Moving On
The goodbye was not too difficult, since for the first time in my Indian journey, the train was on-time and our tears were cut short. It turns out that all my trains since then have been on time. I guess the Southern Rail is just much more efficient... I left for Mumbai/Bombay, not realizing that for most of my time I'd feel as if the India I was getting to know was lost in the folds of this new place.
A place that brought me guilt, a nostalgia for the dirt paths and garbage on the streets I had come to know. It felt like I had momentarily left and taken a secretive flight back home to escape the drudgery and monotony of turning away hustlers every few minutes. But also things I began to love- crowds, street stalls, children playing cricket in the streets.
Mumbai is home to the 'Gateway of India,' an architectural marvel built to commemorate visits by the gracious King and Queen. It was both the gateway for visitors to all parts of India in the heydays of the colony, but also, triumphantly, the exit point for the savvy and lost little British scampering off after India's independence in 1947.
It took me a couple days to realize that the parts of India I missed were there- I'm ashamed to say- outside the tourist quarter of sorts- Colaba. Mumbai is bountiful and rich, with theater and music, markets, a thriving middle class and fantastic food. The most interesting part of my stay was an appearance as an extra in a Bollywood film. I'd read about the casting of Westerners in filler roles, and hoped with a heavy heart to come across this opportunity. One morning I woke up in the Salvation Army Hostel to the desk clerk hovering over me. He asked if I wanted to go to Bollywood that day, if I "wanted to be in a movie". I had ten minutes to get ready. There wasn't enough time to shower and my most expensive item of clothing is a pair of pants that I bought second-hand at home for $5 USD. They tried to outfit me in a tacky blouse and skirt at the studio, I obliged, and slipped back into my nondescript t-shirt. It turned out that this film, out in a month or two, to be called 'Kabhi Alvida Na Kehna' stars a couple top Bollywood actors- Abhishek Bachchan and Prity Zinta and well as a cameo by Abhi's father, the biggest star in India, the sixty-something Amitabh Bachchan. It was fun, but also monotonous- the scene was a dance number in an American dance club. The moves were silly and over the top, but I'm glad I did it. Plus I made ELEVEN BUCKS for 12 hours work. I doubt I'll see any screen time, but I did get this photo with Abhishek, India's Brad Pitt...
My next stop was Goa, a small state on the west coast- a paradise filled with tourists flocking to the sun and fish and sand and sea. It was everything I wanted, a quiet beach and palms overlapping at every turn, fish curries and hot afternoons napping. Maybe not everything. It was too crowded with them, you know the whites. Their flesh dripping out of their suits startled me. I have been so used to the conservative India covering- even while bathing, even while swimming. I went to one of the most remote and quiet beaches, but two days was enough.
Next was the even greener paradise of Kerala, a thriving political state, with battling parties and lively political discussions in the streets. It was even hotter, but I managed a few days.
All I wanted in heading further and further South was to hit Kanyakumari, India's 'land's end,' where the 'three seas meet'- the Bay of Bengal from the east, Indian Ocean from the south and the Arabian Sea from the west. It is a magical place, revered by pilgrims, and known as the place where the Goddess Devi secured freedom from the world entire after conquering nasty demons.
I found a small water/amusement park there called Baywatch. It was a true highlight, and I was the only Westerner there that day. Expecting modesty, I swam in a t-shirt and a skirt. I was not out of place- other women were more covered up in their saris and long blouses and pants.
A lot of territory has been covered, but this has not felt rushed. . From there I headed up the east coast and stopped in Chennai (formerly Madras) and did some things like watch Small Wonder dubbed in Tamil and eat boiled peanuts.
After that I boarded a 32.5 hour train to Kolkata (formerly Calcutta), the pinnacle of poverty and and intellectualism in India. Today, on my last day in India, I am completing this entry, for tomorrow morning I leave with long breaths and sadness to Bangkok, Thailand. My Indian visa expires on February 1. India, in a fit of rage against travelers decided that the date you procure your visa is the date it is effective. This meant that my six months allowance started in August- frustrating to say the least, but I do need a push to head for my exit point, Singapore.
I'm reading City of Joy, you may know the book or the Swayze-starred adaptation. It is fantastic, a sweet and jarring account of so many lives that intercept in the slums here and the stories of why and how people came to live here. It has put faces to the coolies (runners, lackeys, brunts) and the "human horses'', men that run rickshaws with their feet- pulling people and goods, sometimes barefooted, sometimes hungry.
Calcutta continues to fight against the picture westerners have of what is here- garbage, dirt, homelessness, destitution. The city as an entity wants to be clean and pristine, to put those that fit this somewhere outside the folds of what we peer into as tourists. But they are everywhere. The thriving trade economies, the street-dwellers, the rampant slums are here, they are a result of decades of economic and environmental devastation in the surrounding regions. Calcutta is a mecca, a city of promise and hope for so many, as it has been the last century. It is a magical place, as is the rest of India.
I'm almost gone, and my time here is now nearly capsulized, ready for dissection. In truth, I wanted to be shocked here, I wanted to be terrified and horrified. I wanted to be surrounded by lepers and begging children, to be put in my damn western place and see the horrors of which I know absolutely nothing. This never happened. All these things were around me, not enveloping me, but still there, rampant overpopulation, disease and strife, poverty and detritus. My mind was filled with pictures and ideas before I came, even too much in some ways, for nothing surprised me. There was further guilt from wanting to see such things, and I still don't know why I desired the underbelly. I was prepared for the poverty and indecency that awaited me, but, beautifully, I was not prepared for what would accompany it- the bustling smiles of the hardest workers you could see and know, the flipping backstroking activity of children in the streets, the smells of delicious curries and omelets and breads and sweets on the streets. Travel over long distances for extended periods is a challenge, and in a place like India, maybe even more than usual. I love finding a room, choosing a restaurant, figuring out buses and getting lost in markets. It hasn't been hard to be in India alone, because there are fantastic travelers and locals with which to share breakfast or chai on the train or chats on rooftops and by the sea. I miss it already.
A place that brought me guilt, a nostalgia for the dirt paths and garbage on the streets I had come to know. It felt like I had momentarily left and taken a secretive flight back home to escape the drudgery and monotony of turning away hustlers every few minutes. But also things I began to love- crowds, street stalls, children playing cricket in the streets.
Mumbai is home to the 'Gateway of India,' an architectural marvel built to commemorate visits by the gracious King and Queen. It was both the gateway for visitors to all parts of India in the heydays of the colony, but also, triumphantly, the exit point for the savvy and lost little British scampering off after India's independence in 1947.
It took me a couple days to realize that the parts of India I missed were there- I'm ashamed to say- outside the tourist quarter of sorts- Colaba. Mumbai is bountiful and rich, with theater and music, markets, a thriving middle class and fantastic food. The most interesting part of my stay was an appearance as an extra in a Bollywood film. I'd read about the casting of Westerners in filler roles, and hoped with a heavy heart to come across this opportunity. One morning I woke up in the Salvation Army Hostel to the desk clerk hovering over me. He asked if I wanted to go to Bollywood that day, if I "wanted to be in a movie". I had ten minutes to get ready. There wasn't enough time to shower and my most expensive item of clothing is a pair of pants that I bought second-hand at home for $5 USD. They tried to outfit me in a tacky blouse and skirt at the studio, I obliged, and slipped back into my nondescript t-shirt. It turned out that this film, out in a month or two, to be called 'Kabhi Alvida Na Kehna' stars a couple top Bollywood actors- Abhishek Bachchan and Prity Zinta and well as a cameo by Abhi's father, the biggest star in India, the sixty-something Amitabh Bachchan. It was fun, but also monotonous- the scene was a dance number in an American dance club. The moves were silly and over the top, but I'm glad I did it. Plus I made ELEVEN BUCKS for 12 hours work. I doubt I'll see any screen time, but I did get this photo with Abhishek, India's Brad Pitt...
My next stop was Goa, a small state on the west coast- a paradise filled with tourists flocking to the sun and fish and sand and sea. It was everything I wanted, a quiet beach and palms overlapping at every turn, fish curries and hot afternoons napping. Maybe not everything. It was too crowded with them, you know the whites. Their flesh dripping out of their suits startled me. I have been so used to the conservative India covering- even while bathing, even while swimming. I went to one of the most remote and quiet beaches, but two days was enough.
Next was the even greener paradise of Kerala, a thriving political state, with battling parties and lively political discussions in the streets. It was even hotter, but I managed a few days.
All I wanted in heading further and further South was to hit Kanyakumari, India's 'land's end,' where the 'three seas meet'- the Bay of Bengal from the east, Indian Ocean from the south and the Arabian Sea from the west. It is a magical place, revered by pilgrims, and known as the place where the Goddess Devi secured freedom from the world entire after conquering nasty demons.
I found a small water/amusement park there called Baywatch. It was a true highlight, and I was the only Westerner there that day. Expecting modesty, I swam in a t-shirt and a skirt. I was not out of place- other women were more covered up in their saris and long blouses and pants.
A lot of territory has been covered, but this has not felt rushed. . From there I headed up the east coast and stopped in Chennai (formerly Madras) and did some things like watch Small Wonder dubbed in Tamil and eat boiled peanuts.
After that I boarded a 32.5 hour train to Kolkata (formerly Calcutta), the pinnacle of poverty and and intellectualism in India. Today, on my last day in India, I am completing this entry, for tomorrow morning I leave with long breaths and sadness to Bangkok, Thailand. My Indian visa expires on February 1. India, in a fit of rage against travelers decided that the date you procure your visa is the date it is effective. This meant that my six months allowance started in August- frustrating to say the least, but I do need a push to head for my exit point, Singapore.
I'm reading City of Joy, you may know the book or the Swayze-starred adaptation. It is fantastic, a sweet and jarring account of so many lives that intercept in the slums here and the stories of why and how people came to live here. It has put faces to the coolies (runners, lackeys, brunts) and the "human horses'', men that run rickshaws with their feet- pulling people and goods, sometimes barefooted, sometimes hungry.
Calcutta continues to fight against the picture westerners have of what is here- garbage, dirt, homelessness, destitution. The city as an entity wants to be clean and pristine, to put those that fit this somewhere outside the folds of what we peer into as tourists. But they are everywhere. The thriving trade economies, the street-dwellers, the rampant slums are here, they are a result of decades of economic and environmental devastation in the surrounding regions. Calcutta is a mecca, a city of promise and hope for so many, as it has been the last century. It is a magical place, as is the rest of India.
I'm almost gone, and my time here is now nearly capsulized, ready for dissection. In truth, I wanted to be shocked here, I wanted to be terrified and horrified. I wanted to be surrounded by lepers and begging children, to be put in my damn western place and see the horrors of which I know absolutely nothing. This never happened. All these things were around me, not enveloping me, but still there, rampant overpopulation, disease and strife, poverty and detritus. My mind was filled with pictures and ideas before I came, even too much in some ways, for nothing surprised me. There was further guilt from wanting to see such things, and I still don't know why I desired the underbelly. I was prepared for the poverty and indecency that awaited me, but, beautifully, I was not prepared for what would accompany it- the bustling smiles of the hardest workers you could see and know, the flipping backstroking activity of children in the streets, the smells of delicious curries and omelets and breads and sweets on the streets. Travel over long distances for extended periods is a challenge, and in a place like India, maybe even more than usual. I love finding a room, choosing a restaurant, figuring out buses and getting lost in markets. It hasn't been hard to be in India alone, because there are fantastic travelers and locals with which to share breakfast or chai on the train or chats on rooftops and by the sea. I miss it already.
