one of the funny little "mini trucks" sporting the ubiquitous "Horn OK Please" slogans (the swastika here does not carry any bad meaning or association with Nazi Germany)

I caught a taxi from my airport hotel into the heart of Mumbai. The hour-long drive provided an entertaining introduction to the city. I was happy to spot many motorbikes on the road and noted the names of the platformed kind I preferred to buy or rent (the Activa and Suzuki Access were two) and to spot at least a few women driving them. Also, the traffic wasn’t nearly as congested or as “crazy” as in Hanoi or Saigon and I had easily driven in both places. Horns were more prevalent, however, undoubtedly encouraged by the signs and bumper stickers on the backs of many trucks and auto-rickshaws that read “Horn OK Please.” Although it seemed to me that the slogan was a mere invitation to strike up the so-called symphony, in reality it’s encouragement for drivers behind the “Horn OK”-bearing vehicle to honk before passing to advise of their presence since many of the older vehicles here don’t have side-view mirrors.   Equally amusing was the size of most of the trucks … most had the usual cab and height size but the back looked like it was missing half or even 2/3 of the length.  The cargo portion of some is as short as 3 or 4 feet long!

"New High Class Restaurant"

Mumbai reminded me very much of Phnom Penh, Cambodia’s capitol city.  The streets were wide, littered and dusty and the sidewalk pavers were badly broken and upheaved in many places.  Businesses of all kinds spilled out of their shops onto the frontage sidewalks. The city seemed to be divided – half the people bustled along the street while the other half sat and watched the world go by; half of the vehicular traffic were cars or trucks and half were motorbikes.

I was pleased to see that there was a designated home for senior women and also a day care for street kids.  I was amused by the dichotomy of a shoddy-looking store front underneath a sign that read “New High Class Restaurant.” I was impressed by the architectural beauty of the Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminus (CST) train station which has, understandably, been named a UNESCO World Heritage Site.

My new hotel did not have WiFi but they did have their own version of the Gideon’s Bible, so prevalent at American hotels.  Awaiting any guest in a wall storage unit was small book written entirely in Hindi and featuring Ganesh, the elephant-headed Hindu god on the front.

I had read repeatedly that Indians are very conservative when it comes to women’s clothing and that I would receive a greater welcome if I dressed as they did so my first goal was to obtain a couple of “salwar kameez” (also called “Punjabi dress”) – a long, top and scarf worn over loose pants. I love the beautiful Indian fabrics and thought these would also make some interesting souvenirs.

CST - the main train station in Mumbai

As I headed to FabIndia, a highly recommended store which sells such clothes, I was intercepted by a man selling maps of India. He advised me not to go to the overpriced FabIndia but to follow him to a wholesale shop where the prices were much better.  I walked with him for 20-30 minutes to a shop which showed me 4 different pre-made salwar kameez. I wasn’t thrilled with the selection but thought perhaps if the price was right I might buy one so as not to be rude to me “helper,” who was undoubtedly getting a commission for bringing me.  At 4000Rs ($80) each, however, the price was certainly not right!  Clearly my guide was getting a gargantuan kickback! When I told the owner I didn’t want to spend more than 1000Rs ($20) per outfit, he laughed and said it was impossible.  Only half a block later as I wandered through a nearby market, I stumbled upon a tailor who said he would MAKE a salwar kameez for me for 600Rs ($12)!  He also agreed to alter a tunic I had purchased in the US for an additional 40Rs (80 cents). Needless to say, I didn’t even try to bargain. I chose some beautiful teal colored fabric. (tailors shop phoot) My new outfit will be ready a mere 24 hours after ordering it!  Also needless to say, I dismissed the map-seller who was still following me around, undoubtedly trying to take me to the shop of another “uncle.”

Next, I headed to book an interesting tour I had read about of the Dhavi slum.  The Dhavi is the largest slum in Mumbai and apparently it houses quite a number of cottage industries run out of the shanties that comprise it. I’m told that many of the residents collect recyclables and make new plastic, nails and other items that they can sell.

India's "Gideon's Bible"

On my way to the tour office, I encountered another Indian man who began to stroll along beside me, eager to chat me up. I’ve experienced this a lot in the bigger cities in Asia and usually, but not always, the friendly person wants to sell something or take me somewhere where they will get a commission for whatever I’m enticed to purchase.  I don’t begrudge these encounters and have sometimes made legitimate friends through them. More often than not, however, my role is merely that of a meal ticket in some regard so I’m usually a bit guarded. Given my most recent brush with such hospitality, I wasn’t in the mood and was pretty dismissive of this man.  Undeterred, he walked along beside me assuring me that he didn’t want anything from me.  I didn’t particularly believe him and I wasn’t paying that much attention to him but when I’d walked almost to the end of the short street without seeing my destination I told him what I was looking for.  “I WORK at Reality Tours!” he exclaimed, exactly the place I was looking for.  He lead me there (it was down a side street) and delivered me to the booking agent.

After I booked the tour, I decided to search out a different hotel that would be cheaper and closer to the action than my current one. The man spotted me and joined me again.  He introduced himself as Sanju and walked with me to 2 prospective hotels.  Although they didn’t have WiFi (which apparently isn’t as prevalent in India as it was in Vietnam), they were certainly much cheaper and right in the heart of Colaba, the area I wanted to be. I decided to return the next day when they would have empty rooms to make arrangements (call me particular but I have a thing against rooms that smell moldy or blankets that reek of mothballs so I’ve learned that room inspections at the Asian hotels that fall in my price range are necessary).

While walking through the rest of the market area, a young girl approached me and hurriedly tied a bracelet of fresh, fragrant flowers on my wrist.  She also assured me she didn’t want anything but said I could buy her some rice if I wished. I do know that I can be a sucker but I also have a hard time turning down anyone’s request for food. I follower her across the street to buy her what I thought was an evening meal.  Instead, she lead me into a grocery where she pointed to a large bag of rice that must have weighed 10 pounds.  “These are on sale so you can buy me two of these for 1000Rs ($20),” she advised me quite seriously.  “Bilcul nihi!” I exclaimed in Hindi (“certainly not”). “I will buy you one meal,” I told her.  “Milk is even more expensive,” she said rather practically, misunderstanding “meal” as “milk.”  I couldn’t figure out how to explain “meal” to her so I told her I would spend no more than 100Rs, easily enough for one ready-to-eat hot meal.  In response, she picked up 3 smaller bags of rice and pointed to the sign which advised me that 2 bags were 99Rs and the 3rd one was free.  The look she gave me said, “You see! This is a much better deal than a simple meal!” I couldn’t help but laugh at both her ingenuity and her bargain hunting skills so I purchased the 3 bags of rice for her.

Dining companions Sanju and Alastair at Laxmi Vila restaurant

During this whole time, Sanju had tagged along teaching me new Hindi words and encouraging me to use the ones I already knew (hence the earlier “Bilcul nihi!”) He was entertaining company though I still couldn’t figure his agenda. I was getting hungry and, at least at the moment, he seemed harmless enough so I invited him to join me for dinner.  I was headed to a place called Bagdadi that my boyfriend Roger had read about and advised me to check out.  Sanju said he would love to go there but that restaurant only served “non-veg” meals and, as a Hindu, he couldn’t eat meat on Tuesdays (this reminded me of my childhood observation of the Catholic tradition of not eating meat on Fridays). “Besides,” he said, “I know a place that’s much cheaper and serves delicious Indian food!”

He introduce me to Laxmi Vila which I HIGHLY recommend to anyone visiting Mumbai. It’s just around the corner from the famous Leopold’s Cafe.  I love to order thalis at Indian restaurants because you get a sampling of a variety of dishes. Laxmi’s had 4 different thalis on the menu and Sanju recommended the Punjabi Thali for 100Rs ($2). Since there were no explanations beside any of them, I took his advice. Most thalis I’ve ever ordered come with 3-4 different dishes.  This one came with 11 and an endless supply of chapatis! (For my foodie, Roger, who I know is curious, I will list them: chal pulum, palak paneer, dal frey, chana masala, mutter, suki bagi, pur alat, raita, dehea hiwada, achar or lime pickle, and sweet lassi. Please pardon what are undoubtedly some misspellings!)  Sanju ordered the dal durka which was also delicious.  We befriended a Scotland-residing Englishman named Alastair at the next table and invited him to join us.  All 3 of us went away with full bellies.  Total price including 2 bottles of water = $269 Rs (less than $5.50).

Alastair suggested we had to nearby Leopold’s for an after dinner drink.  Sanju warned us that this was very expensive but we went anyway.  As we waited for the drinks to arrive, Sanju pointed out some bullet holes in some of the pillars and in the ceiling, telling us that this was one of the 4 places attacked by terrorist gunmen in 2008. Ten people were killed in the restaurant, another 35 among the other 3 places (2 hotels and the CST train station).  Given how small the restaurant is and how closely packed the tables are, it’s amazing to me that more weren’t killed in Leo’s as there would have been no place to hide and no way to run. I later read that Leo’s re-opened to packed and defiant house a mere 4 days after the attacks; so packed in fact that police closed the restaurant again which reopened the following day.  Sanju was right about the prices. One beer and two cappucinos came to 300Rs ($6). While not expensive by Western standards, to put it in context, the 3 drinks totaled more than our entire dinner!

Punjabi Thali at Laxmi Vila

I said good night to Alastair and Sanju kindly insisted on walking me back to my hotel since it was far away and he was concerned about me walking alone after dark.  He was great at helping me practice my Hindi though he taught me so many new words so quickly, I only managed to retain a few.  My name is universally difficult to pronounce and I wondered what I would be called in India. Sanju was no exception and after attempting “Beverly” several times, he said “Bubbly” is a name people in India will know. You should go by Bubbly here.” I’m called that often enough at home though more as a descriptor than as a name, but that seemed fitting enough so I guess in India I’ll be “Bubbly.”