|
|
|
'Am I in Europe or India?' I asked myself this, numerous times, as I observed the contrasting scenery of colonial architecture and indian lifestyle, during my leisure walks around Mumbai's Colaba district. My short jaunts transferred me back and forth between Europe and India to the point I'd almost forget where I really was.
‘Victoria Terminus’ read the sign above me. ‘VT’ as the local’s call it or ‘Chatrapathi Shivaji Terminus’ which it has been newly named, is an astounding brick building, complete with friezes, flying buttresses and all. You'd be forgiven for thinking it was a government building in Europe but it actually houses one of India’s busiest train stations. It didn’t feel like I was taking a leisurely walk through India’s most cosmopolitan city. It felt more like a summer afternoon jaunt through downtown London, until a local indian man shoved a large balloon in front of my face “For only 20 rupees, mam?” My eyes quizzically examined the balloon which was almost the length of my body. I wondered to myself, ‘Why would anyone sell such a thing.’ “No thank you!” I told him, a forced smile plastered to my face as I suppressed my laughter, but he continued to follow me. He smiled, “Okay for you, only 15 rupees.” He waved the lurid thing garishly as though it would entice me to buy it. I giggled as I declined one last time, “No, thank you!” a few giggles slipped out before I could continue, “It won’t fit in my backpack.” I spe\ed up my gait and walked ahead in a complete fit of laughter.
Up ahead, I the gorgeous harbor beckoned me to walk over, but I decided to take a mini detour, to prolong my walk. I turned left and crossed the street, passing the Regal Cinema, which played English blockbuster movies. I made a mental note that Narnia was playing at 2:30pm.The wind picked up a bit and scattered about the garbage that had been thoughtlessly thrown on the street. The sidewalk has now turned into a vendor paradise for I was surrounded on both sides by vendors, urging me to buy a pashmina shawl, a pair of sunglasses, t-shirt or statue of Ganesh. I declined their offers and continued forward.
I looked inot to the window of Leopold’s Café. “Namaste,” said the waiter as I stood out front.I smiled, returned the greeting and entered. I took 3 steps in and sat at a table a few feet off the sidewalk and ordered a cappuccino. The interior of this particular café was of black lacquer with matching tables and red roses propped in vases to top off the European look. Outside, there were foreigners haggling with vendors for their precious souvenirs, beggars asking for spare change, and the occasional holy man wanting to bless anyone, for a few rupees of course. I sipped my cappuccino, paid the bill and moved on. I turned left, just as the vendor at the corner taunted me with the beautifully sequined sandals and shoes he was selling. My eyes lingered on them for a few moments but I declined and continued on.
For the last time, I crossed the street and walked along the beauty of the harbor which was speckled with bright white yachts that gleamed under the sun. To my left, the Taj Mahal’s lower facade, once again remnicent of those in England, punctuated against the dark blue sky, whisking my thoughts off to London. I inhaled deeply to breathe in the cool air and was immediately repulsed by the smell of rancid urine, a smell Ihad come to know emitted from many areas throughout India.
I followed the stone laid path that veered to my right and marveled at the stupendous size of the archway up ahead. My eyes followed the outline of the magnificent colonial symbol and I was almost convinced I was back in the vicinity of Buckingham Palace. But soon, I was jolted back to reality that I was in fact in India by the constant honking of the vehicles on the street, the vendor on the side selling sumptuous pani puri, the sudden waft of rancid urine, the street beggar mother, beautifully dressed in her bright colored saree - begging for rupees, and finally by the words boldly engraved on the beautiful piece of colonial structure I was marveling at, which read ‘Gateway of India.’
previous travel blog entry
Would you like to comment or ask a question?
Sign up for a free account, or sign in (if you're already a member).