the Scent of Mumbai

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You smell the pollution shortly after the attendant requests you to turn of all electronic devices; my throat started to burn at 1,500 feet, and visually you land in a soup of particulates.  It is truly amazing that the U.S. is a larger contributor to global air pollution than India is, yet the air quality appears to be better.  A testament to how deceiving the issue is at home, and how much further both nations need to come in curbing emissions.

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The smartest thing I did when planning my trip was booking a taxi for pick-up from the airport direct to my hotel.  I would later realize it was literally 17 times the going rate, but even then it was worth it to walk out of the airport and find a placard with my name in a sea of rickshaw drivers screaming for your attention and the oppressive heat and humidity of the day still lingering well after midnight.  Adding to the sheer chaos of the parking lot is the sound of endless honking from the rickshaws, motorcycles, and taxis.  Welcome to India!!!!

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Given that it was so late at night I expected the streets to be quiet.  Instead I was treated to the pleasurable insanity that is the Indian road system: street dogs, 2-wheelers, little kids (shouldn't they be in bed?), chickens, roadside cooking fires, headlights catching the glitter accents on saris, men squatting playing cards, heaps of garbage, a herd of goats, stagnant ditches, and the varying sounds of shrill horns played as sport by the drivers.  It is glorious, more than I had anticipated, and as far removed from life as I live it.  I am in love.

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The next day I wander to Juhu beach before my afternoon flight.  Day 1 is filled with amateur mistakes.  First, NEVER tell anybody you have just arrived.  Mumbai is the hub for international arrivals, so the hawkers are going to assume this anyway, but LIE I tell you!  I am immediately surrounded by girls selling henna stamps with an excellent command of the English language.   "Hello madame, what is your name?  How long have you been in India?"  I am of course ecstatic to be here, and reply with "8 hours! I just landed".  Had I looked deeply into their eyes, I would have seen the SUCKER! neon sign alight over my head.  Instead I get a lovely tour of the beach, overpriced fake henna applied to my left arm, and a plea to buy them lunch.  I cannot resist their adorable, dirty little faces and get taken to the vendor grilling peppers and serving dal.  The henna girl is speaking excitedly in Hindi, and the pepper man proceeds to chef up another 4 portions on the grill.  I'm not connecting the dots that she is ordering for her mummy, cousin, brother, and grandmother and expecting that I will pay the bill until all of the food from the grill is transfered to a gigantic plate.  The chef then informs me that will be $850 rupee.  Now, math has not ever been my forte, which is why I have written down a cheat sheet of denominations of $100, 500, 750, and 1,000 rupees with the U.S. dollar equivalent.  Apparently, this beachside meal shack is run by Anthony Bourdain or something, as pepper man is asking for about $21 US.  My first lesson in 'take the white woman for everything she has' and argument involving the child, her mother, the chef, and the neighboring stall owners and I walk away paying $70 rupee for the lunch.  Time to get my India feet beneath me, and jump a flight to Jaipur.