First week back in Bombay

Ladies Only Car
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It was hard coming back to Bombay after three weeks off. Leaving Italy for Mumbai's polluted streets was a tough one. But here I am, well rested and ready to discover some more.

As surprising as it might sound, the smell did not get worse during my absence. The first thing that hits you when you step off the plane is this omnipresent sulfur like smell. I haven't discovered the source yet, but I do suspect the sea shore and the bad sewage system to be some of the main factors. My colleagues and friends have warned me that the air would smell worse in January, but I haven't noticed any difference yet. Hurray!

Temple inside Crawford Market
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After braving that first breath of air, you come in contact with THE CROWDS. There are people EVERYWHERE. Literally. No empty corner, no empty seat, no empty nothing. There is always someone anywhere you go, or maybe I should say that there is always a good million souls standing next to you wherever you go. I never really grasped the real meaning of overpopulation before experiencing it on an everyday basis in Bombay. Mexico City was said to be overpopulated, but it didn't feel the way it does here. I rapidly realized that there are more mouths to feed in the world than resources to feed them. Overpopulatoin is a problem in this megapolis. It causes endless traffic at any time of the day or night (I still wonder why there is traffic at two in the morning right beside my house), noise, air pollution (that's mostly caused by traffic), garbage EVERYWHERE, and the present of disastrous poverty (that hits you in the face at every step). I once read that a country with garbage cans on the streets is a wealthy country, a country with overflowing garbage cans and garbage all around is a poor country, and a country with no garbage cans and garbage all around is a third world country. Seems to fit the description just right.

Muslim men hanging out at the Crawford Market
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Bombay is the place where everyone can be who they want to be (or be who their destiny decided for them to be) without anyone really caring enough to say a word: Naked Holy Men walk around with a few decorations and sacred accessories hanging from their beards and other hanging parts of their bodies, sacred cows hang out in small gangs at the largest intersections totally oblivious to the millions of rickshaw drivers honking at them, Bollywood stars sniff cocaine at the local clubs, Parses leave their deceased loved ones in the Tower of Silence (the corpses were once devoured by vultures, but there are no more vultures left in the city, so the Parse community has to use alternative measures that help the bodies decompose faster), naked and shoeless babies with silver anklets beg for money that they will probably have to hand down to the Slum Lords, men risk their lives hanging from local trains or simply riding on train roofs at high speed, domesticated elephants steal from fruit stands at the local market near my house, educated people continue practicing female foeticide, leppers show their limbs in hope of getting some money, Muslims pray in the middle of the sidewalk or on the street (there isn't that much of a sidewalk culture here and one walks, sleeps, and eats on the street), Ganesh (Elephant looking God) can be found at every corner along with Portuguese looking crosses reminding all of the great Plague. In this endless noise and assault on all senses, I can still manage to walk to the market in my pyjamas and no one will say anything at all. They will look at me with surprised eyes because  not many Occidental looking people go to the market on their own (they tend to send their maids), but at least at my local market (Pali Market), most people have gotten used to seeing me, so I am left alone to browse around the fruit and vegetable stands.

No monkeys but a lot of shiny things
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Speaking of markets, I went to one yesterday, the very famous Crawford market (officially called Mahatma Phule Market) where I was told that I could find monkeys and beetles, and all sorts of weird fruits, vegetables, and artifacts. To my great disapointment, I found no monkeys, no beetles, but I did find a lot of strawberry stands (that was actually the good part). I also found what I've been looking for for months now: Nestea Lemon Ice Tea Mix Powder. For those who have been to Mexico, just try to picture a Mexican fruit and vegetable market with women wearing saris and men wearing turbans. The spices are different but the atmosphere is the same. 

I definitely need to review my Hindi decoding skills
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The strange thing about that particular market is that tourists are forced to use the services of a special guide who can show them around. I argued with one for a good five minutes before he let me enter alone. I told him that I have "experience" going to Indian markets and that I am a local teacher who lives in Bandra. I found out that if you don't give someone enough time to reply and simply walk away rapidly, they will probably leave you alone. Or you can simply talk to them in an angry voice. Sadly, politeness is not the rule here. The more polite I would get before, the more insisting would the other person become, and I would never be able to do anything on my own without getting assistance from everyone around. After a while, it can get pretty claustrophobic.

overcrowded seats
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I liked walking through markets in Italy. Nobody cares if you're there or not. Here, it's the opposite. As soon as a vendor spots me, he starts shouting from far: "Yes Madam, Madam, what do you want?" If all vendors do that (and pretty much all vendors do), going to a market where people don't know you are a local can be very exhausting. All I wanted to do yesterday was to see what can be found at that famous Crawford Market. I wasn't looking for anything in particular, but nonetheless, I wasn't left alone one second. There's something about people trying to catch your attention by all means possible (hissing, tss tsss, whistling, grabbing your arm, stopping you by force) that can be very stressful. Not the best selling techniques, I would say. When I finally decided to buy a basket full of strawberries, I opted for the silent vendor, the one who showed me human respect.

people, people, everywhere
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I left the market quite rapidly, hot and tired, and decided to go to the movies, very far away, somewhere north, in a part of town called Malad. I took a cab to the Churchgate train station (there are two "central" stations in Mumbai: Churchgate (only for local trains) and Victoria Station (for local and intercity trains)). I found a seat in the "Ladies Only" car by asking three women to squeeze and make space for me on a three people bench (I learned the trick by watching local women do it on very crowded trains). And so I went to Malad, one whole hour on the train, hot and humid, and over crowded. A few women were rying to sell earrings by pushing the already squeezed passengers and walking past everyone while screaming on top of their lungs. Children were crying. The other women were chatting, and I couldn't figure out the names of the stations the train was stopping at one by one, because most signs are written in Hindi and Marathi, and even if English is the official bureaucratic language in India, it is seldom used in public places. I already learned how to write Bandra (that's the station near where I live) in Hindi but I had no idea how to write Malad, so I had to rely on my neighbhor.