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Published: April 15th 2011
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Some cities grab hold of your attention the moment you arrive, they demand to either be loved or hated. Strangely, Mumbai didn’t. I always thought it would, everyone I’ve met in India has told me I would, Danny Boyle virtually staked his career on it. But, after 5 days in the city, I can honestly say I’m pretty indifferent. It is a big, sweaty hotchpotch of people, traffic, buildings and cattle that seems to be sadly lacking in soul.
It is interesting to see how 12 million people can co-exist in an area of land approximately the same size as ….. Though I think co-survive would be more appropriate for most of the population. The difference between the haves and the have-nots is glaringly obvious. After Kevin McLeod blazed a path into Davari for us - see the posh do care - I went for exploring the ex-pat side of Bombay, driver et all.
This was as I was staying at Hella’s (of Hampi fame) house. Or the house of a stout Scottish oil worker who Hella was renting a room off. The Scot was good fun, as long as you accepted her approach to conversation (she‘s correct), and, from listening to her side of the phone calls with her local lab workers, a woman of endless patience.
On the Friday night they took me to an ex-pat networking party - though from the line of Indian men at the door you’d have been forgiven for thinking that it was a singles party. It was incredibly dull - a bit like being at an army party but without anyone to get riled up by vaguely anti-war statements. Or a free bar. Also, people all seemed to start conversations with either the contents of their c.v. (‘When I first started working for IBM back in 2007...’) or with the contents of their bank accounts (’The gym is beautiful, but for 30,000 US it would have to be - rahahahaha!’). I didn’t believe people like this existed - one woman gave me her work history for the last 15 years while I was waiting for the loo, finishing with the line ‘After the success in England I felt India could really benefit from my touch’. She was a wedding planner.
On the bright side I did get to have my first cup of truly good coffee since Singapore and eating lunch in one of the coffee shops of Bandrah you could be forgiven for thinking you were in London. Scrambled eggs on toast and earl gray tea is the perfect cure for homesickness. Still no bacon though.
It wasn’t all just drinking coffee and bitching about the maids (one really can’t find the staff these days, can one. Probably not if you only pay them £60 a month).
I did venture out and tick some tourist boxes:
1) Elephanta - an island of ancient temple carvings in caves a half hour boat trip off shore. Reasonably impressive, though, after Hampi, temples are going to have to work blooming hard to impress. Probably more fun for the boat ride. Though one man came very close to having his camera thrown in the water. Saying No to the request of a photo seemingly translates to ’please film me for the duration of the trip’ in Hindi. Thankfully Karma was on the ball that day and a particularly large splash of water hit our budding Ansell - and only him!
2) Leopolds - the Planet Hollwood of Mumbai. Overpriced, under flavoured but a requisite for that been there, done it photo.
3) National Museum of Modern Art - as would say - does what it says on the tin.
4) Market - ran out of here almost in tears of frustration after been followed by some guy for a good half an hour.
Nothing I said would get rid of him. Best advice, take a friend.
5) Chowpatty Beach - fairly pretty beach, good ice cream, toxic water.
6) The train. Holy Moly. The Mumbai commuter train in rush hour is like being in a womens only (thanks be for segregated compartments) mosh pit. When we first get on it is reasonably busy. Hella immediately stands by one of the sides and holds onto a bar. I think nothing of this and happily chat away (a veteran of the rush hour I know how to hold my ground…) Then we pull into the next station. 200 women run for the carriage, elbows are out, bags become battering rams and the poor little white girl who didn’t hold on is swept 20 feet down the aisle. Oh bugger. Actually, it’s very organised. Everyone is constantly asking everyone where they’re getting off and a rotational system becomes apparent where those needing off in 2 stations time are slowly shunted towards the door. Some people may have been moving of their own accord, all I know is that by repeatedly bleating out the word Bandra I am manoeuvred around women of all ages and sizes, past jewellery sellers (who must stitch lead into their boots) and find my self standing by the open carriage door with the instruction to GO as soon as it stops. Else I’ll be swept back down the aisle by the next 200 women who are waiting to alight. So much fun!
The other must do of Mumbai is to go to the cinema, it is the home of Bollywood after all. We went to a little Indian cinema somewhere around Khar Road to watch a film in Hindi. Much to the surprise of the ticket vendor who seemed a little reluctant to let us in. Understood a lot more of it than I thought I would. Most Hindi films seem to follow the basic storyline of:
Boy meets girl, boy falls in love with girl. Girl is far to modern and independent to fall in love. Boy persists, girl cave. Boy then loses all respect for girl. She crys and begs and grovels until eventually he can find it in his heart to give the spoiled goods another shot.
Add in a lot of cheesy songs, some clothes last seen burning in 1979 and couple of dance sequences and you’ve got a Bollywood hit.
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