Swaying to sleep on the over-night train, I am determined to make Bombay my city. A young man from the bunk across startles me in his punctuated accent, "Is life having you, or are you having life?" Instead of verbalizing my vision of a snake digesting it's own tale, I spout, "I'm here. I must be having life."
The train ride offered me the soundest sleep I'd had in the two weeks since my arrival to India, and I wake wide-eyed in time for more small talk with the entrepreneurial fellow who provided plenty advice on how to stay safe traveling solo. Pushing my way off the car, picking my way over, among, under, and between the people, cargo, and furry things on the Bandra platform, all I want is to reach the uncovered outdoors, to meet the rain-my first monsoon!
Only puddles great me as it seems a recent bout has--oops, I am wet to my knee! I have know clue how to navigate the local train system, so I continue trudging and choose a taxi-or, rather-in reality a taxi chooses me.
Did I doze off in the back seat? 41 on the meter? The fare card says Rs. 865? I expected the ride to cost less than 400 and I show the driver I have less than he wants in my wallet. "How can it be this much?" I want to know, but it seems he understands my English less now than he did in Bandra, and he's driving again-to where I don't realize until we are parked outside an ATM. What else to do? I don't know so I pay him what he asks, scold him and whimper a little-about the money, having advantage taken of me, about being alone, I don't know...
In the afternoon I meet an old friend, Priya, at the Taj Hotel, only a few blocks from my own board at Hotel Lawrence, but a million stars of difference in the amenities (Her room offers a hair dryer-mine doesn't even have outlets!) I order turkey panini on her company account for a steeper price than I would pay in the states. She takes me with her to her cousin-brother's place in Khar, a bit further North of Bandra, and I enjoy a relaxing evening in the comfort of her newly resident, American family.
For my morning return to Colaba (South Mumbai), a taxi is called. 'Road ka nam kya hai?" I ask the driver who responds "This is called Linking Road." and we ensue conversation in English. Coming to know I haven't an umbrella, the driver insists he get one for me. I follow him from the cab to the hawkers stands, but no one will give us a good price. He tells me to wait in the car and I do. Five minutes later, the driver returns with a big grin and a black umbrella, and I skip out of the taxi at that moment, happy with a perfect cab experience, happy to walk home in the rain!
It is Sunday and I am to start work tomorrow. Having missed the laundry drop off at my hotel and planning to meet a friend for a late lunch, I return to the street in search of laundry soap. A few hawkers from their stalls tell me that being Sunday, the chemists shops are closed, and I keep walking in spite of this information. Globus-a western style clothes shop-catches my eye and I stow my umbrella in a pail of others next to the security guard. Finding too many items that I like in this awkwardly familiar setting, I choose one blouse for my first day of work and avert the immediate washing. Exiting the store, I return to India finding all but one umbrella missing from the pail! In a fashion of western fairness, I report the issue to the guard as I realize if not my own-I need this very umbrella to meet Arijit on time for lunch! The guard has already taken it in his hands, himself not convinced that the proper thing to do is to give it to me. Pleading with him and the coat check lady who checks also bags, but not umbrellas, I swoon her to my side. The guard retreats from us into the shop, wishing for the true owner to turn up, or for someone to tell him what to do. Outside, two customers approach, collapsing their umbrellas and I reach them first, vehemently describing the guards inabilities to guard even an umbrella. Victory!-it is mine and he shoos me off. Not a bad trade: this one is sturdier than my original, and a bit more compact. Not only is this the victory of the umbrella, but of self-assertiveness, which until this moment here alone-really alone fort he first time, I had been lacking (also, now I know to ask for a tag to tie on the umbrella). I am back to myself, no longer roaming on pavement with floppy duck feet too awkward for land. The water is here and I am learning to swim!
P.S. The photo for this post is not of India, it's of my parent's backyard in rural Ohio. Next time you will see snaps of where I am staying now.
No comments:
Post a Comment