Mumbai

“We are reporting perceptions, not reality; but for respondents, perceptions are reality” – old researchers’ saying.

Finally I was off. After a reasonable flight (very quiet, so my jubilation at getting an exit row seat was tempered when I found eight empty ones next to me) I landed in Mumbai at midnight. Clearing immigration and customs was much quicker than I expected, so I was soon fleeced by the prepaid taxi counter clerk who correctly assumed I couldn’t work out whether 900 Rupees was a good deal or a bad deal. It was a bad deal I realised when I walked past the other counters around the corner.

India is one of the countries about which we have the richest range of perceptions and expectations, many of them negative. Was I going to be challenged, or would my perceptions prove to be real?

Hot. I was right about this. When we landed the temperature was a mild 27 degrees C – in the middle of the night. Leaving my hotel next day I was hit by the heat and humidity, despite being on the seafront where I’d expect a cooling breeze. It doesn’t let up all day, with an airconditioned trip to the cinema or a shopping mall a welcome respite.I knew India was going to be hot, but I didn’t expect this level of humidity.

Smoggy. Cough, yes, cough, pass me a wet wipe, there is a pollution problem. Smoking taxis and rickshaws crowd the streets and the sky is thick with pollution in the afternoon, as the picture at the top shows. However I hear there is worse to come elsewhere.

Spicy. Not really. Curry for breakfast is an unusual experience for most (although one friend of mine loves cold congealed King Prawn leftovers first thing in the morning), but the smell of spices is not as pervasive as I expected. I imagined Mumbai would smell like walking past the extractor fan of a Tooting Indian restaurant. It’s not. It’s more like sitting in a car with a hosepipe from the exhaust sticking through the window.

Dirty. Dusty, yes, polluted, yes, but not incredibly dirty. Get away from the centre of the city and there are piles of waste. Walk over a bridge and reel from the stench of sewage and frown about the plastic flotsam (or should that be land-based jetsam? I think jetsam). Don’t go in the sea, whatever you do. Yet the streets are relatively clean and swept, pedestrians being more likely to trip over a homeless person sleeping on the pavement than sliding on a plastic bottle.

Busy. Of course it’s busy. Traffic behaves in the same ill-disciplined way as in most third world cities, the pavements are clogged with people, the air fills with the sounds of horns and music, and in some parts of town touts constantly hassle. Let’s not forget more than a billion people live in India, more than 18 million on the Mumbai peninsula if I remember correctly. Come midnight, however, and the downtown is almost quiet. Where do all the people go?

Invasive. I don’t mean this in the rushing to the toilet way, although that will doubtless come. This is one of the more developed cities of India, and I didn’t get far from the centre. Yet the swarm of beggars has not appeared. I’m not pestered on every street corner. The porters at the station will leave me alone if I ignore them for long enough and beat their hands from my luggage with a stick. Although as Sarah MacDonald explains in here excellent book Holy Cow many Indians seem not to understand the word ‘No’ and one must sacrifice a great deal of personal space and privacy to get by in India.

At first glance it seems that just two in six of my perceptions were correct. Am I the weakest link? Ask me again at the end of my trip, my reality may have changed.

India Fact 1: Bombay Mix is not sold in Bombay. Locals would probably think you were referring to a compilation CD of Bollywood hit songs.

Looking for a soft landing from the comforts of London life, I’d booked into a ‘mid range’ property, the Sea Green Hotel, on Marine Parade. This is a fifteen minute walk from the Gateway of India, and my balcony looks out onto the Back Bay. It should be called the Sea Brown Hotel, a better description of the colour of the water and the standard of the furnishings. This Marine Parade is rather different from Wellington’s Marine Drive, although it sees a lot more action come sunset.

Mumbai shows clear influences of colonialism on its architecture. My hotel is a charming if run down art deco building, as is the entire strip, which if cared for could match Miami’s South Beach. It backs right onto the Mumbai cricket ground, beyond which is the Oval Maidan. This stretch of grass is one of the only green areas in the city and a popular place for cricket, providing a relatively restful place away from the busy streets. I would love to think this is where the term ‘maiden over’ came from, but I know that’s not true.

Opposite the art deco blocks on the west of the Maidan is a series of crazed colonial gothic buildings including the High Court and University library. Take Pugin’s Palace of Westminster, mix it with Indian sculpture and then decay for a century and you’d come up with a style like this. I don’t know what it’s called, Indian Gothic I suppose. Does that also mean there are Indian goths?

So Mumbai was not as I expected. I didn’t get to see the modern side of Bollywood, the acres of shopping and renowned nightclubs, although it certainly exists; the jazz bar cum pizza place next to my hotel hosts a corporate karaoke challenge, whose compere’s trademark song is Wonderwall. That’s my karaoke trademark too. Wish I’d seen his performance.

My original plan was to head south towards Kerala’s backwaters and beaches. But the heat and difficulty make direct connections prompted a change of plan. I was heading by 27 hour train journey to Chennai on the east coast and the nearby beaches, where hopefully things would be cooler and more relaxing.

24 September 2004 | India | Comments

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