It is probably because I've become more comfortable in India, but in any case, Mumbai is much less overwhelming than I was expecting. Meaning, instead of feeling crippled by the population density, traffic, slums, confusing trains and buses, terrible drivers (etc., etc.), I am enjoying each moment walking through a city that, with its history and popularity in novels and movies, seems lie it isn't even supposed to be a real place. For example, Rohinton Mistry's A Fine Balance (if you have not read it, you must) is apt, real. Even the scene where Dina goes to the courthouse, sits in the courtyard, sees men sitting on the ground along the street outside at typewriters atop crates unfolds before my eyes.
Jon was the first to remark that it's one of those places that exists only in stories, that being there physically feels somewhat magical. The city itself, the suburbs and slums, seem to go on forever. And, really, one can ride the suburban trains for more than 100 miles before it seems you've left.
It helps that I'm no longer sleep deprived after overnight buses that arrive in strange areas of strange cities at strange hours before catching a 17 hour train 10 hours later. I will admit that at 4:40am yesterday, Mumbai didn't seem so great.
I suddenly realize I haven't seen a cow in almost two days - where have my friends gone?
The city is an atrocious mix of poverty and prosperity, of modern conveniences and luxuries and petrified ideals. Standing from the sixth floor balcony of our couchsurf hosts' balcony of a middle-class high-rise complex, the moon rises over the slums below. The noise everywhere is deafening, between traffic and temples, the smog crushing. The smell of fish along the docks mixes uncomfortably with Gothic architecture, the sounds of men hawking their wares between bizarre statues of lions with human heads. Five star hotels line one street, with paan shops and tailors right behind them in cubby holes of buildings that look like they've either been recently destroyed due to an earthquake or are in the middle of being constructed. Kittens sit eagerly awaiting spilled milk at the chai stand in front of the bustling street. If you don't walk fast enough someone pushes you from behind, but at the same time, there is art everywhere begging to be looked at.
The Kada Ghoda Art Festival is near it's end. Two weeks of art - street art, dance, music, sculpture, film, literature - is all over the district and it is with great difficulty that we walk through the crowds. Galleries full of works by hopeful art students, the streets packed with many who wished they could have their work inside, folk dancing in the streets, a man who can play two flutes at the same time with his nose, and the type-written zines of "Bombay Underground" make wandering the streets infinitely more interesting than the National Gallery of Modern Art.
One piece of art was titled "Backbone of the City" - a sketch of a skeletal spine with handles dangling every few inches. The suburban trains are an experience - what kind of one is up to you. But I assure you, being in Asia's busiest train station during rush hour, getting on and off the train, involves being okay with jumping off moving trains, fitting 12 people into a space comfortable for 5, and getting body checked if you happen to be in the way of someone.
I am constantly in the way.
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