jenny b

Jenny scheduled Mumbai as a three day stop-over to break up what would have been a 63-hour train ride. It was a merciful stroke of genius on her part. Or a genius stroke of mercy. We rode third class on the train. Third out of five. It was economical and it provided us the opportunity to experience authentic Indian train travel. Brian didn’t hate Jenny for this decision until at least the second hour of the trip.

During the waking hours of third class train travel, 8 passengers share three bench seats. Wallas bustle up and down the aisle aggressively hawking chai and food stuffs. Then during the night, additional benches are unfolded from the walls to form triple bunks and the eight passengers all bed down together. It’s quite intimate. It also breaks several standards of personal human hygiene.

It was on this train trip that the cards were laid on the table. True identities were exposed. And it turns out Brian is a high maintenance diva. When the going gets germy and the personal space is eradicated, Brian whines. He falls into deep, dark chasms of angry paranoia. Fortunately for him, Jenny keeps her shit together. Brian glares at the other passengers to head off inane conversation and Jenny makes friends. Brian blares the ipod and Jenny bribes conductors to keep her prissy husband happy.

No one rides on the top of the trains. That was disappointing. We did spend a lot of time hanging out of the doors watching the country go by. One great thing about India is that there are no rules. You want to open the door of a train and sit with your legs dangling over the edge of the hurtling vessel? Go for it. You want to merge across three lanes of oncoming traffic without slowing? Use your horn. Piss in the street? Why not? Actually, no one is stopping you from climbing on top of the train but you will probably end up broken, lying in track-side shit piles.

In Mumbai we stayed at the Tata Institute of Social Sciences (TISS), a hidden haven of trees and campus in the sprawling suburbs of the city. Sourav and Ayan, two doctors earning advanced degrees in Public Health and great friends of Jenny, had arranged for us to stay in the guest quarters of the University. We ate lots of Tandoori Chicken and Ayan escorted us around the city on our first day, preparing us for our solo excursion the following day.

Jenny takes it from here.

They say it is truly Bombay no more. This burgeoning metropolis now has a reputation for being a sprawling expanse of classic Indian extremes – the famed high rises of opulent modernity juxtaposed with utter destitution. We were welcomed to the city by an hour-long taxi ride to the University through many a rough, impoverished neighborhood and shanty town. We expected (and Brian feared) to see much more of this, but the following day’s tour of the city’s most visited area proved to be magnificent. Wide boulevards, towering colonial structures, museums, modern culture. We were both impressed and surprised by how welcoming the infamous city seemed to us.

In the morning, Ayan guided us on the local train to the Grand Central of Mumbai, Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminus (CST). From there we made our way by foot and taxi down to the waterfront. We relaxed at the humbling Gateway of India across from the Taj Mahal Palace & Tower with hundreds of other Indian tourists and folks looking to soak up the cool sea breeze. The hotel was the most prominent site of the 2008 terror strike. It was besieged and parts of it were burned but you would only know it by the surge of ‘terror tourists’ eager to have their picture taken at the famous locale.

We caught our friends busily finishing up their studies, gearing up for a May graduation and already ensconced in the critical job hunt. Thus, we were left to our own devices the following day. Per repeated advice, we headed back to the Gateway and caught a ferry out to Elephanta Island which does not have elephants. But it does have famous caves.

The island is a popular retreat 7 kms and an hour ferry-ride from the big city. Thought to have been started in AD 450-750, the cave temples are now a UNESCO World Heritage Site, for good reason. There are many caves on the island, but the most impressive “main cave” is the largest, with basalt-carved shrines immortalizing Shiva. It was bustling with (mostly Indian) tourists, snapping and posing for pics. The revered centerpiece was a 20-foot classic depiction of the three-faced Sadhashiva – destroyer, creator, and preserver of the universe.

There were monkeys everywhere. For Brian this was a waking nightmare. His self-proclaimed “divahood” extends beyond germ phobias to a healthy distrust and humorous disdain for monkeys. Particularly cheeky ones. Sadly for him, the monkeys at this tourist park are about as cheeky as they get. We both watched, with shared nods of disapproval, as many a naughty person fed many a soon-to-be naughty monkey. We also watched, nervously, as several fearless creatures aggressively chased after innocent passersby.

Brian’s fears turned to reality not more than 50 feet from the exit of the main compound. We were walking down the crowded walkway when all of a sudden we noticed a gang of rabid-looking (so Brian says) monkeys closing in on him. As he was panicking, I realized what was drawing them: my coveted bottle of recently procured and only partially imbibed, still refreshingly cold Maaza (a popular mango juice). I yelled to him that is was the Maaza they wanted, and (I’m sure this was an innocent fear-induced accident), he knee-jerk tossed the bottle from his hands – up into the air and directly at me. Yes, it’s true. Brian sicked a gang of Maaza-crazed “rabid” monkeys on the women he proclaims to love. He also yelped to the delight of the surrounding tourists.

They came charging at me. Deftly bobbing and weaving, jumping and squealing I was able to dodge the pack.  Once at a safe distance, I turned in time to see the apparent winner of the scramble running up a tree with my drink. I managed to zoom in enough to get this shot of him trying to pry open the bottle. Good luck figuring that out, ya little bastard.

By the ferry-ride back to the Gateway, I had pretty much forgiven Brian. He felt badly and I have a lot of sympathy (and adoration) for his rare squeamish outbursts.

Our train to Kerela was scheduled to depart from CST the following early afternoon. After a nice breakfast with the boys, we headed to the station for a few hours of wandering and preparing for our long journey to the southern tip. Brian sat at the McDonald’s. I explored, picking up a street-sold book and getting my chacos fixed for the third or fourth time. (Things take a beating here in rough and tumble India!) It was a great trip – we were not sorry for having taken the extra time to visit the city and were exceptionally grateful to Ayan and Sourav for being such gracious, kind hosts with the most. Thanks you guys!