Dear Family and Friends,
It is not possible to come to India from a Western Country and not be shocked. The sights, smells, sounds, chaos, squalor, filth, traffic, animals, people, and beggars are simply overwhelming.
I arrived in Bombay/Mumbai a week ago Thursday night and got a pre-paid taxi to Kara's classmate Ranju's home in Malabar Hill at about 3:00AM. Malabar Hill is apparently the most expensive real estate in the world and it is certainly the best area of Bombay. On the trip from the airport I could see that the sidewalks were filled with people curled up sleeping. It was very gracious of Ranju and his wife Vinita to take me in as it certainly made my entry into India much easier.
I spent the next two days wandering around the highlights of Bombay, Colaba, India Gate, Chowpatty Beach, and Haji Ali Mosque (more later of this). Getting around is quite easy in that there are taxis everywhere, and they are so cheap. A 15 minute ride seldom costs more than 13 Rupees, about 40 cents. There are so many of these that it makes the London Cab seem rare in contrast. All cabs are a black Fiat with yellow roof. All, and I mean all, are dented and scratched, they belch black smoke (unlike here in Delhi where all cabs and auto rickshaws are being converted to natural gas).
The drivers are either maniacs or kamikaze wannabees, or both. I had one driver who will always be burnished in my brain. I got into his cab and as I was trying to give him directions, he slammed the car into gear, crunched into the traffic, shouting, god knows what, at me. We careened through the streets, and when stopped, he would rap on the windows of cars beside us trying to find out where my destination was, shouting at me much of the time. He was a bit vulpine in appearance, with piercing black eyes, a bit of madman look about him. He would loll behind the wheel when stopped, then drive with such total abandon and indifference, you couldn't help but admire him. He also had excellent honking technique. All cabbies honk, and most of them honk most of the time. This guy honked a lot too, mostly at random, but after a particularly hair raising encounter, he would give a kind of double toot that I took to be the equivalent of giving the finger.
I must mention another interesting experience with a taxi driver. Just as I got in the car, a group of school children, eight to ten years old, about sixty of them in all, started filing by in front of the car, two-by-two. The driver did not hesitate but immediately, over my protestations drove right into them, slowly I will say, but he just started pushing them out of the way. A couple of the teachers banged on his hood, but he just kept driving right into the kids. It was incredible. I was amazed that he would do that, but I was also surprised the teachers didn't stop the line up of children.
I left Bombay on the overnight Rahjastani Express bound for Delhi. I was in a second class, air-conditioned car sharing with three others. It was a good trip overall. The three gentlemen I travelled with were all very friendly and interested in who I was, where was I from etc. They wanted to know about life in the west, why do we have so few children, why isn't the husband the boss (as everybody knows that is natural), etc. Two of the men were part of a group of five businessmen travelling together (the owner of a garment manufacturing firm plus five of his salesmen. The whole group spent much of the time in our compartment. It was quite interesting to watch them together. They constantly had their arms around each other, on each other's leg or lap, or were holding hands. This is quite common to see. I tried to imagine a group of Shell Territory managers acting the same. Hard to, isn't it?
In Delhi I joined my tour group at Hotel Good Times. Great name, eh? We were a group of eleven plus our leader, Deb Kindness, an Aussie. Another great name! We left last Sunday morning on a very early train for Agra where we spent the night before a morning visit to the Taj Mahal (of course). The next morning we were off by Jeep to Bharatpur with a stop at Phatapur Sekri, Arthur Erickson's inspiration for SFU, and a visit to the Keoladeo Bird Sanctuary; the next day it was on to the Rajistan Capital of Jaipur for two nights.
From Jaipur we drove back to Delhi with a stop at the Amber Palace/Fort, surely one of the highlights. Our hotel in Bharatpur was particularly interesting as many years ago it was the home of a brother to the Maharaja in the area. A nice setting and filled with period pieces, tiger’s heads, photos of visiting English royalty and nobility etc. Generally the hotels have been better than I might have expected.
We are four men and seven women in our group, two Aussies, an American couple, another Canadian guy, three Brits, a Japanese lady, and one woman from Mozambique. I'm the senior in the group, most being in their, thirties or forties, and a couple of late twenty year olds. The group got along exceedingly well, and we had a great time.
The drive was always interesting, there was always something to see, camel carts, horse carts, cow carts, scooters, trucks, buses, cars, tractors, pedi-rickshaws, auto rickshaws (three wheel carts really), cows wandering along, pigs, even the odd elephant, people etc. etc. The condition of the livestock, particularly the pigs, are pretty much guaranteed to make one a vegetarian for the duration of the trip, if not forever.
Traffic cannot be described; it is basically white knuckle the whole time. The highway from Jaipur to Delhi is boulevarded, two lane express way, but that in no way suggests you won't meet a huge bus or truck heading straight at you in your lane. The slightest slow down in the opposing lane will cause oncoming traffic to switch into your lanes.
The most difficult thing to deal with has been the beggars, hundreds of them, infants, children, women, handicapped, and the old. Our tour company, and my guide book, urges us not to give to beggars as it sets up conditions of dependency for them. It is just agony for me to try and ignore them. At Haji Ali Mosque in Bombay, the causeway out to the Mosque is about 500 meters long. It is lined with amputees, men, women, and children; all missing arms, legs, or arms and legs. How do you cope with a double amputee with outstretched stumps? I now carry a pocket full of small Rupee coins, as I can't believe it is better to not give anything. A very sorry situation.
I must also note the contrast when walking out to the Mosque; the causeway was lined with stalls with locals hawking all manner of stuff including tapes of the sound tracks of the latest Bollywood movie. The music blasts out and the vendors are shucking and jiving apparently totally unaware of the surrounding misery.
Contrasting that sorry part, I must say that the locals are so friendly and gracious. They are unfailingly polite (except for the touts, street vendors, and rickshaw drivers), and they have made the trip very enjoyable so far.
I must end this now, as I am off to pick up my train tickets for Varanasi and points beyond. I hope you are all well. Regards.
Merv.
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