I'd first like to thank everyone for their concern after the recent bomb blasts in the city. I'm perfectly fine, and staying well away from where everything occurred. That being said, it's quite startling how quickly the city recovered from the incident. It's almost as if nothing even happened, and sadly because it is nothing new. The ethnic and cultural diversity that makes the country so unique, also lead to these traumatic events, especially in the hub of cultural conflict that is Mumbai.
The proceeding descriptions of my experience so far are mostly limited to the residential pseudo-suburb that I'm staying in called Bandra. That being said, I think it gives me a glimpse, albeit on a smaller scale, of what the city is all about. For starters, the commotion here is similar to what I've seen driving to work everyday, and maybe even more so as the streets are more compact and the rickshaws arent allowed to venture downtown.
The appeal of the city so far is being able to amble along the streets that wind and connect with little semblance of order or planning. I can turn a corner and be facing a modern mall area with huge posters begging the passing clientele to check out the "50% off sale". Next door might be a small stationery store with no semblance of what's sold inside other than some files and folders posing in the window. Just 100 yards away is my favorite entrepreneurial experiment in which a withered old couple, beaming with toothless smiles, stand behind what looks like a hardware store counter or maybe more like a pawnshop window, attempting to sell passersby disco balls and stereo speakers. There's no rhyme or reason to the products they offer or even more astounding the apparent joy they experience by selling them.
Down the lane and a slight curve up hill is the outdoor produce market, jammed with local groceries like New York bodegas. Crammed somewhere in there is the local PVC pipe vendor, doing more smoking and gabbing with his pals than selling plastic piping. Take a left and head more downhill there is an old guy, supporting his weight with a crutch, plugging away on his pipe and staring at no one, but taking in everything. Some local teenagers sit at the western pizza parlor, sharing furtive, hormone induced, glances with each other as they learn to slowly embrace the fact boys and girls can co-exist.
Aside from walking around, most of my day to day experience so far are in taxis, eating in small restaurants, or buying some groceries. In all of these the apparent missing element is women. There is no struggling student busing tables to make ends meet, or the wife of the grocer helping to bag your goods. Not even the chefs I've seen are women, let alone the cabbies. The place to find women is on the streets, and especially the large vegetable market that I pass by on my way to work. They diligently chop away at large hordes of produce that litter the streets, and are simply dumped in piles on the roadside. They seem to have a powerful sway over most traffic, as taxis and trucks stop and sway to allow a sari clad elderly lady to cross the street with a basketful of veggies propped on her head. So I see them on the street, shopping or idling or just going about their day. The most recognizable thing is that while many women or girls wear a sari or salwar kameez, no two are exactly the same design or color. It makes for a wonderful contrast when looking at some of these drab buildings.
The city really grows on me at night. The darkness veils the unappealing aspects, and as lights pop up the true nature of the city starts to shine. It helps that the temperature cools, and the ever present rains of the monsoon season seem to subside during the night. It's also harder for me to stand out and incur staring eyes as I walks down the street. During the night I also find it easier to succumb to the notion of letting India take over, forgetting my preconceptions and inhibitions. It's like a trust fall at summer camp where you ensure the hands behind you will impede the inevitable disaster. Except now, I'm relying on the hands of millions to catch me, and sweep me along the congestion, noise, senses and smells that are so unfamiliar. The other night I was meandering along in a rickshaw when, without noticing, we were stuck in a traffic jam which resembled one of those metal puzzles in which you need to twist and turn to remove the ring from a chain that connects two horseshoes. I could feel the frustration setting in, when I remembered to let go. I fell back into a million pairs hands and just kept moving along. Keeping this in mind has definitely helped in my transition.
Another great experience was going to lunch with some colleagues, and eating my first meal with my hands. By that I mean my right hand, as you would never consider eating with your left. In all honestly I didn't expect this to happen right away, but noticed my colleagues doing it, so decided to follow suit. In some ways it's a bit unnerving, but enjoyable all the same. It's not some dainty procedure as if you're sipping from a tea cup, grasping the handle with thumb and fore finger and avoiding any further contact by poking a pinky finger out. No, you get all digits involved, picking, ripping, dipping, and mixing all in the same. I think I passed the test, as no one said anything, but like learning to use chop sticks for the first time, it's a skill I can definitely improve.
What I've learned about India is that it is real. Real in the sense that it's not the lofty images of Buddhist temples and elephant headed gods being worshipped by beautiful shawl clad women gazing at you with mysterious dark eyes while the chubby raj's mustache bristles in tune to the upbeat music. The taj mahal and palaces of rajhistan exist, but not in the everyday lives of the people in the city. My everyday life meshes with them, so in that sense I'm learning to fall in line. When, like on friday night Im cruising down the highway, again in the small three wheeled space capsule called a rickshaw, I know to take it all in stride as a huge truck rushes by leaving us shaking in it's wake as if we were a canoe being pushed aside by a cruise liner. The road is then left empty for us as we buzz along and eventually I arrive home safe and sound. The chaos works, and accepting it makes life easier and more enjoyable.
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