jgohil_blog

Following our trip to Elephanta Island we headed out into town to do some shopping. I packed two pairs of shoes to come here, both with a specific purpose in mind. One pair was for the more formal events we would be attending and the other pair was my hiking boots for utility. As it turns out, neither was ideal for trekking through the streets of Mumbai. So my singular goal – at least for the time being – was to pick up a pair of shoes that I could wear for our upcoming daytrips. Not knowing where to even begin looking I turned to the only familiar sign on one of the shops – Adidas. Like an oasis in the middle of the desert, there was a shoe store that seemed as out of place as Justin did. So while my parents went to the surrounding stores which were ‘Western’ but no particular brand, Justin and I went into the Adidas store; only to find that the shoes were about twice what we would pay in the States. So instead we went to the Timberland knock-off store next door.

After purchasing a nice pair of hiking sandals, Justin and I took a few minutes to walk down the sidewalks filled with local merchants – a sight that seemed far more typical of the area. There, with my camera bag affixed it was quite apparent to the locals that I was a tourist. Justin and I were offered everything from hand-made flutes to boot-legged copies of Windows Vista. Again it struck me how strange it was that Western commercialism was so pervasive, given the very ‘third-world’ look and feel of the people and environment. Justin and I must have seemed like beacons of wealth and consumerism, given he was the only white person as far as the eye could see in the swath of varying shades of brown. As such we were approached repeatedly by a group of beggars who, through the token Indian-head-nod and broken English told us of their hardships and how they needed money so desperately to feed their children – all of whom were there and ranging in age from 3 to 12. It was quite obvious that tourists were targeted for this sort of plea all the time and the unfortunate reality was that this was their business. It truly is a strange and heartbreaking (yet necessary) thing to turn away from these people. The reality of it is that the vast majority of the time these people are exploited by someone far wealthier than they – though still poor by American standards. It’s likely that the children will never be looked after with any donated money.

Not too long after, my parents were done with their shopping and we all looked for a place to eat lunch. There were a few cafes along the street and we picked one in particular for some Lebanese food. We were seated but were quite surprised to find that they had no restroom. Fortunately, I simply needed to wash my hands and for that there was a sink and some soap. Not expecting that we had packed plenty of hand sanitizers just in case. There were a variety of menu items all priced incredibly low. We ended up ordering two of each kind of ‘wrap’ for a total of 12. This pile of food ended up costing about six American dollars. It was quite good and we had definitely ordered more food than our group could’ve possibly eaten. The remaining six or so wraps we donated to a woman begging with a baby in arm. It wasn’t much but it was a far more practical gift than I believe money would have been. After lunch the driver, who had been waiting with the car, took us back to the hotel. The sheer volume of people lining the streets as we drove through was astounding. For a city that boasts up to one million people per square mile our driver tore through the streets as if they were vacant. On so many occasions I gripped my seat thinking we were going to certainly strike one of the pedestrians. I later learned that driving in Mumbai requires some sort of keen sense of space that kept the cars, bicycles, animals and people all traveling without ever running into each other. It truly is an amazing system that I have yet to understand.

Once we returned to the hotel we immediately began preparing for the events of the evening. That night’s festivities included a Mehndi and traditional Indian dance to celebrate the wedding we were to attend two nights later. In stark contrast to what we had witnessed on the city streets, this event was held at a country club not too far from our hotel. This place was as posh as any you might find in St. Louis. After meeting several of my Mom’s colleagues, Justin and I wandered the grounds of the facility observing Mumbai’s elite who arrived in BMWs and Mercedes’. It was apparent that modern western culture was embraced by many of the people who were dressed in ‘clubbing’ clothes and donning large Louie Vuitton and Armani sunglasses – at night. The women lined the floors where they had their hands and arms painted in gorgeously ornate Mehndi patterns, while the men were seated in chairs enjoying cocktails and speaking in what seemed to be a mix of traditional Hindi with a few American phrases sprinkled throughout. Every now and then I would catch them saying things like ‘Oh that is so cool’ in their heavy Mumbai accents. At the risk of sounding condescending, it was hard not be amused. Justin and I proceeded to drink several glasses of white wine while we took in the cultural offerings of the evening. A few hours later we went back to our hotel and sat in the bar to talk about all of the things we had seen in our first full day in India since our arrival the previous night. After about an hour of talking we concluded that this trip was going to be far richer in stimuli than either of us could ever have expected. With that agreed upon, we retired for the night – marking the end of Day 2.