A 2nd Treatise on Public Transport in Bombay

6/18/09

It's not pleasant. It's not comfortable. I don't think I could make it smell good if I tried. Why, yes, even though you could never possibly guess, it's a local train in Bombay.

I recently reasoned that I should forget altogether that figure of speech involving sardines and aluminum containers and start saying "like Bombay trains in the afternoon" because its more sensible and I would have about 13 million people to relate to. Plus, who has ever willingly opened a can of sardines anyway?

That said, everyone should ride an Indian train once in their lives, unless you're claustrophobic, but even then I would suggest going during off hours. As concisely as I can, I would describe them as fantastically awful. Fantastic because they capture such an interesting slice of culture. Awful because you just might harm yourself during the course of your journey. Vendors come around to the seats and windows with everything from cheap jewelry and hair clips you can count on to tarnish and/or break to dubiously wonderful food guaranteed to make your stomach churn a little the next day. During the morning and afternoon, they are positively packed. I don't know if you've seen one of those sensational photos of tons of people practically falling out of a train, but I'll tell you this much: they're not sensational, they're average. That said, the going home at night when there's no one on the trains is perfect for good sights and getting some much needed wind in the face. Throw in some Indian cross dressers - only applicable if you're in the ladies compartment - and there you have it!

All of this discourse - an excerpt from my 2nd Treatise on Public Transport in Bombay - was sparked by my grand tour of the suburbs of Bombay. Of course, by "grand tour" I mean I visited family in 2 places and it somehow managed to be a day's journey. But, don't get me started on traffic and travel times... or else I'll have to start a 3rd Treatise, and no one wants that.

Faking Being Indian Comes Easy

6/2/09
I'm chuffed. I mean I've always thought of myself as a bit of a visionary - some of you can attest to my skills at Guess Who - but this time its undebatable. My dream about the insect bites came into fruition! When I turned to inspect an area that I had been scratching at, I found myself staring at 5 bites in an almost perfect row (I thought I should spare you a picture because there are better things to see).

And so, bugs aside, the great shop off has begun! I've been to every market in a 20 mile radius which means I've only been to about .01% of the bazaars in Bombay. You'll be happy to know that I am still taking requests for designer fakes. I should be heading out to get some nice fake watches in the near future and bags and sunglasses are everywhere for those interested ;).

Since shopping leads naturally into fashion, let me tell you that I feel like an incredibly unfashionable commoner here. How is this possible? It seems that every style-conscious person here wears western clothes! So, here I am, wearing traditional Indian garb, in a town full of skinny jeans and lame printed tees. I suppose it just goes to show that no matter where I go in the world, I always tend towards an old lady sensibility.

Rawring Across the World

5/28/09

You know it's bad when you dream about getting 5 mosquito bites in a perfect row. Although, I wouldn't be in the least surprised if it actually happened. It would only add to my outstanding total of appx. 40...

This week we (myself, some aunts and cousins, and their 10+ chillun) went to Deolali or what I would call the modest Mumbaikar's Hamptons, but don't start conjuring up any images of grandeur. The saving grace of the situation lies in that it was a little cooler than Bombay's scorching 35 degrees Celsius - or a whopping 96 degrees Fahrenheit.

I'm sitting on the train back to Bombay with all of the aunties/old people trying to sleep while their trainload of offspring are busying themselves by playing Antakshari behind me. Me? I'm just sitting in my window seat, taking in the breeze as we move along, keeping one eye open for photo-ops.

I want to say that I had a good time in Deolali, I really do, but it's just not true. The childhood retreats of my mother to the sanatoriums and her memories of fun and frolicking did not hold up to the test of time. Yes, we sat on camels and horse-drawn carriages, went to parks, etc. but those things do not make up for the decrepit state of once very well-kept, wealthy villas and manors. I always feel like maintenance and restoration have been undervalued in India. Blame it on my antiquarian tendencies if you want, but rust and decay doesn't always add "character" to things. But, enough about aesthetics. I'm actually waiting for the moment when I will no longer be followed, pulled or dragged along by a brood of little ones. Believe me, I love me some kids, but I also love me some space.

The highlights were as followed:
- Eating my aunt's amazing butter chicken
- Seeing puppies on the streets
- Almost getting caught smoking cigarettes we never smoked
- Having a laziness contest with my cousin, bride-to-be, Zahra
- Annoying her immensely by looking at the texts her hubby sends her - he's a sap, and I'm an ass.
- Making up for it all by teaching her how to say certain big words with an American accent.