Manic Mumbai (a.k.a. longest blog ever)

India has never been a place that held much appeal for me. I thought one day I’d like to see the Taj Mahal, but that’s about it. The rest of India seemed dirty, smelly and dangerous.

So I wasn’t sure how I’d go with a three-day stopover in Mumbai for an Indian wedding. We’d be staying at the Taj Mahal Hotel, but that was some 250 kilometres from the wondrous Palace itself. And I really hadn’t done any research on Mumbai, so I didn’t know anything about the city and the only landmarks that sprung to mind were the shanty towns from Slumdog Millionaire.

When I arrived in Mumbai I was expecting chaos. India’s propensity for colour and bedlam is widely known. So I was not at all surprised to see crates and airport staff sitting scattered along the tarmac at Mumbai airport. In fact, after everything I’d heard it seemed mildly organised. The crates were out of the plane’s path after all.

However, when I entered the terminal it became clear that any organisation was hanging by a thin thread. For example, baggage collection was no straightforward task:

“Passengers on Flight QF 51, you’re baggage can be collected from Carousel Number 1.”
“Passengers on Flights QF 51, you’re baggage can now be collected from Carousel Number 3.”
“Passengers on Flight QF 51, you’re baggage is now on Carousel Number 1.”

As we trudged back to Carousel 1, we overheard a disagreement between two airport staff that tipped us off to the fact that the correct carousel was in fact, Number 3. When we left with our luggage, the correct announcement still hadn’t been made, leaving an airplane full of exhausted passengers getting increasingly irate.

If the taxi ride from the airport hadn’t been so life threatening, it would have made an awesome ride at Disneyland. Crammed into a tiny car, we hurtled through the outskirts of Mumbai. Traffic lights were little more than street art, and I found it quaint that cars with ‘right of way’ would slow at intersections to allow our taxi to fit through the gap in the traffic flow.

Driving through the streets I was confronted with stark scenes of poverty. Scores of people slept on the bare footpath, beggars knocked on the windows when the car was stationary. And the slums were a hotchpotch of hastily thrown together habitats, piled on top of one another (dishearteningly, those I saw were luxurious compared to the larger slums deep in the city). Ramshackle shops bordered the edges of the slums, plastered with Virgin, Vodafone and Pepsi signs. A massive billboard towered above run-down buildings with Ingrid Bergman urging passersby to purchase Mont Blanc products. It all spoke to the duplicity of the city – a metropolis with the extremes of poverty and wealth, but with little more separating the two than police officers brandishing large sticks.

After an hour’s drive, we arrived at the Taj Mahal Palace Hotel. It was breathtaking, but while I couldn’t help but be overwhelmed by the lavish beauty of the place, it was somewhat disconcerting to know that I’d be enjoying its comforts when so much of the city slept in considerably less fortunate circumstances. After the attacks on the Hotel little more than a year ago, the establishment was well prepared. Armed guards bordered the entrance and guests underwent airport-like security – but without the attitude. And while it appeared slightly uninviting and excessive, I did sleep easy knowing that a repeat of those terrible events was extremely unlikely.

The touristy bits

While the trip was brief, I was able to experience some of Mumbai. The streets were chaotic – but in a way that became totally energising. Life here is so different that it makes the concept of people watching a more worthwhile exercise.

We took a trip to Elephanta Island, which is an hour boat ride from Mumbai – which says more about the quality of the boats than the actual distance (the ‘captain’ got the engine started by pulling a rope, which signalled the people below to fire things up). The caves were amazing, with massive statues of deities carved into the stone walls. We were lucky enough to go on a festival day, which meant not only was entry free, there were hundreds of people making offerings at the rock alters and idols throughout the caves. Again, it was manic. People crowded in front of Shiva’s giants heads, offering flowers, food and even money to their deities.

There were also monkeys on the island, which I found both adorable and feral. They’d also steal your bag if given half the chance, making them the most pressing threat I experienced in Mumbai. They fascinated me, until I realised their remarkable similarity to humans, particularly in the genital regions - at which point I felt kind of creepy.

I have to also mention that we were a point of fascination for many of the local children and teenagers. I’m guessing it’s because many in villages wouldn’t come across too many Caucasians. They would shake our hands and ask to have photos taking with us. Of course, this totally tapped into every celebrity fantasy I’ve ever had, so I would have been quite content to stay there all day lapping up the attention, however my comrades thought it was best we move on. I’m now investigating real estate on the island.

I suppose I should mention food, which is a concern for every inexperienced traveller to India. I’m not really a fan of curries, or vegetables for that matter, so I did struggle with the food. Don’t get me wrong, what I had was tasty and good quality – and I didn’t need to visit the bathroom more than necessary – it’s just that after a lifetime of meat and three veg, it’s just not my thing. Thankfully, the Hotel’s room service had every type of meat available, 24 hours, and I would regularly make my offering of Rupees to my In-Room Dining idol.

The wedding

Nothing I could write can convey the colour, music and joy of an Indian wedding.

Having missed the village ceremonies, I joined proceedings three days into the event. The day began with a loud street procession to the Taj Mahal Hotel, representing the groom’s traditional journey to the bride’s village. The guests, dressed in ornate Saris and Kurtas, danced through the street in absolute celebration, while tourists stood on the side taking photos. Having been one of those tourists many times before, it was nice to feel part of it this time around.

The ceremony consisted of 16 rituals, starting with the procession and ending with the newly weds departure. Every ritual seemed bizarre and elaborate to me – but then, my only comparison is a western wedding, where the ceremony is really just the bit you have to sit through before you can get pissed. It made me think that the Indians really get it. A wedding is a celebration. And every ritual, and every guest, has a role in adding to the spectacle of it all.

In short, it was one of the best things I’ve ever seen.

A fond farewell

On my last day I decided to have a private yoga session, which was part relaxation, part tribute to my grandmother who had made eight pilgrimages to India to study yoga. It loved it, although the instructor – before we started and after taking just one look at me – told me I needed to tone my lower abdomen. I begrudgingly agreed and let me mind wander briefly to Elephanta Island, my new happy place.

Perhaps a little more wisely, he also said that during the session we ask the universe to make the room a womb, and in that womb we become childlike again and grow and learn so that at the end of the hour, we return to the world a better person. I found this a very powerful analogy, and much like my trip to Mumbai. Three days of wonder, excitement and adjustment. I was a child again, discovering something entirely new about the world, and at times vulnerable and dependent on others. And as I leave Mumbai now, I know I am so much better for the experience.

It has all left me with a craving to return to India. There is so much more I want to see and learn. And the real Taj Mahal doesn’t make the top three.

So I will be back. But I might bring a packed lunch.