(Part
2 of the “Unshod in India” series)
Many prominent people in the past might have had
entered the subcontinent through the Gateway of India by the Mumbai harbor,
most probably in broad daylight. I instead sneaked in via the Chhatrapati
Shivaji airport on a hot, hot Friday evening. In a very same manner, I was
introduced to this glorious monument from within, after days of getting my
hands dirty and pushing my way through this lovely, lively city that is Mumbai.
And so as I was sweating it all out trying to learn how to tread on its social
undercurrents, I was also taking it all in in between sporadic, sometimes
involuntary gasps for air. I tried to shed off as soon as possible the tourist
fat in me and start to fully feel like a local, a desi (but always with a water
bottle in hand).
On my very first morning,
first day, first thing: a full-on immersion into the Mumbai railway system. And
here is where the real action is. There is something about the Mumbai train
that screams life, humanity in its most elementary, instinctive form. There is
that feeling, while not always comfortable, of being alive and being part of
something. Mumbai forces you to dance, to 'freestyle n' trance'. To join in
this ritual of sharing sweat and smell. It's in-your-face, abrasive. And you
can't help but smile not so much out of a deep sense of pleasure as a basic,
purely visceral reflex. And since, you find yourself in a crowd -- you become
the crowd -- you've never felt so human, so not a foreigner. Just be sure to
wear comfortable and sturdy footwear, a pair that would stand by you when push
comes to shove, literally and in a manner of speaking.
I would then pick
up the pace entering through a fishing village wherein by sunset women would
sweep off the streets the day's fish and shrimps dried and to be sold later.
Men preparing milk, women flipping chapattis. The long bus ride and the dizzy
mix of turmeric and reality. All in just one day. Yes, as I tried to bobble the
Indian way, a newfound friend told me it was just a small part of Mumbai
though. And Mumbai, no matter how gigantic a city it is, it remains just a
thread in the great Indian loom. Besides, I just had barely gotten to know it
through its streets. Its homes and temples still awaited me. And among the many
facets of Indian culture and society, one has to know that there is a Ganges
river of difference between the pedestrian on the road and the host at home.
I was billeted
among foreigners, so taking off one’s footwear before entering the house was
not the norm. The first time I went unshod was the morning after when I woke up
to the chatter of women in the kitchen and offered to help. It is one thing to
appreciate Indian cuisine, and yet another to discover it through a mother’s
cooking. I had to put aside my slippers before I was welcomed in the circle of
women sitting on mats in various stages of cooking preparations. Of course,
being the novice that I was, I was tasked to slice onions after onions right at
the very beginning of the assembly line. That morning, I was introduced to two
types of rice, three types of masala, and two important words: let’s go and
thank you. Chalo and danyawad, that I tried to dabble in pronouncing correctly
in between bouts of pending tears and a runny nose.
Then, the day
arrived when I came down with diarrhea and fever, not an unusual initiation
rite I was warned. Still, somehow I was getting a clearer mental picture of
Mumbai, not like the other day when I really felt disoriented, even envious of
how a blind man on the train singing, tapping his silver cane at 4/4 measure
seemed to have been more secure of where he was going. I also got an Indian
shirt as an official welcome gift. As the Italian expression on empathy would
go: put oneself in the "clothes" of others. Perhaps, by then,
dressing up as a local, I had known better where I was, where I was going.
Perhaps, a bit of time, and everything shall too be second skin, I told myself.
But the thing is,
Mumbai was just indeed my gateway to India as I was actually Bangalore-bound.
And so by Bandstand in Bandra, between the fortress and the bridge, on my last
day in Mumbai I tried to mark my territory by getting down to the rock
formations to touch the water. And a wave came to kiss me on the face and wet
my shoes, which I had to take off obviously, a curious reminder to start not
getting too attached to them. Anyway, here is a perfect microcosm of India,
between an old structure meant to protect and defend, and a modern one designed
to connect. A city with rock solid traditions and yet with businesses growing
like mushrooms. It is actually basic human instinct: to conserve and to relate.
I wondered how Bangalore would be like as I looked at the Arabian Sea for one
last time, for now. // Unshod Rover for Oasis Holidays.
--
For an all-India tour in 22 days, you may want to check out this video.
For Tour and Travels India as well as International packages from India, please contact us at Oasis Holidays.
Unshod Rover is a worldwide-eyed wanderer currently based in Bangalore, India. You may follow his musings and wanderings on this blog. "Unshod in India" is a series of articles based on Mr. Rover's adventures and discoveries in this very interesting and incredible subcontinent.
