We were picked up at 9am in front of our hotel, and introduced to our tour guide, Aida. We drove around and saw lots of buildings and courthouses and train stations etc all by the British, but in all honesty they look like the buildings that you find everywhere in London and old British Colonies. I was hoping to see architecture with a more traditional Indian influence.
Next we saw Muhat Gandhi's home where he spent a few of his years. That was really great! They had his letter to Hitler framed, as well as many original photographs, and a library with some of the books that had inspired him. But my favorite part was upstairs where his room was. It was set up behind plexi glass, and consisted of a small makeshift mattress, a wooden desk, and small night table with The Bible, The Koran, and The Torah on its shelf, all in the floor so he could hang out in his iconic crossed-legged position. My favorite part of his room was a little figurine on his desk of the three monkeys doing the "see, speak, and hear no evil" pose. It was the only item that was functionless- or decorative- in the room. Something about it reminded me of a little carved wooden Buddha I have that has traveled from my various homes with me throughout the years. It used to be my moms when she was my age. It's a figurine and is technically functionless, but it's really quite the opposite. It's function for me is just emotional rather than physical. I felt some sort if connection with Gandhi in that moment when I realized we both cherished a silly little wooden figurine, a figurine that in some way feeds us mentally. I also learned that Muhat is not Gandhi's first name, but a sort of nickname that was given to him mid-life meaning "Great Soul." I thought his nickname very appropriate for him as even today, he teaches us how to be better people. If this is not truly a sign of a Great Soul, I'm not sure what is!
Then we both started to get lightheaded. The home wasn't air conditioned, and it was crowded with all sorts of people. I even heard a tattoo covered Scandinavian man, who was blonde and about 6'9 and jacked, mutter "hail Hitler" under his breath near Gandhi's letter. That was just a bit bizarre. We donated a couple £ each and asked if we could get lunch in hopes that some food would rejuvenate us.
Our tour guide took us to a local restaurant. We walked in the first first thig I thought was "uh oh." I'm one of those people who is overly cautious with what I put into my body whilst traveling in countries with undrinkable water and questionable refrigeration. Ajda is a bit more daring. We walk in and are seate by a man in a suit in a little booth in a room with low ceilings that reminded me of a cave. This made me feel even worse, as claustrophobia and feeling light headed don't go we'll together. I ordered a coke and felt a million times better after the sugar was in my system. On the floor near te entrance there was a basket of dead crabs, not on ice or anything, basking in the sun. That's when I decided I was going to eat vegetarian, despite our tour guide raving about the fish curry. We ordered a yellow lentil curry, a mild spice (which was plenty of spice for me) curry with blocks of cheese curd in it, and a chicken masala curry. Oh, and my favorite- garlic naan. I didn't eat the chicken, but the other two curries were delicious. Once again the lentils were my favorite. They were much healthier than the buttery black lentils we had the night before. Our tour guide instructed us to eat with our hands. I was thankful that we had sanitized them in the car just moments before. It's so awesome eating curry with your hands, I love it. Really eating any food with your hands makes it better, doesn't it? It's a much more intimate experience. Our guide had mastered the motion of ripping a piece of naan, dipping it into the shallow pool of curry on the plate, scooping it up, and effortlessly popping it into her mouth, all without looking like nothing less than a lady. I on the other hand am not so lady-like. Curry ended up all over my plate, the table, my napkin on my lap, my hands, and my chin. It is an art to be mastered, and I am determined to work on it while in this country.
When Ajda said that she would like to add some green chillis to her curry, our personal staff of 2 increased to 5. They stood and talked amongst themselves in disbelief as this foreign white girl downed spoonfuls of green peppers and curry. She was very much a source of amusement and it was a bit awkward to have 5 men standing around discussing your eating habits to say the least.
We finished up, treated our tour guide, and left.
Being on display is something we must get used to I guess. We next went to The Gateway to India, I large gateway built to welcome Kings on their visits to Bombay. I was so excited when I saw it, because even though it was built under British rule, the architecture was very Indian. There were scalloped windows and intricate cutouts in the massive monument's stone. To enter the courtyard we had to go through metal detectors and have our bags searched, similar to our hotel, and when getting closer to the gateway, we saw that it was fenced off so you couldn't go around it or even near it. That's when I learned that while we have been here, it's been the 4 year anniversary of the biggest terrorist attack Mumbai has ever seen. I must admit I felt extremely ignorant when our tour guide told us about the attacks- I don't remember hearing anything about them. She spoke to us as if it were 911 and assumed we knew all the details. I felt too embarrassed to ask anything more than where the attacks took place. That's when I learned that basically EVERY place we went to in Mumbai was where people were killed at the terrorists hands. Our hotel, the Indian gateway, and two places we were to visit later on. Suddenly all the high security made sense. I felt, honestly, a bit freaked out and taken aback. I would be lying if I didn't say I thought only of the safety of myself and not the tragedy of what occurred.
Then, a women asked us in various hand motions if we could take a photo with her. At first we were confused.... But then our tour guide told us that most the people visiting te monument are also tourists from other parts of India, and that having a photo with two white girls is a sort of exciting experience and story to show their friends back home. The couple was very sweet and we obliged. Perhaps that was a mistake, because suddenly we were swarmed. First thought- hold on tight to y purse! One after another people (mostly men) came to get a photo with us. The monument wasn't even in the background at this point. They started off really timid and respectful, and very quickly got pushy and a little too friendly. Suddenly they push Ajda out of te photo and all start posing with me... Damn this pink hair! After they started getting grabby I decided I had had enough and said NO MORE and scaddadled out of there. My heart was racing a bit. Looking back that evening I realized that none of them had any misintent. They had never seen anyone like me and were just super excited. However, I wasn't all over being the center of attention- being pulled and pushed around and having my personal space invaded by so many people without any care or concern for ME. I felt as if I weren't human- but merely, at the risk of sounding arrogant, a trophy. It reminds of of a story Julia told me about her time in Africa, saying how tourists drive to the slums, lock their doors, and take photos of the people as if they were in a zoo, without their permission or regard to how they feel.
Then again, what was I expecting? I'm a western woman with pink hair.
My guess is that the attention will only increase as we travel to smaller cities. Mumbai is India's most heavily populated city with 12.5 million people coexisting. Its also one of the most toured. If people here are curious enough to watch us eat and take photos with us.. I can only imagine how people in slightly more off-te -grid places will be. As long as they are gentle and kind, ill humor them.
After a quick stop in some fancy store ($2000 Pashminas!) and a market where another attack occurred, we wet to a view point on the sea. I heard te driver and her talking quietly before we hopped out of the car. There, our tour guide told us, was where our sweet little driver had dropped off two tourists 4 years ago. When he heard gunfire he turned back to make sure they were ok, only to find they had been targeted. He helped them into his car and rushed them to the hospitals, where they later died. Wow. That's when I stopped thinking and worrying about my own safety (an attack would be out of my hands) and started to realize how this must have effected these people. Our driver is the cutest little man, and so kind hearted. He was kept for questioning for 5 days straight by the police due to his involvement with the tourists who died. I felt freaked out going to these places? How must he have felt dropping us off? He had two people literally bleeding out in his car and did everything he could to help save them, and was then questioned for days while imprisoned. He's probably forced to relive that memory every time he drops tourists off.
We got back to the hotel and felt exhausted. We had a beer at the outdoor bar and watched the Indian sun set over the Arabian Sea. A very beautiful and breathtaking moment (my photo does no justice).
I had a bath and a broth soup in the room and passed out. Today I woke up again at 5 30am and have been writing for an hour and a bit. We fly to Udaipur this morning so I must get ready.
Until next time!
1 comment:
I love your Blog. A great mix of humor, information, and who you are..3 of my friends are following. Fun!
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