Bopping around Bombay.

I didn't know what to expect. I had read up a bit (and spoken to Sarada) but I hadn't really figured it all out. Bombay (aka Mumbai) is the largest city in India, home to its Bollywood industry, and is considered (not to fall into the cliche of using NYC as the standard against which all cities are measured) to be the New York City of the country. I think the comparisons are apt, but it goes way, way beyond that.

Oftentimes, people tell me that NYC is "too much" for them. "Too much" usually translates to "too busy" or "too big" or "too intense." Bombay is all these things. I arrived by night and saw little during our taxi ride from Chhatrapati Shivaji International Airport. I noticed that a lot of the buildings looked...how best to explain it? Weathered, I guess. (But I've learned quickly not to judge a building by its exterior here. Some sort of gross looking buildings are nice to quite nice inside.) It wasn't until the next morning that Sarada and I took a 20-minute walk from her flat to the coffee shop (next door to the internet place I'm currently sitting in) where her and her fellow KSG-ers get their work done. [Quick sidebar: Sarada is here with 3 others from the Kennedy School of Government essentially researching (and offering solutions for) education and schools in Bombay. Learn more at her blog.]

That first walk was one of the most overstimulating experiences of my life. I felt like a baby pushed to his sensory limits, on the verge of crying or laughing or both. People are everywhere. As are cars (mostly taxis). Then there are buses, mopeds, some bicycles, and the errant cow. Interestingly enough, something I was expecting, the generally-ubiquitous-in-India Autorickshaw, is banned from most of the city. I was expecting the city to smell of smog (one report says that breathing Bombay's air for a week is the equivalent of smoking 2.5 packs of cigarettes) or worse, but the smells, just like the sights, are constantly changing. Exhaust turns to delicious food smells which turns to incense and then something else unplaceable but not at all unpleasant. As you walk down a street, you can see a woman hanging out with her cow followed by a Starbucks-esque coffeeshop followed by a small food stall. Turn a corner and you have a high-end restaurant, a man hawking fruit, and a blind amputee begging all within a few feet.

Besides the noises naturally made by a zillion people working/commuting/shopping/selling/begging all at once, there are the noises made by the cars of this city. Never in all my life have I heard more honking than I do in Bombay. It's constant. No one - taxi, bus, moped, or car - drives more than a few feet without sounding their horn. This is mostly because the narrow sidewalks can't really contain everyone so people often spill out to the street. I learned quickly that it's your job to get the hell out of the way because no one, particularly the cabs, will even slow down. Kristen and I joked the other day that crossing three major roads in Bombay is enough to qualify a day as full and requires a full night's rest because it's so stressful and strenuous an experience.

Still, I'm loving it. This is the busiest city I've ever seen. In the last few days, I've been to a high-end Indian restaurant, a roof-top (covered, don't worry) hotel bar, and a members-only (oh yes, I'm big pimping) nightclub for a birthday party for Larina's cousin's sister-in-law (I think I got that right...big ups to Larina for arranging that). I've also been to a Muslim shrine on the end of a jetty on the Arabian Sea (we had to hurry back when we rechecked the guidebook and noticed that we'd get stuck there at high tide), in a Raj-era teahouse, and harassed up and down the main drag of Bombay's market stalls. (Nothing has been more amusing than watching Sarada's majorly badass bargaining skills.) White people are definitely targeted for special attention by the salesmen, hawkers, and beggars here. I had a small child insistently offer to shine my flipflops at Haji Ali. (My pasty whiteness will indubitably be the subject of more than a few posts this summer.)

The worst part, I guess, is the constant rain. Kristen and I really want to go out to Elephanta Island but the ferry won't run during rain storms. After a relatively nice first day here, it's been nothing but rain, sometimes quite fierce. I've completely gotten over the constant wetness. I've worn the same pants the last few days (NO ONE wears shorts here) and roll them up. My flipflops have been perfect. Sure, it's a little gross when I need to wade or when I mistakenly step in a puddle, but you get over it quickly. I'm here to explore, not to be prissy. The lone moment of Displeased Alessandro was when my new Merrell's were turned into twin fishbowls of cholera water, but once I bought some stylish, 300-roop plastic man-sandals, I was much happier. Now it's time to bust back out into the storm to find some lunch. (I should probably eat something other than channa bathura today since I've already had it - or some other channa dish - for three or four meals already.)