Mumbai, Bombay… whatever you call it, it is certainly not Jamkhed

To catch a little break from Jamkhed and have a mini-vacation, Wout (Dutch doctor), Thomas (Dutch med student), and I caught a ride to Mumbai last Tuesday. The contrast between rural and urban life in India is amazing and easily visible as large farms are replaced by huge buildings, billboards change from wishing a friend happy birthday to selling a pair of jeans, and the poor who sleep in huts change to the poor who sleep on the concrete sidewalk. The cows still exist in both places, as do the dogs, but there are less of them. The rickshaws (hand-pedaled mini-taxis) and motorcycles still own the road but in Mumbai women riding on the back sit straddling the motorbike rather than both legs off to the side… a big difference in meaning. Mumbai is big, loud, very crowded, more modern but expensive, and dirty dirty dirty, but a great way to get away for a couple days. Jamkhed is a more peaceful and supportive place to live for the year and leaving for Mumbai I did expect the draw I felt taking me back to this little town.

After checking into our budget hotel in Colaba, the main tourist area and center of south Mumbai, we found ourselves with a myriad of restaurants to choose from and every restaurant we chose was fantastic. Indian food made locally is just so good that we ended up eating it for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Each restaurant has its own specialty; all filled with tons of sauces, different red, green and brown spices and tons of oil that often forms the top layer of the dish. But when mixed with chicken, spinach, cottage cheese or goat that sucks in the spice, and then mixing with garlic naan delivered steaming and very crusty, it is an amazing experience for your mouth. And your stomach does not miss out either, as it gurgles non-stop for a couple hours after a good meal, crying for relief. Every meal we stuffed ourselves until we were uncomfortably full and almost regretting it, but the next meal we’d do it all the same again.

The highlight of Mumbai was one morning when we woke up very early to catch fishermen unloading heaps of fish onto Sassoon Docks, a 90,000 square-yard dock at the end of south Mumbai. Hundreds of huge, brightly-colored wooden fishing ships that had arrived at 2am after fifteen days at sea lined the docks with their uniquely-designed flag flapping in the wind. Beginning at 5am, fisherman unload tons of fish off the boats to their fishwives on land who carry it to their little open space on the docks where they auction it off to the thousands of buyers who equally crowd the docks. The scene was chaotic and equally exhilarating as we tried to walk through this mass of people, ankle-deep in fishy water, unable to stop and stand for a second without forcefully being pushed from all sides by fisherwomen rushing to buy the freshest catch. These fisherwomen were amazing – hired by a family or restaurant to buy the freshest fish at the lowest price, they would weave through the crowd, coming within inches from the edge of the dock, while carrying a 50-pound wooden basket on her head filled with fresh and dripping fish. They would rush by, yelling at other women and making their way to the vendors auctioning off the fish. Once a new load arrived, the bidding war would begin as buyers yelled out prices for fish, ranging from tiny shrimp and mackerel to medium sized catfish and pomfret to large sharks and even octopus. After an hour and a half we found ourselves pushed out of the chaos back onto safe land, reeking of fish and wide-awake as if we’d slept 12 hours the night before.

At the end of the five days, the easiest way to get home to Jamkhed was by train to Pune and then by bus or car from there. The train ride was almost as exciting as Sassoon Docks. Since we were only able to buy confirmed tickets, we did not have seats on the five hour train ride and from the hundreds of people standing in the traincar there was no way we were going to find a seat. Fortunately, I sneaked my way to the entrance door of the car where I was able to sit with my legs hanging off the train and the wind blowing in my face. The view was amazing as Maharashtra state is hilly and green and we passed along many small little towns and over mountains and through forests and I had a front row seat for the whole thing. At times the pushing amounted to me almost falling out of the train but with a tight grip onto the handrail the five-hour journey was completed with gusto.

Election, election, election… Everyone I met in Mumbai asked me about the election and even in Jamkhed people understand its significance. And while they don’t know the policies and understand each President, they do comprehend that America’s relationship with India and other countries is at stake. And before I am ever able to state my opinion, every person I speak with, from the Africans to Nepalese to Indians, is pro-Obama. Why, I ask? “We believe what he says, and he has good things to say.” This election is reaching more places than just North America and I can only imagine the tense and exciting feeling in the states. Let’s hope it ends up as well as it can.