This time I figured out how to opt for a fancier night bus (labelled primo on the makemytrip app) and was ready for my final sleep before reuniting with Emma. I woke up just as we were crossing the Old Vashi Bridge into Mumbai and arrived in a suburb called Fort, that looked like Kensington or Earls court, it was too early to check in to the hotel so trying to keep my stomach at bay I searched for the most western cafe I could find nearby (Sequel Cafe). It was good but my chia pudding and smoothie cost more than the night’s moving accommodation.
After several attempts at convincing Emma I shouldn’t meet her at the airport (a previous airport pick up of mine had not gone so well, resulting in multiple surgeries, a court case, a missed wedding and a year of rehab), I finally obliged and hailed a cab to tackle the Mumbai traffic. A symphony of car-horns later, vehicle and body still in tact, I had made it. We spent the evening sharing our various stories and decided to tick off one of the many recommendations for food we had received for Mumbai, Swati Snacks, a Gujarati restaurant chain with some light bitings including banana leaf rice and Pani Puri. Another hit.
I had planned to keep a day aside to see family in Mumbai but of course some couldn't make it. Whilst Emma and I were exploring the Kala Ghoda arts festival another random encounter happened. I haven't seen my cousin Samyak in years, the last time I did he was single and had dreadlocks. As we entered the festival, through the crowd of thousands of people, I saw a figure from behind wearing a kids backpack with the words ‘Sia’ embroidered on it. Before my brain had a chance to even register anything my mouth shouted ‘Samyak’. I panicked because I really hadn’t verified at all and was worried about looking crazy. The guy turned around and despite there being 30 million people in Mumbai, it was him. I am convinced I have some abnormal skill in recognising people. We then organised to have lunch in Burma Burma and the food was amazing. Highlight included a coconut Pana Cotta with tapioca pearls. Random chance encounter count: 2.
The rest of Mumbai was essentially a food tour with some sightseeing mixed in. We hit up Bombay Canteen, a Dishoom-esque high end restaurant with amazing cocktails and Shree Thaker Bhojanalay, a Gujarati Thali place, that you could tell was good because of the queue and number of locals there. One night we met up with, Taskeen, one of Emma's friends from her surfing trip to Varkala last year. She works in Bollywood as a make up artist and was giving us the low down on many things including the following:
All of these Bollywood superstars who have been around for 20-30 years and look even better than when they started acting is not Indian genes or a new fad diet. It is a severely long post production process called de-ageing which is essentially AI assisted photoshopping every frame of the capture.
A certain type of a guy from Delhi or a 'Delhi Boy' is becoming as infamous as Delhi belly as the type of entitled drunken yobs that get into fights as well as questionable behaviour towards women (it’s likely one of these kicked my toilet door down in Goa).
We got further confirmation on how the young Indian middle class in Indian is far less traditional than the diaspora that seemingly retain more traditional values (or perhaps hold some guilt about their parents migration, and therefore acceptingly retain the traditional values to please them).
Sightseeing included the Taj, the Gateway of India, Colaba including a walk by of the underwhelming Leopold's cafe and the Elephanta Caves, which houses carvings of Lord Shiva on an island off the coast of Mumbai. Equally as entertaining was the boat ride across where locals would feed the seagulls from their hands, around 50 of which were flying with the boat, in something that felt analogous to swimming with dolphins. We were also fortunate enough to be in India for republic day when the patriots came out in the millions (although strangley just seemed to be men) and all the buildings and streetlights were decorated, day and night, in white, orange and green.
It was during Mumbai, now with Emma, that I finally understood the different experience a Gora (slang for white person) would have whilst travelling in India. Things that Emma and I were subject to which did not occur when I was solo:
Taxis were no longer on the meter but fare calculation became more inventive e.g. rider’s choice and always included upselling of a random (also inventive) tour.
Market sellers suddenly saw us as a potential customers and incessantly hassled us to buy tourist tat.
Propositions of demanding photoshoots including multiple angles, positions and being told off if you did not follow instructions properly. One of these by an on-duty security guard no less.
I guess this is the Gora tax people talk about although it did come with some perks like everyone including the hotel staff being much more friendly and taking more of an interest in us.
We celebrated Emma becoming a yogini with a night out in Lower Parel, rejecting our initial venue, Antisocial, for it's antisocial £30 cover charge, and stumbled across Toit. Great night out and identical playlist to the one in Goa, whilst we sipped on tequila lime sodas. Initially I thought a rogue choice by Emma but it’s effect that night and the morning after means it could be the drink of our travels.
We closed out Mumbai by seeing family. A delicious feast at my cousin Naman’s and put on by his wife Rupal. We caught up with them and family with Tatvam, my nephew, who kept asking about my dad who he was very fond of. We then spent some time in Bandra West living the Mumbai high life where Emma got a manicure and I got my first 4 hands massage. This time it was Thai place and was being stretched out in all directions. I guess it felt like being hung, drawn and quartered but in a good way.. and ears remained oil free. In the evening Naman had booked a place in Juhu where we met my cousin Stuti and Anupmama as well as Vijal and family. More amazing Bombay food but it was never ending and once again a heavy hitting dose of the Indo-Chinese cuisine, which seems to be super popular.
The Indo-Chinese cuisine comes from the Chinese immigrants that settled in Calcutta, which was in the midst of a thriving trade route from China to Britain. Calcutta soon began to draw communities of Chinese workers mainly of Hakka origin by the early part of 20th Century and a Chinatown had developed there. While the Chinese came over as dentists, tannery owners, sauce manufacturers, beauticians and shoe shop owners, it was as restaurateurs that the Chinese made a bigger name for themselves in India.
Just when we thought we were finished we went next door for dessert and then I got a pan (street food that’s like a flavoured leaf) with Vijal. I immediately regretted it, stomach recovery in mind, I watched the pan man cough and subsequently construct the pan, mixing the filling with his bare fingers. The way he was handling it looked like a misguided teenager teaching his younger brother on the ‘proper’ way to treat a lady (not drawing on personal experience here). I hated myself for having some weird form of western snobbery in being put off by it but once that subsided I munched it down. It was decent and I remained stomach bug free.
Naman finally dropped us to the airport (more traffic carnage) but eventually we reached the transit hotel. I had accidentally booked a night in May but thankfully, free cancellation in tact I was able to rebook at a slightly higher cost and we rested in prep for our next stop.. Singapore!
Symphony of Horns in Mumbai
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