Jock's TravelBlog Because sometimes I go places

Mumbai

Friday night I dine alone. This is the first time I have done so since I have gotten here. Breakfast lunch and dinner I have been with someone who knows me. It is a nice transition. No nocturnal walk this time. The next day I know will be my own, so I pull inward. I read, I watch some TV an a movie. The love of musical numbers in Hindi movies is well known, so I will not go into it here -- other than to wonder what the non soprano singers do for work.

Well rested and fast broken, I prepare for the day. I dress down as much as I can. The pants that gave up their last bit of structural integrity in the trip over were intended for this purpose. I packed a non-descript tan shoulder bag I and bought on another trip. I pack all the little things I might want -- tissues, a snack, my phone, a granola bar, etc. -- into the small compartment. Into the large I place a liter of bottled water, and my camera. The battery is freshly charged. The card freshly cleared.

Camera bags are too obvious. I would be tagged as a photographer before people even saw the camera. Cameras are easy items to fence and to sell the world over. I don't want to advertise. More importantly, to me, it that the knowledge that I might take their picture sets people on edge, and that is the last thing I want. Cartier-Bresson and the other greats of street photography learned to just blend in and let people forget they had a camera. I am still learning this skill.

I want to capture people in the act of being themselves. Much of the time I shoot from the hip. I keep my eyes in the direction I am going, and point the camera my instinct. Its a risky way to shoot. You can never be sure you are pointed at the right thing, and when I later reviewed the pictures there were so many that would have to great, if only the camera had been tilted up a bit more. No use crying over spilt milk.

I am also a coward when it comes to photography. So many of the things I want to capture are small, intimate, moments I see all around me. I have the camera in my hand. All I have to do is move a foot one way or another, and quickly bring the camera up to take the picture: Lovers caressing, shopkeepers arguing, a father giving his daughter money and sending her off on some errand. These pictures could so easily have been mine, but a self censoring urge stops me most of the time. It doesn't matter that they are out in public, it seems to be too personal, so I resist and hate myself.

Fully equipped, ready to go, and coated in sun-screen I set out. I have no goal other that to walk ten miles. The average human walks at 2 miles every hour. That is one mile every 30 minutes. I am a more dedicated walker and normally do one every 20. I already know that I cannot maintain that pace here. The humid air is thick, and makes it easier to exert yourself. I step out of the air conditioned confines of my hotel and start out on the familiar route on the waterfront. The sun beats down in full effect.

I walk a couple of blocks down the path I know well to get my bearings, then turn off onto a side street at random. Now I am exploring. The whole time I am keeping track of my pace, and my position on my mental map. The revolving restaurant at the top of the Ambassador hotel proves to be a quite useful landmark. It is visible from much of southern Bombay, if you know what to look for.

That is how people navigate here, by landmark. A city like Mumbai wasn't planned, no one could be that mad. It happens over time. Seemingly simple areas on the map turn out to be warrens of side streets and alleys. So when giving someone directions it might be "down the alley next to the Strand Book Stall." Streets (and cities) change name. It is an easy place to get lost in, but if you aren't going anywhere in particular there is always something to find.

At one point I find myself at one of the circus'. Not the traveling show with lion tamers and acrobats, but that classically British system of a circular road with large roads feeding it like the spokes of a wheel. Walk the sidewalk of one of these roads you eventually loop back upon yourself. Seen from the standpoint of a pedestrian it is more like the petals of a flower. I walk one petal, and then the next. At the end of each loop I glance around just to make sure I still have my bearings. After I make the third loop a security guard from one of the hotels comes running over to me. He had been noticing this strange behavior.

"Are you lost, sir?" He asks.

"No," I say with smile. "Just exploring." I am having the time of my life.

"Happy exploring!" He says, waves, and jogs back to his post. At night, most people would leave me alone. Everyone had a job to do, or a place they needed to go. This is the weekend and people are more relaxed. Security guards wave, or more commonly give me the thumbs-up. It makes me feel like I am part of some conspiracy. I notice that young men, in their late teens or early twenties, make a point of saying "Good day! How are you?" Since I am fairly sure there isn't a secret hospitality patrol, I presume they want the chance to practice their English with a "native speaker." Either way I always say hello, and that I am doing fine. That seems to be all the conversation that is required.

Sometimes it seems like a place where things are better on the inside than the outside. Almost none of the apartment buildings have fresh paint. The cement always seems to be showing though, but the tiny glimpses I see into the apartments show neat and tidy places, homes that people take pride in. The same is true with the shops and office buildings I see. In a sea of chaos, people carve out their places of sanity. Even when it is just in their own head. It is easy to the forest of average men women and children going about their lives, amidst the things that stick to my western perspective.

I am periodically reassured that I picked a great time to come, that this is the mild time of the year. I cannot imagine what the summers must be like. The sun is beating down relentlessly. How did a fair skinned cold weather people like the British ever manage here? I run out of road in the direction I have been walking and turn the corner. All of a sudden I am on a block of little stalls. Everything any anything is sold here. I see a man sitting on the ground selling socks, next to a wobbly table selling toner and inkjet cartridges There is a spot where a pair of men seem to have a business fixing flat tires. Then there is food. I see food everywhere.

I start to feel a little dizzy and realize what I haven't had anything to drink in a while. The thought makes me desperate for water, but it is too crowded here to stop and open the bag. Normally I would just go out into the road where most pedestrians walk, but traffic is very heavy. I push on though -- I will let the pain pass though me, and will not fear. Fear is the mindkiller. Fear is the little death. At one point I pass by a man sitting against the wall with a bathroom scale in front of me.

"Weigh yourself? One rupee only," he says. I can honestly say that I had never considered that such a business would exist. Even on the streets where you see microeconomics at its most literal. You an buy single cough drops, or an individual cigarette in the stalls. Why not this. In the time I am on the street, I saw two different people avail themselves of his services. So apparently there is a demand. When I finally get clear of the street to a calmer area, I finally get a chance to drink deeply. I feel a sharpness come back to me.

Eventually I pass by the World Trade Center. I honestly don't know why every city seems to have one of these. Its not like they are the seat of the New World Order, and run by a consortium of the Illuminati, the Trilateral group, and the Bildebergers -- at least not to the best of my knowledge. I do know that I am now in the part of town called Cuffe Parade. Here I see one of the starkest contrasts between rich an poor. On one side of the road is the World Trade Center and highrise office buildings housing some of the largest financial companies, on the other is a shanty.

The road I am walking on suddenly turns orange. I look more closely and realize that they are the shells of small shrimp. Instead of the next building in the shanty I see the hull of a boat under construction. I new I was near the water, but I didn't realize quite how close. I can see the ocean peak between another hull and a small concrete building. It's low tide and there are boats listing in the wet sand. I pass by posts with wire lines spread between them, every foot or so up the length. Fish are drying on them. There is no one there, but the birds (and cat & dogs) seem to leave them alone.

I catch sight of the Air India building so I know I am close to where I am staying. I glance at my watch. It's been just about 5 hours since I started. By the time I get back to my hotel, I am fairly confident I have hit my ten mile goal. The cool of the hotel is almost unconformable at first. I rest, freshen up, and walk back to a small Italian place nearby. I eat a hearty meal, and watch the lovers on the sea wall. Not a bad way to spend a day...