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Published: December 21st 2008
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Ay ay ay ay ay…. There are no words to sum up Mumbai. I think its just one of those cities you either hate or love or love/hate/hate/love.
First impressions are important to the way we tend to perceive a city, a person, a situation. My first impression on Mumbai was extremely unfortunate.
Getting off the train at Lokkmanyan Tilak station in the middle of the night (it was 1 am by the time we finally got in, had we been on time, it would not have been dark and I would have felt safer) was intimidating enough and so when Prabaker, who had the bunk under me for the train ride suggested he would help me get into a safe cab I agreed happily.
As soon as we disembarked, a man dressed in black from head to toe, his unbuttoned shirt revealing a thick gold chain resting on his powdered chest, engulfed in negative aura, took control of the situation. Prabaker gave me a look suggesting there was nothing he could do. The man was a taxi driver.
I don’t know why I entered the cab. I knew it wasn’t going to end well. But I guess sometimes we do
things that are beyond ourselves.
Here I was, in a taxi, in Mumbai, two weeks after the terrorist attacks, with two strange men and heavy backpacks, completely exhausted from a three day travel and unable to defend myself in any way.
I tried to take control of the situation by offering the two men a cigarette, trying to remain cool, calm and collected and acting as if I knew exactly what I was doing and where I was heading.
What should have been a 100 Rupee cab ride ended up costing 500 Rupees, but I was grateful to have arrived at the hotel after the turmoil of the drive, the co driver intimidating me throughout it.
The cab doors where locked, I could not get out. I counted five 100 Rupee notes and gave them to the co driver, very aware that I was paying 5 times the price I should. But all I wanted was to get out of the cab. The driver unlocked the doors and threw my luggage onto the sidewalk in front of the hotel. As I turned to get out of the car, the co driver stopped me, a nasty look on his face “Alexia…it
is costing 500”
I looked at him in disgust. He wanted to rob me of my last 100 Rupee note. I had told him that I only had 600 and with me paying him 500 I had only 100 left. But I had to hand him the money. I was alone, in Mumbai, in the middle of the night, a woman, tired and scared. They had done a good job! A brilliant tactic of intimidation. I passed him the 100 Rupee note. My last money as far as he knew. The bastard.
I stayed in my room for two days until it was time to pick up Andy from the airport. For me, Mumbai was finished. I didn’t want to see or experience anything else.
Mumbai - the good day
Squashed between herds of people at Mumbai Airport - Arrivals, I stood waiting for my love to walk through the sliding glass doors.
He came.
All that matters in this life is love. The capacity to love, the quality of our love. When we are united with out other half, we know. It’s unlike anything else. The sense of completion, the sense of security and the overflowing love.
Andrew and
I are finally back together again. I am finally back home.
On the morning after his arrival we set out together to discover the city’s attractions.
I felt like I was discovering Asia all over again, looking at it through the eyes of my beloved.
We laughed at the chaos and wondered the streets to the centre of the earth, down to Chowpatty Beach where we had some food off the small stalls lining the street. We visited Gandhi’s residence in Mumbai and enjoyed the cool shelter of the ice cream parlor on the way there.
We made our way to the Maidan Oval, Andy’s dream of playing cricket with a bunch of Indian teenagers realized and rewarded ourselves at the famous Leopold’s café with a couple of cold beers and the best mushrooms I have ever tasted!
We made our way through mock security to the “Gate of India” looking out on to the quiet square in front of the somber Taj Mahal Hotel that only weeks earlier had been the centre of bloodshed and terror to so many souls, some that rested there and others that will carry those days of terror with them for the rest of
their lives.
We ended the day with an interesting cab ride back to Chembur which led us through the extensive Slum areas of Mumbai. Two, three storey paper, cardboard and mud shacks lined along the narrow streets, little glimpses into people’s lives, people much less fortunate than us “Goras” sitting in a black and yellow taxi.
I was happy we didn’t stay at the hotel “seashore” with the broken sign and the unfinished staircase, kindly recommended by the Lonely Planet ! It had been a quick thought to move from the very distant Chembur area into the centre of Colaba to continue exploring Mumbai the following day, but we decided to take the Bus to Aurangabad instead.
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