Second Visit to Mumbai

7 July 2010

12:34

Firstly, I should reveal that I am currently in Mumbai for a few days. I flew in yesterday for the purpose of introducing the Ambassador Corps Program Director, Spencer Ton, from University of the Pacific to the leaders of SPARC Headquarters, Sheela and Avery. I arrived two days prior to our scheduled meeting, so fumbling around for ways to burn the rare free time that I was granted, I decided not to waste a moment. Adventures and character building were waiting.

I must mention that while first impressions of a particular person, place or situation may be powerful, second impressions are overwhelmingly peculiar. It is truly wondrous either how one’s perception or how the entity (or perhaps a combination of the two) is impacted and varied on each encounter. Mumbai is no longer the city that I met only one month prior.

Yesterday, I played a super tourist role in the city limits of Mumbai. By the time my flight ended, it was late afternoon and pouring down rain, but I was able to go visit a number of various famous sites within the city. They are as follows: Gateway of India, Fisherman Village, Nariman Point, Marine Drive, Jain Temple, Hanging Gardens, Kamla Nehru Park, Gandhi House, Dhobi Ghat, Crowford Market, and Victoria Terminus. Being a tourist usually isn’t my style, but seeing sites and learning some history wasn’t the worst way I could spend some empty hours. I’m becoming a better traveler, meaning that I’m improving my grasp on how public transportation functions and am learning how to effectively ask for and receive directions.

I decided last night that I wanted to go do something that was characteristic of ME. I was going to figure out how to visit the SanJay Gandhi Nation Park (25 north of Mumbai Central) and go on a solo trekking exploration. If someone would have come in my dreams last night and tried to persuade me that July 7th, 2010, would exhaust my physical, mental, emotional and spiritual energies as it did, I would have laughed in naivety.

I left the hotel at 7:00 A.M. I caught the fast train northbound to Borivali. I walked east.

In my mind, I could vaguely sketch out the train lines from a map I saw a month ago, and I knew that the National Park was located due east of the Borivali train station but that was all I knew. My philosophy was that I had an entire day to explore and either I would find that park or I would have an unforeseen adventure. As it turned out, I received both.

After a short stroll through the area surrounding the train station, perhaps ¾ of a mile or less, I found the entrance of the park. It was astonishingly easy. I paid the 20 Rupees to enter. A map of the area was posted. I studied it. While doing so, a man approached and offered to ‘show me around’ on his motorcycle. I declined. He persisted. I declined. He persisted further. I stated that I preferred to walk and turned away. At this, he nearly became hysterical and said that the destinations within the park were much too far. If I wouldn’t go with him on the bike, then surely I should at least take the park bus. . . Those who know me, well or not, are aware, that once I have my mind made up, not much is going to persuade me to do otherwise. If on second thought I consider my choice foolish, I still need to see if whatever was proposed is possible. That part of my personality still exists.

I set off on the paved path into the 40 square miles of jungle. It was pouring rain. It was the first time upon arriving in India that I could take out my ear plugs and not be cringing from deafening racket. It was beautiful. Wandering around park, I encountered a number of little nooks, mini-parks, playgrounds, groves, bridges, birds, butterflies, lakes and dense forest. I welcomed the solitude and adequate exercise.

After several hours, I came across the sign for the Buddhist caves at Kanheri located in the middle of the park. I had read about them in travel brochures so decided that it might be fun to go and see. Following the trail, other foot travelers became scarce and random villages and their dwellers were encountered. The only traffic was the park buses and motorcycles. I walked on. The grade steepened. The rain began to fall with more force. My feet were blistered, shriveled and even had strange bruising on the soles. . . The endurance needed to trek the distance up to these caves was the very idea that the motorcyclist was trying to accentuate. I laughed: after enduring the 226 miles of the John Muir Trail last summer in sandals, my journey to these caves was minor and leisurely. The elevation gain was about 1400 feet over 4 miles, and the journey up took less than two hours.

Kanheri Caves consists of 110 caves and was an active colony from 1 B.C. to 1100 A.D. These caves, staircases, pillars, Buddha statues, and ten-foot deep water cisterns were all carved out of stone. It is remarkable. The resonance and timbre in the largest dome-shaped cavern is astoundingly bold and vibrant. Between the dwellings of worship and the living quarters, there is a narrow waterfall that flows. Along the stream’s bottom, steps are carved, and young adults had a jovial time swimming and wading in the water. Already drenched, I even took a turn scaling upstream to the top. It was an impressive place visit and experience.

On the way out, I saw my first Mumbai Monkeys. They were nestled up in the trees at the entrance of the first caves. I did not notice them when I arrived. Up in the branches, they were cuddled in clumps, and I’ll even assign the description of ‘cute’ to them. . .

That is until they attacked. As I was readying to leave the Cave area and return back to the main park when the rain began to fall more vigorously. Then the monkeys hailed from their places and assailed anyone who was near by. There were dozens of them and dozens of visitors. I had two of these violent, furry creatures aiming to reach me. It was all I could do to back away down the uneven stone steps and keep them three feet away—the length of my umbrella. I just didn’t want one to bite me. . . Who knows what sort of diseases they carry. . . I was frightened and peeved that these small-faced, pink-skinned beasts were being nuisances. Finally, a man passing who had gotten rid of his monkeys thumped one of mine on the head with a hefty branch. The other one also scurried away. I was relieved. I thanked the man as graciously as time would allow and got the hell out of there.

The hike back to Borivali had a different vigor. I was physically exhausted, and I remained rattled from the monkey episode. The jungle no longer seemed as peaceful or inviting and the rain was unrelenting, yet I had several miles to travel before arriving back to the city. Despite my slight apprehension, the voyage back was uneventful.

By the time I made my way back to the train station, it was rush hour and the platforms were packed. I bought my ticket and tried to find out which platform to get on and which train to board. I was pushed onto an initially fairly empty train heading south, but I knew right away that I would have to transfer trains at Dadar, which I also knew wasn’t a complicated process. More women entered the cart at every stop. Soon, everyone was packed nose to nose, eye to eye, bosom to bosom, and bust to bust. It was nauseating but a true, daily Indian experience.

**Note: In INDIA on all forms of public transportation, there is gender separation- “Ladies” seats on buses and “Ladies” carts on trains, etc. **

I cannot recall the last time that I described an occurrence as "barbaric and savage". These will be the words and impressions that I will always associate to the women during rush hour on trains at the Mumbai-Dadar Station. The cart was beyond capacity, and ladies were maneuvering about trying to obtain the best stop to exit or remain on the cart. Physical fights and passionate arguments broke out. I was flabbergasted at being caught in the middle of the brutal scene. A small girl caught my eye and beckoned me to follow behind her. She ever so gracefully and delicately weaved our way through the madness to a few square inches of temporary safety. She tried to speak to me in Marathi, but my understanding produced no success. She took a deep breath and threw me a glance that was burdened with warning, dread and a touch of reassurance. It didn’t take another second to discover what was meant by her look.

As the platform came into sight, the activity in the cart became exponentially sadistic. Women began to shriek, claw, sink teeth, prod, deliver blows, ram, shove, and slash their ways through human flesh and steel barriers. There was a herd of women charging onto the train. There was a herd of women charging off of the train. We all collided at a stalemate, but no mercy or margin of flexibility was offered from either side. It was war. The Small Girl grabbed my hand. . . Miraculously we leaped off the train with only a few scratches and bruises to serve as evidence of the triumph. I feel as if I owed my life to her.

Exhausted, I easily transferred trains and arrived at the Mumbai Central Station quietly and safely. The station is only a couple of blocks from where I am staying, but the rain was intoxicatingly . I trudged shin deep in the gutters gushing with sewer-laden gravy. I was thoroughly drenched, and the filth was just an added bonus.

After walking, hiking, trekking and running over 16+ miles throughout the day, I arrived back at the hotel and made contact with Spencer to determine a plan for tomorrow’s meeting with Sheela, Avery, and SPARC. Just when I thought that my day could contain no more surprises, Spencer mentioned that his sister just had a baby girl and that he was interested in flying back to the United States to be with his family. He would be leaving in a couple of hours. I am ultimately supportive of any person who puts his or her family before business. Of course, a meeting was possible, so as much as I wanted to immediately take off the sodden shoes, shower and fall into a deep sleep, we met for supper to discuss my experience thus far and brief me on the nature of the Global Center’s interest in a partnership with SPARC so that I could partiallyrepresent him tomorrow.


We had supper at the Palladium Mall. It was probably the fanciest meal I’ve ever had. Being able to share about my experience in real-time was a treat, but cramming four weeks of happening and the intricate operations of an organization such as SPARC was impossible. I did not do them justice.

It was amusing to discover all of the little Indian habits that I have acquired since being here. I have the Indian head-waggle down spot on, and it has become a second nature reaction. My speech has attained a small sum of short repetitive phrases that are guarantied to be comprehended by all Indian natives. I’ve eliminated wide usage of articles such as “the” and “a” before nouns . . . Breaking these habits upon arriving into the US is going to take effort and practice. . .


Goodknight.