Trains, Markets, and Temples—Sunday, August 5, 2007

After indulging in a home-brewed cup of Ethiopian Yirgachefe (thank you, Milagro!), I grabbed an auto (rickshaw) and headed over to Bandra Station where I met up with Mike, and his visitor, Jen. We planned to spend the day exploring Mumbai. We agreed to head down to VT (Victoria Terminus/Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminus) Station not too far from the Fort area of Mumbai and the Gateway of India so we could begin the day admiring Mumbai’s traditional architecture. My Lonely Planet guide describes VT as “The city’s most exuberant Gothic building (which) looks more like a lavishly decorated palace or cathedral than something as mundane as a transport depot…Designed by Frederick Stevens, it was completed in 1887…”(2005, p.699). Mike and I have frequently ridden on the trains here, but I have always traveled via the Churchgate route. We didn’t have to stand in line because Mike had a book of tickets he had already purchased. We always travel second class which is only INR 6 each way. He tore off coupons worth INR 2 and INR 4 and distributed them to each of us. We then inserted the ticket into a machine which automatically date-stamped each one. I stuffed mine away, prepared to them pull out for any random inspections. Then, we winded up the stairs, across a walkway that led to various platforms. Above each platform entrance hung electronic placards announcing the next train’s arrival: “C 09:40 F…” and “ST 09:45 S” etc. The first letters designate the final stop’s destination; next, the departure time; finally, whether it is a F=fast or S=slow train. There didn’t seem to be any fast trains headed our direction, so we took a slow train to the ST (Shivaji Terminus). Though I often travel in the ladies’ car, as it was Sunday and not too crowded, we all traveled together in a mixed car. It was slightly full to begin with, so while I was able to sit, Mike and Jen stood. After a couple of stops, the car began to clear out and they found seats beside me. Though it was a slow train, it only took about 30 minutes to reach VT.

After admiring the clock, the stained glass windows, the arches, and other architectural elements, we exited the building and headed north. I was pleased to discover J & J Academy of Art on one side of the street and the Himalaya art supply store on the opposite side. I have been told that is where I can replenish my artist materials and get some canvas. Unfortunately, it was closed since it was Sunday, but at least I now know where it is, so I will return soon. We continued heading north and arrived at Crawford Market, a fruit and vegetable market. After identifying such delicacies as apple custard and mango (lol!), we continued on our way. We wandered through a small Muslim neighborhood. On one corner, a man and a boy were entertaining a small crowd with a magic show. We continued walking and came to the Mumbadevi Temple. Outside the temple, dozens of stalls were lined up at the sides of the road where trinkets of Hindu gods, prayer beads, and incense burners, among other items were being sold. A holy man grabbed each of our arms in turn and wound an orange, yellow, and white cotton band around our wrists, marked us with a tilak (forehead mark), and then asked for a INR 100 donation. We did give him a handful of coins, but this disappointed him as we didn’t offer the tourist rate.

Our foreheads clearly marked with Hindu blessings, we continued on our path to Chor Bazaar, smack dab in the middle of a Muslim neighborhood. When we approached a mosque, we wondered whether we should, perhaps, erase the marks on our foreheads, but no one seemed perturbed, so we left them on. As we got closer to the mosque, we became surrounded by throngs of people dressed in beautiful garb. We discovered that 421 couples were being married in a ceremony that afternoon! We passed quite easily through the celebrants, many of whom smiled at us and greeted us, and arrived in the bazaar.

While Jen and Mike checked out the wooden, hand-carved furniture, antiques, and other odds and ends in the shops, I sat beside the road on a chair offered up to me by one of the owners of a shop who sat beside another man who was feeding his young daughter. Across the narrow street, a little boy emerged from the shop opposite. His grandfather scooped him up in his arms. Above each of the shops, the owners live. So, it being Sunday, many of the children hung around the shops. Meanwhile, traffic navigated the potholes, pedestrians, and displays set up by the shop owners at the sides of the road. Goats ambled lazily down the lane as well. At one point, the father ran inside and came out with the business card of one of our principals, lol. He and his wife must have bought a few substantial pieces from them! Jen did buy a couple of knick-knacks, but none of us were enticed into bigger spending. I was a bit tired from all the exploring. Plus, I was a bit hungry. It was time for lunch.

We hailed a taxi to take us to Indigo, a restaurant near the Gateway of India. We could barely enter its doors due to people waiting for a table. The host took our names, Mike’s phone number, and told us he would call us (meaning on his mobile!) when our table was ready. Jen wanted to buy a few more items before heading back to the States that night, so we killed time by going to the Government Sponsored Shopping Centre across the street. The shop must have taken a whole block of space. Items from all regions of India were displayed: jewelry boxes, small statues, incense and oils, clothing and handbags, furniture, saris, dolls, and more were all for sale.

After about twenty minutes, our table was ready. It took a long time to get served, but the food was delicious. I laughed at myself midway through the meal when I realized I was chowing down on a beef burger, my wrist still marked by the Hindu prayer. How hypocritical was that?

We finished the afternoon excursion by stopping off at Mani Bhavan, Gandhi’s house where, according to the brochure I picked up during my visit, he “lived and conversed with his colleagues, moulded (sic) the nation in the image of his cherished ideals of Truth and Non-violence and inspired his followers and devotees who went forth from here in the world charged with a sense of service and sacrifice.” Upon entering the house, I immediately felt inspired and over-awed: to be in the house where Gandhiji delivered his speeches, met with dignitaries, spun cloth was incredible. I was also impressed by the displays throughout the house. On one floor, there is a picture gallery in which hang dozens of photographs of his life. On another floor, a series of dioramas depict Gandiji’s life. There is a room on the second floor which has been preserved in its original setting and displays the spinning wheel and white cushion he used. Overall, it was a very worthwhile experience. Nevertheless, I must say I was a bit taken aback by one overly friendly Indian man who followed me through the picture gallery. Initially, he merely introduced himself, asked my name, asked me how long I was in India and what I did here. I wasn’t really in the mood to converse, but, it being Gandhiji’s house, I felt compelled to maintain an open attitude. When he repeatedly asked me for my telephone number, however, I was forced to straight out tell him, no, I do not give my number out to strangers. I inched myself closer to Mike and Jen until we made our way upstairs and, I sighed a breath of relief when I noticed that he did not follow me.

It was late afternoon by the time we had finished exploring Mani Bhavan. We decided to take a taxi back up to Bandra as Mike and Jen had packages to carry, we were all tired, and the traffic was relatively light. Halfway to Bandra, I got a message from some of my new colleagues inquiring whether I wanted to go downtown that evening! At first, I thought, no way was I going to turn around and head back into town. Still, we reached Bandra by 5:00. So, I changed my mind. I went home, freshened up, and headed back out the door. Soon, I found myself back at Bandra Station, beginning the trip all over again. The new teachers wanted to check out VT station, so, after getting tickets, stamping them, locating the correct platform, and sorting out which car we each would embark, we headed down south. I stuck with Russell as it was his first train trip. Initially, the mixed car was packed and I almost regretted not being in the ladies car. After only a couple of stops, however, it cleared out and we sat down. Our ride down was uneventful. I was a bit proud of myself for successfully navigating, having only been there once previously—that very morning.

We lucked out in having a friend, Zia, pick us up in her car at the station. She drove us over to Leopold’s Café for dinner. Leopold’s has been made famous by the book Shantaram. It is a must do event for anyone who visits Mumbai, but—having now been there once—I don’t feel a great desire to return. Though the food was tasty, it has become overrun with tourists. The atmosphere described in the book no longer exists.

After dinner, we ambled over to the other side of the street to grab some chai. We didn’t realize we had stumbled into a very conservative Muslim establishment. We were not received all that well. We sat down, ordered chai, and then realized that everyone was staring, or more accurately, glaring at us. We weren’t sure if having one of the ladies in our party wearing a sleeveless shirt had anything to do with their hostility or if it was simply that many of us were American, but once our tea arrived, we quickly downed it and moved on.

While most of our party were ready to head over to Not Just Jazz by the Bay, a bar off Marine Drive, Zia and I were knackered. She dropped them off so they could enjoy some karaoke, and we headed back up north. It had been a really long day!