Wednesday, December 10: Mumbai Markets

Wednesday, December 10

Raphael and I visited outdoor markets (bazaars).

Traffic in this country is very interesting. Take Mumbai. 18 million people in this city. Many cars. And a LOT more pedestrians. Traffic lights? Not so many. Most intersections, like so many aspects of Indian society, are not controlled.

"Public safety" means something different here. People are constantly taking their lives in their hands when they cross the street.

It is sort of like a game of dodge ball. Instead of dodging balls, one dodges vehicles and people. And, unlike dodge ball, if the dodge is successful, everyone wins. If not, everyone involved loses. But the magnitude of the loss is in inverse relationship to the amount of armor you are wearing. At the top of the food chain are trucks and buses, then regular cars (including taxis which constitute a significant percentage of the traffic), then auto-rickshaws and motorcycles, then rickshaws and bikes, then pedestrians. There's no right of way for pedestrians - "right of way" just goes to the larger vehicle.

Because most intersections are not controlled, people just cross anywhere and they have to dodge the cars that barrel down as fast as they can. Drivers and pedestrians engage in behavior that would seem completely nuts in the U.S. - about every 2 minutes you see something that in the U.S. would provoke a "you wouldn't believe what I saw someone do on the road today..." conversation.

Rickshaws are grownup tricycles with a 2 seat bench in the back - the driver pedals and carries passengers. More common are auto-rickshaws, a 3-wheel covered motortricycle that can take 3 passengers (even 4 if someone squeezes in with the driver, sharing his seat).

One must always bargain for a taxi or auto-rickshaw ride. If a taxi driver tells me the cost will be 50 rupees (about $1) I risk Becky's scorn if I don't reply - "30 rupees."

The outdoor markets in Mumbai are a wild scene. We saw a Hindu demonstration against the terrorist attacks - a bunch of young men in matching T-shirts waving fists in the air and shouting slogans in Hindi.

Hindu rally against terrorism

Feelings were still raw throughout the city. It was not uncommon to see impromptu, hand-made signs or banners denouncing terrorism.

Impromptu street signs denouncing the Mumbai attacks

The neighborhood is mixed and we saw a number of Hindu temples and mosques. Outside a mosque was a declaration against terrorism, signed by prominent Muslims.

Banner outside a mosque denouncing terrorism



India images wouldn't be complete without at least one cow - one doesn't see that many cows in this city of 18 million people. Unlike cows we saw elsewhere, wandering aimlessly or just hanging around, this was a beast of burden in the Mumbai bazaar.

In the afternoon, flew to Jaipur, capital of Rajasthan. Rajasthan is desert terrain - as I entered the city, it felt more like Central Asia, reminded me a bit of Kazakhstan. Passed camels, donkeys, and other beasts of burden in the road (Jaipur is a city of 3 million people).

Hotel is lovely, unassuming, and feels very Rajasthani.

Becky's friends blew into town from Agra, on their way to Jaisalmer and we had dinner together at the rooftop restaurant at our hotel.

I heard all about their various host families - I think Becky lucked out. Some of them didn't have quite such a good situation.

It's often said how ignorant Americans are of other countries, but we assume everyone else knows all about us. India is very far from here, and knowledge of American, even Western history is uneven there. For example, Becky's host dad was surprised to hear that Obama is the first African-American president - he thought Lincoln was. One of Becky's friends had a huge argument with her host sister who refused to believe that Lincoln was white.

Another friend's host dad is an admirer of Hitler. While that is shocking, bear in mind this guy has no knowledge of the Holocaust. He's not like a neo-nazi who admires Hitler for having murdered millions of Jews and others. He had no idea. He just admires Hitler for being a "strong leader" - or so he says. On the other hand, it's not hard to find Mein Kampf in bookstores in India - we saw one in an airport bookstore - and Mein Kampf is pretty explicit about Hitler's racist views.

Becky's friends had a bad experience in Agra. Unfortunately, Agra was totally fogged in the morning they were there - so they couldn't see the Taj Mahal when it was right in front of their noses. Hope that doesn't happen to us...



Becky's friends and (before we arrived) travel companions.
Trudy, Kelsey, Emma, Becky, John

Elephanta Island

Elephanta Island is about an hour boat ride from the Gateway to India. What distinguishes Elephanta Island are a series of cave temples, with beautiful sculptures cut out of the rock, from about 1500 years ago.

These rock-cut temples were a Buddhist tradition that ported to Hinduism as Buddhist influence declined here. The rock sculptures are all in worship of Shiva and they express various manifestations and tell various stories about Shiva - Shiva, lord of yoga, Shiva, lord of dance, Shiva and Parvati, etc.

Before you get to the caves, of course you must run a gauntlet of what seemed like a hundred vendors selling various souvenirs, jewelry, T-shirts, etc. This would become something of a sub-theme - in the heavily touristed areas, India can resemble a giant bazaar.

One cultural issue is that shaking one’s head from side to side does not mean "no" here. I’m not sure what the non-verbal cue for "not interested" is, other than looking away and ignoring, which is what I’ve come to do.

The rock sculptures in the caves are quite impressive. The best part was that Becky was able to show off her knowledge - having studied Hindu art. So we had our own personal guide.

1500 year old stone sculptures of Shiva and friends


Raphael and a little friend on Elephanta Island


No elephants on Elephanta Island, but LOTSA monkeys!

After Elephanta, we came back to the hotel to chill (well, rest - one can’t exactly "chill" here - it’s hot and humid all the

We were invited for dinner with Raell Padamsee. Raell’s mom was a well-known actress in the English theater scene here (and cousin of Abe Sofaer). Raell is a well-known theater person in her own right - she's written plays and runs after school theater programs for children in 15 centers throughout Mumbai.

She has a beautiful apartment in the center of town, with a rooftop terrace, where we dined.

We talked about the events of 10 days ago. Raell's apartment is in between the Taj Mahal hotel and Chabad House, so she was in the thick of it. She said there is dissatisfaction with the police response, which, Raell said, was ridiculously ineffective - people are shocked that 10 people could inflict such damage on the city for several days - and also with politicians on all sides who, from her perspective, have done a lot of posturing for political gain.

Mumbai - First Full Day

Tuesday, December 9: Our first full day here.

After breakfast, we did a walking tour of Mumbai.

How British this city was! Here in the older, historic area of the city, so many of the buildings were built by the British. Well, they were mostly BUILT by the Indians, no doubt, but they were designed by the British. So you have many magnificent colonial structures. The juxtaposition of these grand structures and squalor is jarring. And even some of those buildings were not maintained so well and were a bit dog-eared. The High Court - a most impressive structure, was looking dilapidated in some parts - and that's the High Court!

Becky & Raphael in front of the High Court

The High Court is a magnificent structure, but here you can see in this historic landmark building, dilapidated awnings - saw several examples like this.

Athletics are not as big a deal here as in other countries, but the big sport is cricket. Every park we have passed has been full of guys playing cricket. I have yet to see anything else going on in the parks.

Cricketers playing in a Maidan - a public park in Mumbai

During our walking tour, we visited Knesset Eliyahu, one of two synagogues in the city. Security is tighter now, after the attack on Chabad, but it really was not that tight at all.

Knesset Eliyahu Synagogue

The shamash told us there used to be 15,000 Jews here; now, just a handful. Nothing happens here, he told us, other than Shabbat and holidays. The synagogue is a striking blue and well-maintained, but otherwise it reminded me of so many other synagogues I’ve seen where the community has dwindled and a small and diminishing aging cadre perseveres.

I have to say that Indian media coverage of the Chabad massacre has been extensive and continuing. I'd have half expected that the focus would have been more on "Indian" targets like the Taj Mahal Hotel or the train station, but interest in the (Chabad) Holzberg story and, especially, "baby Moshe" has not waned. It is not clear whether people truly understand the Jewish character of this part of the story - that is, that it was not coincidental that a Jewish site was targeted.

As a whole, the city does not appear completely traumatized by last month’s attacks, referred to as 26/11 (26 November). Of course, it’s the major topic of news and conversation. But life goes on.

There are multiple reactions as the experience recedes by days and now weeks. There was an initial anti-Muslim and anti-Pakistan and certainly anti-Islamist/terrorist backlash of public opinion. And there seems to be still a great deal of anger and distrust toward Pakistan . But there are 100 million Muslims in this country and there is, as there was in the U.S. after 9/11, a desire to not devolve into broad inter-religious conflict. Several prominent Indian Muslims (including some Bollywood stars) have spoken out against the attacks and Bakr el-Eid celebrations were muted as Indian Muslims strive to demonstrate solidarity as Indians against the violence.
Back to our walking tour - Passing all this interesting old architecture, we made our way to the Gateway to India, a great arch of Indian colonial triumph, built a hundred years ago. Ironically, 23 years after the British finished it - they were gone.

We ended our walking tour at the Gateway to India - built as a monument to British imperialism. Two decades after they finished it - the British were out and India was independent. Next to the Gateway is the Taj Mahal Hotel, another target of the terrorist attack - it was still not opened at this point. From here we took a boat to Elephanta Island.



Gateway to India (on right of photo) and Taj Mahal Hotel (not yet reopened then after the Mumbai terrorist attacks) next to it on the left

Arrival in India: Mumbai: December 8, 2008

Gandhi is with us always - staring out from every paper currency, and here, from this banner along a Mumbai Street

Arrival in Mumbai in some ways, like arriving in any developing country. The telltale smell of diesel. The cacaphony of honking car horns. And, of course, the slums, the millions of people making lives amidst corrugated metal, cardboard, and whatever of other people's flotsam and jetsam they can scrape together to support their day to day existence.

We got an "air-conditioned" taxi from the airport. Like most of the cabs here, it looked like the taxi from Toon Town in "Who Framed Roger Rabbit," only about 20 years old.

It kinda sorta had air conditioning (in a semi-broken way) but also a half-dozen mosquitoes in the cab. The mosquitoes immediately brought back memories of my bout with malaria in Africa. How to get the mosquitoes out?

"Open the glass," said the driver. So we opened the windows (so much for the air conditioning) and tried to shoo the mosquitoes out of the car.

Shooing mosquitoes away from veins with warm human blood coursing through them is never a simple task, but I was highly motivated.

It is always disconcerting to give a taxi driver an address and then watch him just stare blankly at it for 30 seconds.

"Umm, you don't know where that is, do you?" I ask in trepidation, already anticipating the inevitable -
"No problem, no problem"
(Why am I not convinced, as we pass the Intercontinental, which even I know is past our hotel?)

Of course he got lost. He ended up pulling into The Ambassador Hotel.

"This is the wrong hotel."

"West End," the driver proudly proclaimed. The big sign on the front said otherwise.

The turbaned bell man approached to open the door and take our bags.

Practically winking, I inquired in a loud voice - "West End Hotel?"

"No, no - this is Ambassador." Then he proceeded to give directions in Hindi to our hotel.

Eventually, we arrived.

Given the British influence here, and the fact that several of the world's great English-language writers are from India, one imagines that everyone is fluent in English. But it is not so. There are over 200 major languages and dialects and even in Mumbai we meet people who don't speak English.

Speaking of people. When your country has over a billion people, the first question that comes to mind is - where do you put them?

Everywhere. One does not come to Mumbai for solitude. After an afternoon stroll the concept "deserted street" does not exist. Rather, one cannot truly grasp the concept of "teeming masses" without experiencing this.

Walking around Mumbai, I would describe the general street scene as "controlled chaos," however that suggests control, and I witnessed none. Just "chaos" suggests mayhem and there was none of that either. More a sort of benign chaos - no order, no control, no problem.

By no order or control, I mean that, in a sense, anything goes. Wanna leave a ton of metal or wood or sand or bricks on the sidewalk or street - go right ahead. No one will stop you or try to do anything about it.

People would set up shop anywhere, selling clothes, fabric, rags, shoes, you name it.

And, of course, people - sitting, lying, sleeping, peeing pretty much anywhere.

Raphael and I walked to Chhapatrati Shivajia, aka Victoria Terminus (VT) - the central train station.

Built in late 19th century, it is a magnificent structure, fusing Victorian gothic with Islamic and South Asian architectural influences - and it works. One observer rote - "what the Taj Mahal is to the Moghuls, Victoria Terminus represents to the British Raj."


Chhapatrati Shivajia, aka Victoria Terminus (reopened after terrorist attack)

VT was hit by the terrorists 10 days ago, but the building weathered the attack and the station seems back to its hustle-bustle self.

Our neighborhood - Fort/Churchgate - seems an interesting blend of stately majestic colonial mansions and structures - occasionally with Art Deco and Islamic features, along with grime and grunge and poverty and decay. A park with a beautiful colonial structure, guys playing cricket, and trash and litter strewn everywhere.


Raphael enjoying street vendor food at outdoor market

Becky showed up after our walk - she flew in from Varanasi. Looking as if she's gone a bit native - wearing Indian clothes and her arms covered with an Indian henna pattern - her host mom did it for her in honor of her program's farewell party (Becky was living in Madurai, a more traditional town - women simply could not go out in the street without wearing a sari and a dupata).

We went to Chowpatty Beach (a popular area for dining and hanging out) for dinner. A fusion place - after 4 months, becky was interested in non-indian fare, but I got a veg thali dinner and still had some delicious food I'd never seen before (and some less delicious).

We shared an ice cream Sundae dessert which was perfect.

Journey to India

Becky spent her fall semester in Madurai, South India. Of late, my international travel has been to wherever Becky's been studying (last year, South Africa). Ellen and Amalia couldn't get away (work and school) but Raphael and I could - so we took 2 weeks to visit India and Becky. Two weeks is too short a time for anything other than a taste.

Becky had seen much of South India and was more interested in going north - especially Rajasthan. We hadn't seen anything - north, south, east, west. So we planned to fly into Mumbai and meet Becky there, travel north to Rajasthan, then east to Agra, then finally south to meet Becky's friends and host family in Madurai.

I wrote occasional posts via email or in a handwritten journal and transferred them to this blog after we returned.

Most of this journal was written in India - I did add a few notes after I returned. My camera died along the way, so the photos from Agra and Madurai were not mine - sadly, as I had wanted to shoot the Taj Mahal and Becky's host family and friends.