom of the steps leading up to the train platform.

Once on the platform, I found a bench to sit on and observed the scene. The first and second class compartments were the exact same, with the only difference being that first class was less crammed than second. This made sense as a second class ticket was basically free, about 10 cents. The second-class carriages therefore were crammed to the gills. I was glad I had paid for a first class ticket. However, even the first class compartments were pretty full at this time of day.

The routes were a bit tough to decipher because only the first letter of the train’s destination was displayed. They couldn’t have sprung for a few extra letters? Oh well. The trains did not have any doors and people hopped off as the train was still moving. I stood up. Let’s do this.

The train that I had identified as mine huffed into the station. The doorway to the train carriage was quite crowded, so I had to push my way through people to the middle. Inside, I was surrounded by throngs of Mumbaikar commuters. It helped to be tall and to have all the strange faces a foot below mine. Once my eyes adjusted, I began to sense a sort of order in the chaos. I noticed a channel that people maneuvered into and stood in when they wanted to get off. When the train pulled into the next station that channel of humanity would flow off the train and the next group of commuters would eagerly push their way on. During my journey I noticed a bunch of Indian ladyboys in traditional female dress making their way through the train touching the local men and asking for money. I read later that it was considered bad luck not to pay them. I wonder who came up with that one?

The train carriage began to mercifully clear out as we journeyed along. And by the time we arrived at the Churchgate station it had become downright roomy, although 2^nd class remained crammed. I stepped out into the imposing Churchgate station feeling pretty good. Mission accomplished so to speak. On to my next trick. That trick was to walk to the Gateway of India without a phone or map. I had stared forever at a map back at the hotel in an effort to burn the street patterns into my memory. With that I just stepped out of the station and let myself be guided around my faint memory and fate.

I sensed this turn. Felt compelled to go down that street. And after a while quite miraculously there it was the Gateway to India monument in the distance. And there was the iconic Taj Mahal Palace Hotel immediately to the right of it. For the first time, I really understood the geography of the 2008 Mumbai Terror attacks. The attacks were going on in the heart of the tourist district. Being there I immediately felt much closer connected to those terrible events.

The Gateway of India had been built in time for the arrival of George V, Emperor of India. I walked through the large arch to the steps leading down to the water and tried to imagine all the pomp and circumstance from that bygone era. Today the area was populated by Mumbaikars awaiting ferries or water taxis. There was a large open pedestrian plaza on the city side of the monument and I moved there to recline on a wall in an effort to relax and think. It was at this time that I started to morph into a quasi-celebrity.

I had been there for a few moments when an Indian man and his wife took up residence on the wall next to me. I got a feeling that something was amiss and glanced over. The man had his phone out and was trying to take a selfie with me on the sly without asking. I looked directly into the phone’s lens and gave an exaggerated grin. Having seen this all play out a young Muslim woman walked over and asked if I would take a picture with her husband. I stood up and posed next to him so she could snap her photo. It was then officially on.

I was suddenly besieged with multiple selfie requests. Eventually, two friends came up and after taking selfies with me launched into a lengthy conversation. They were visiting from Gurgaon. They were very excited that I was a teacher because one of them was a teacher as well. They seemed very keen to know how it was that I was travelling by myself without any family. It was then that they brought their phones out once again and I found myself through the magic of Skype talking/waving to their wives who were together back in Gurgaon. It was a really surreal experience.

I eventually said goodbye and went for a walk along the waterside promenade opposite the Taj Hotel. Let’s see how these folks deal with a moving target. Well, after a few minutes I was chased down by an old man who of course asked me to take a photo with him. I said yes. Hearing this he brought over his entire family to join in, about 6-7 people. Then just as the photo was about to be taken, he grabbed my arm and posed me like I was leaning on his shoulder as if we were old friends. Afterwards, the old man had a huge smile on his face and thanked me profusely. My immediate reaction was that I really don’t mind the attention at all. It is harmless and the people seem genuinely pleased with the whole encounter. Who am I to deny them their happiness? And besides I am completely on my own here in India and interaction is interaction.

Afterwards, I hopped across the road, zigging through traffic to check out the Taj Hotel. Understandably, most entrances were now closed off and I was funneled through a high security area to get inside. My impression once inside was of an ultra-high society clientele with many wedding celebrations and expensive shops. The interior was huge and maze-like. I began to think about the chaos that unfolded here during the 2008 Terror attacks in which hundreds were taken hostage and thirty-one people lost their lives. I could just imagine how these maze-like corridors would have easily transformed into a warzone. It would have been scary as hell. I couldn’t help but think that these thoughts must have been in the back of the minds of everyone walking through this building even to this day.

I walked back toward Oval Maidan, which was in the direction of the train station. I spontaneously burst old laughing when I read the t-shirt of a chubby Mumbai girl as she passed by. “Always Hungry” it read. I guess I’m just a horrible person, but I couldn’t help it. I wonder if she was in on the irony. A block further on I was almost knocked unconscious as a large palm frond hurtled toward the pavement at great velocity and impaled itself on an iron spike just a few feet in front my face. Watch your step in Mumbai. You never know what’ll turn your head next.

Oval Maidan is a very atmospheric and delightful spot. It is surrounded by magnificent gothic buildings springing out of the old colonial era. On its wide-open expanses of perfectly manicured grass I could see many full-scale cricket games occuring up and down the park. Back home they have park soccer. Here they had park cricket. I chose one particular match, found a comfortable spot and sat down to become a spectator. There were small gaggles of onlookers, which seemed to be made up mostly of the young players’ girlfriends. At one point a cricket ball was hit aloft high into the sky in an apparent attempt for six. A fielder positioned himself right in front of me and caught the ball. This set up a huge burst of cheers and arm waving, as everyone ran into the middle to celebrate the out with one another. This I decided was as good a time as any to journey back up to Khar for a rest back at my hotel.

After my success of navigating Mumbai’s mass transit, I really began to feel like a master as I casually walked to dinner along the city’s busy streets that evening. I had been in the city long enough that I had started to get off on the ubiquitous car beeps. “Yee Haw. How about another!” Truth be told, I did almost get run down by two guys on a motorbike who passed literal millimeters in front of me. Although, as I held them upright so they didn’t topple over I wasn’t quite sure which one of us had dodged the biggest bullet.

After dinner, I stopped at a local Bandra West pub called the Irish House and downed some Kingfishers as I watched a soccer match between teams from Kerala and Chennai. In the background songs by Metallica, Guns and Roses, and Coldplay were booming out of the bar’s speakers. The place was impressively busy with locals clumped together enjoying the night. As I exited the bar, I followed the sound of loudspeakers and music.

Around the corner was a huge party. A few partygoers emerged out into the middle of the road and began setting off fireworks and loud explosions. This seemed to be the cue for the entire party to empty out into the street. A spontaneous parade of revelers had formed and proceeded to march slowly down the middle of the road, which was now completely theirs. They walked for blocks partying, bouncing, and throwing their hands in the air. This frivolity was backed up and followed by a boisterous group of trumpeters and drummers. I continued along with them for a time before moving a street over to catch an autorickshaw back home. Mumbai, a city where life bursts from every crevice.

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Comments

[D MJ Binkley]

Terrific
Great shot.