The Promise and Contradiction that is Mumbai
The past four weeks i have had residence in the busy, bustling and ever moving Mumbai. Bombay, as the locals call it, is a mix of contradiction, promise, pain and a huge population, which the residents have gotten so used to that nothing, not even the flooding and possible death and displacement of fellow Indians in a neighboring state, fazes them. To them, that is just another Tuesday.
The day i arrived, as i exited the Chhatrapati Shivaji International Airport at 3am in the morning, i was greeted by a huge presence of small house structures with blue rooftops lining both sides from the airport entrance for a long way out. The slums. In the still quiet night light, mixed with the uniformly arranged street lights and a sky so high up, i was filled with awe as I stared at the scene ahead expanding into the city; the tall buildings and bridge silhouettes seen from kilometers away gave a sense of a city seeking to be discovered.
'Its beautiful.' I whispered as a sigh of excitement escaped my mouth, knowing full well that the night has a way of making everything appear glitzy and beautiful, up until the sun comes up.
Having taken the backseat, my uber driver, Ramu, turned and asked if i wanted to sit in silence or listen to music. He knew an international radio station that i would love, he said. And without waiting for an answer, he put it on. True to his word, the crooning of the music provided an appropriate background as i drifted off to sleep, welcomed into one of the most populous countries in the world by a lazily jostling city and an entertaining uber driver.
The next morning, I woke up to a full blast of AC that gave me shivers as i prepared to start the day's activities. The room was so cold that i foolishly picked my jacket as i left the house. Big mistake!
The wave of heat and the thick sweaty, strange smell, which you notice only the first few hours before it becomes normal, engulfed me the moment i left my room, and was suffocating. Within less than 3 minutes of standing, i was dripping sweat on my face, arms and down my spine onto my legs.
Dress code Tip; never wear dresses, Indian women do not wear semi dresses and trousers for nothing.
I was relieved when the Uber driver, the same one that picked me up, came and i was able to take refuge in his cigarette smelling air-conditioned car.
I had barely put on my seat belt when the torrent of questions started. Where was i from? What was i doing in Mumbai? Was i working or in school? Was i married? Did i have children? Did i want to visit Goa? Had i seen the Gateway of India? It was a whole 1 hour of questions and it did not deter him one bit when i took out my earphones and tried to drift into my thoughts.
When he was not grilling me about my life, Ramu told me about his retired parents, his 4 brothers, his neighborhood, his girlfriend, the best markets in India, the fish markets, the corruption in the country, his religion about the site where we could get unbranded designer goods at more than half the prize, all while honking and shouting what i believe were profanities at fellow drivers.
Ramu had connections everywhere and he took his time to show us everything and every noteworthy place at no extra cost, including the fish market and a tour of his neighborhood, which despite being worn out and beaten down, he was was very proud of.He became a our unsolicited tour guide and spoke non-stop about the garnish festival, a religious 10 day holiday that was coming up, and whose idols were being transported everywhere in Mumbai in all sizes.
Being one of the very few Indians who could speak comprehensible English, we soon were very dependent on him and we could not even use an ATM machine without his help!!! Within no time, he became our source of information, tour guide, translator, shopping assistant and almost second family, bringing us sweets and goodies during the festival period. In return, we exclusively used his services almost everyday. They know good business these Indians.
In the few days, I came to see an interesting side of Mumbai and its residents, most of whom will go out of their way to help anyone in need, as long as it is not money related. Hahah!
First, they were truly amazed by my afro-kinky made African hair, with some even stopping on corridors and streets to touch it and ask if it is my hair. Heheh!
Second, a large number of them are actually very dark skinned.
Third, they are are very religious. Their belief systems and practices were a bit strange though... the cow is truly sacred, they worship strange looking idols, there is a group that does not bury their dead, they lay them out in a special garden for the eagles to eat, and apparently there are men who dress as women (but are not gay) who represent a certain god that if you give money to, all your prayers will be answered. These men are not to be seen when they die, because if you do, you instantly become rich. I loved their devotion.
Fourth, despite the advanced infrastructure in their medical sector and having chemists, and private medical practitioners on almost every street, a very large number of Indians have a challenge accessing medical care. The bottom of the pyramid have the same medical problems be it in India or any other third world country. The thing is, the world over, access to services is about the ability to pay for them.
Fifth, Their public hospitals are crowded with very long waiting lines, and i assume that if you look at their patient to doctor ration, they are just as stamped as anywhere else. The difference with the Indian medical sector is that they have invested heavily for the few that can pay.
Sixth, The caste system is real.
Seventh, No one gives money away for free, unless its for religious purposes or to pay to feed a cow, who is basically a god. So beggars sit with cows on the streets and collect the money that people pay to feed the cows. There is no charity here, only business, and fair business. And if you work hard enough, the gods will definitely reward you and prosper you.
Oh, and another thing, there is a sense of contentment even in the very poor, maybe its a resignation and acceptance of where you were born?
Lastly, Ramu kept insisting that no one steals in Mumbai, and that you could drop your phone and someone would find it, hunt you down, and bring it back to you. He was infectious. His way of looking at his environment in a raw, un-tinted, and yet loving manner made us appreciate the uniquely discordant and integrated mix-up that is Mumbai.
A good friend of mine from Sudan once told me that she was really disappointed by the reception one gets at the airport when they arrive at JKIA in Kenya. During her 3 months stay, she kept on saying that Kenya needed to train our people to be more hospitable. Of course i spent everyday of the 3 months telling her we have better things to do.
But looking at my experience in Mumbai, i believe she has a point.
Granted, i definitely do not have the whole picture of life and how things truly are in India, but through the eyes of one Uber driver, i now know an industrious, unrelenting and humane India.
And that, will stay with me for a long time to come.
Maybe we could take advise from Sudan.
The day i arrived, as i exited the Chhatrapati Shivaji International Airport at 3am in the morning, i was greeted by a huge presence of small house structures with blue rooftops lining both sides from the airport entrance for a long way out. The slums. In the still quiet night light, mixed with the uniformly arranged street lights and a sky so high up, i was filled with awe as I stared at the scene ahead expanding into the city; the tall buildings and bridge silhouettes seen from kilometers away gave a sense of a city seeking to be discovered.
'Its beautiful.' I whispered as a sigh of excitement escaped my mouth, knowing full well that the night has a way of making everything appear glitzy and beautiful, up until the sun comes up.
Having taken the backseat, my uber driver, Ramu, turned and asked if i wanted to sit in silence or listen to music. He knew an international radio station that i would love, he said. And without waiting for an answer, he put it on. True to his word, the crooning of the music provided an appropriate background as i drifted off to sleep, welcomed into one of the most populous countries in the world by a lazily jostling city and an entertaining uber driver.
The next morning, I woke up to a full blast of AC that gave me shivers as i prepared to start the day's activities. The room was so cold that i foolishly picked my jacket as i left the house. Big mistake!
The wave of heat and the thick sweaty, strange smell, which you notice only the first few hours before it becomes normal, engulfed me the moment i left my room, and was suffocating. Within less than 3 minutes of standing, i was dripping sweat on my face, arms and down my spine onto my legs.
Dress code Tip; never wear dresses, Indian women do not wear semi dresses and trousers for nothing.
I was relieved when the Uber driver, the same one that picked me up, came and i was able to take refuge in his cigarette smelling air-conditioned car.
I had barely put on my seat belt when the torrent of questions started. Where was i from? What was i doing in Mumbai? Was i working or in school? Was i married? Did i have children? Did i want to visit Goa? Had i seen the Gateway of India? It was a whole 1 hour of questions and it did not deter him one bit when i took out my earphones and tried to drift into my thoughts.
When he was not grilling me about my life, Ramu told me about his retired parents, his 4 brothers, his neighborhood, his girlfriend, the best markets in India, the fish markets, the corruption in the country, his religion about the site where we could get unbranded designer goods at more than half the prize, all while honking and shouting what i believe were profanities at fellow drivers.
Ramu had connections everywhere and he took his time to show us everything and every noteworthy place at no extra cost, including the fish market and a tour of his neighborhood, which despite being worn out and beaten down, he was was very proud of.He became a our unsolicited tour guide and spoke non-stop about the garnish festival, a religious 10 day holiday that was coming up, and whose idols were being transported everywhere in Mumbai in all sizes.
Being one of the very few Indians who could speak comprehensible English, we soon were very dependent on him and we could not even use an ATM machine without his help!!! Within no time, he became our source of information, tour guide, translator, shopping assistant and almost second family, bringing us sweets and goodies during the festival period. In return, we exclusively used his services almost everyday. They know good business these Indians.
In the few days, I came to see an interesting side of Mumbai and its residents, most of whom will go out of their way to help anyone in need, as long as it is not money related. Hahah!
First, they were truly amazed by my afro-kinky made African hair, with some even stopping on corridors and streets to touch it and ask if it is my hair. Heheh!
Second, a large number of them are actually very dark skinned.
Third, they are are very religious. Their belief systems and practices were a bit strange though... the cow is truly sacred, they worship strange looking idols, there is a group that does not bury their dead, they lay them out in a special garden for the eagles to eat, and apparently there are men who dress as women (but are not gay) who represent a certain god that if you give money to, all your prayers will be answered. These men are not to be seen when they die, because if you do, you instantly become rich. I loved their devotion.
Fourth, despite the advanced infrastructure in their medical sector and having chemists, and private medical practitioners on almost every street, a very large number of Indians have a challenge accessing medical care. The bottom of the pyramid have the same medical problems be it in India or any other third world country. The thing is, the world over, access to services is about the ability to pay for them.
Fifth, Their public hospitals are crowded with very long waiting lines, and i assume that if you look at their patient to doctor ration, they are just as stamped as anywhere else. The difference with the Indian medical sector is that they have invested heavily for the few that can pay.
Sixth, The caste system is real.
Seventh, No one gives money away for free, unless its for religious purposes or to pay to feed a cow, who is basically a god. So beggars sit with cows on the streets and collect the money that people pay to feed the cows. There is no charity here, only business, and fair business. And if you work hard enough, the gods will definitely reward you and prosper you.
Oh, and another thing, there is a sense of contentment even in the very poor, maybe its a resignation and acceptance of where you were born?
Lastly, Ramu kept insisting that no one steals in Mumbai, and that you could drop your phone and someone would find it, hunt you down, and bring it back to you. He was infectious. His way of looking at his environment in a raw, un-tinted, and yet loving manner made us appreciate the uniquely discordant and integrated mix-up that is Mumbai.
A good friend of mine from Sudan once told me that she was really disappointed by the reception one gets at the airport when they arrive at JKIA in Kenya. During her 3 months stay, she kept on saying that Kenya needed to train our people to be more hospitable. Of course i spent everyday of the 3 months telling her we have better things to do.
But looking at my experience in Mumbai, i believe she has a point.
Granted, i definitely do not have the whole picture of life and how things truly are in India, but through the eyes of one Uber driver, i now know an industrious, unrelenting and humane India.
And that, will stay with me for a long time to come.
Maybe we could take advise from Sudan.
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