Mumbai
Vibrant metropolis with a strong colonial legacy
We arrived to the cosmopolitan city on an early morning flight from Dubai, after crossing the Red Sea. Chhatrapati Shivaji International Airport is so busy that, at five in the morning, we flew over the metropolis for more than twenty minutes before landing, circling with as many planes as we could see from the window, until we finally got the go-ahead from the tower.
It took about an hour to go through immigration procedures and walk through the huge airport.
One thing to keep in mind. When we hired the eSim for the phone, we received a message informing us that it would only be available until the expiration date of the visa, which was much earlier than expected. It was a great shock to confirm that the immigration officer who handled my case had made a mistake and had stamped a date prior to the thirty days granted and, of course, to our planned departure from the country. Luckily, at the end of the trip in Delhi when we explained the situation the day we were leaving, the officer understood perfectly well that it had been a mistake on their part and that it would not generate any consequence whatsoever. But in some hotels we had to explain it for a long time, as the most suspicious concierges were checking this information. Therefore, as a suggestion, you should always check your passport at Migrations to confirm that the stamped info is correct.
Our travel agents had told us that a driver would be waiting for us when we left the terminal, and so it was. Warma smilingly held up a small sign with our names on it. He greeted us, opened a plastic bag and took out two colorful necklaces of fresh flowers, which he hung around our necks as a sign of welcome. He immediately put us in touch with Helena, who wanted to make sure to greet us and welcome us to our tour of northern India.
And there began a journey of just forty-five minutes to the city center to the historic district of Colaba.
It was still early in the morning, so the roar of the incessant horns that characterize India were not yet noticeable, but we could still guess some of the chaos characteristic of the city.
Our attention was drawn by the number of trucks circulating at that time of the morning. It was Warma who explained to us that many of them were carrying water to supply local people.
And so with the adrenaline of arriving we were greeted by the Taj Palace Mumbai. The historic luxury hotel located right in front of the Gateway of India.
In a first suggestion, the agency Black Pepper Tours had proposed us intermediate category hotels and in Mumbai the Ascot hotel in the same area of Colaba.
After the dedicated task of planning our trip, we were convinced that we had to increase our budget in order to have access to higher category hotels, especially when entering the country and when leaving through Delhi.
In addition, a trustworthy person had suggested us to save as much as possible for India, in order to hire the best hotels within our reach.
Therefore, we decided that we were going to start and end the trip in super luxury hotels and we also foresaw stops -every five days on average- where we could repair ourselves and, also, as a way of pampering ourselves.
So that was our choice: for the arrival, the impressive Taj Palace Mumbai; and for the farewell in Delhi, the iconic The Imperial.
What a wise move!
The magnificence at the Taj was the synthesis of the Asian luxury concept. It is located right in front of India Gate, one of Mumbai's most iconic monuments.
A welcoming ceremony was performed by the concierge, who wished us a blissful journey while reciting a mantra. He presented us with a good fortune necklace made of basil sprigs and touched our foreheads to make the "bindi" with his finger, the point on the forehead, at the level of the sixth chakra which, according to Vedic tradition, strengthens concentration and vital energy.
In India superstition is everywhere, in colors, in gods, in statuettes, in ceremonies, in flags. There is a whole symbolism represented in colors.
By the time we were being handed our room card, an American passenger got sick in the middle of the hotel lobby and could not avoid vomiting in public. From then on, I too became superstitious, practicing every rite that was proposed to me throughout the trip, asking only to stay healthy. And, much to the disbelief of Mr. @tripticity_, all my amulets paid off as we were able to enjoy the trip without discomfort and, particularly, without suffering from the famous "Delhi Belly", a slang phrase for colitis suffered by foreigners in India, not being used to the local food and water.
Well, after a long flight of almost twenty hours from Buenos Aires to Dubai, a quick stopover to visit it and the next trip to Mumbai, we could not afford to rest, as we only had one day to visit the city. So we slept only half an hour before starting our busy tour. Such was the excitement that there was no hesitation in getting up when the alarm clock rang.
Before leaving, of course, we started with an opulent breakfast at the grandiose hotel, with a dozen chefs preparing delicacies on sight.
Just at ten o'clock in the morning, as arranged, our local guide showed up.
To our first question about the reason for so much security at the hotel, Aakanksha answered with some irony that it was due to the situation with their neighbors, Pakistan and China. A bloody attack took place in that hotel, in which locals and foreigners died, so we understood the reason for so many extreme security measures, a situation that personally reminded me a little of my trip to Egypt.
And so we started our tour of the city. Mumbai is the capital of the state of Maharashtra and is considered the most cosmopolitan of the country.
The first stop we made was to change currency. There were two options, with or without papers, the latter would be the equivalent of what we call "arbolitos" in Argentina. Hidden in a cinematic passageway, we quickly completed the operation. Nothing strange for us...
The remnants of the English occupation can be seen in the old buildings of Colaba's neighborhood, left to their fate. It reminded me a little of the image of Havana in Cuba.
In Fort and Churchgate districts, the colonial-era buildings are in better condition, such as the Victoria Terminus railway station, the Supreme Court, the University of Mumbai y la St. Thomas Cathedral. The Anglican church preserves the tombs of those British conquerors who met their death in those latitudes.
We continued on to Crawford Market. Like all Indian cities, Mumbai is known for its markets. We enter through the old part, after passing a garbage dump, where vendors are still sitting on the dirt floor, while cats and vermin wander among the exotic fruits and vegetables. A few more circumspect stallholders carry their wares on their heads.
Before the trip, I had not only read India blogs experts, but I had also seen several movies, in an effort to be prepared, which is - now I understand - impossible. One of them was The Lunch Box, which tells the story of two lonely people who by chance connect after a failure in the lunch distribution system. It happens that during rush hour in Mumbai, trains travel crowded with people, so a very peculiar food delivery system was developed, worldwide recognized as infallible, to the point that it was studied by Harvard University for its perfection. In the story, the mistake happens and at its mercy the union via letters that come and go between the fictional protagonists. Very touching, the story not only entertains but shows the reality of a housewife and an office employee during the monsoon season.
Well, when I told Aakanksha about my interest in the system, she looked at her watch and said: "We are right on time, if we hurry we will get there!" Well, the car slowed down, we got out and watched live the hundreds of lunch boxes being organized by the gentlemen dressed in pristine white, ready to take their bicycles to start the delivery. Wonderful!
Another impressive visit was to the Dhobi Ghat, the largest and oldest open-air laundry in the city, run exclusively by men who officiate as the city's washers. Even Aakanksha confirmed to us that at her house they send the clothes to be washed there. Sheets and sheets hanging in the air, where the thick grayish smog takes over the sky. The image is unique.
The tour in our car continued to Dargah Haji, one of the most important mosques and tombs in India, located on an islet off the coast of Worli. Originating in the 15th century, it is a place of pilgrimage for people of all faiths, who unite in a single prayer to the one they consider a miracle maker. An esplanade connects the shore, so it is accessible only at low tide. There, beggars and sick people wait in the sunshine for the donation of visitors.
Women enter from the left and men from the right, after removing - as is customary before entering any temple or mosque in India - their shoes and negotiating the price with the shoe keepers.
I found the energy of the place captivating. I was moved as I contemplated the trance they were in as they formulated their supplications while giving their offerings in money.
On the way to the famous Hanging Gardens, in the exclusive Malabar Hill neighborhood, the guide told us to pay attention to the impressive building of Mukesh Ambani, the Indian billionaire who built his private home for a few people but with more than five hundred permanent employees. Seeing that ostentation while on the street we were driving along filthy and poorness was a synthesis of that idiosyncrasy. The land of contradictions, of extremes, where smiles abound.
Once in the Hanging Gardens, located on the terraces, while we strolled among the bushes carved in the shape of animals, a talk with Aakanksha about Hinduism and daily life in India began. At the inevitable question of arranged marriage, she enthusiastically explained that her beliefs are not a religion, but rather a life philosophy, and how that which is implausible to our vision for Hindus is their way of life. Marriage, death, life itself is considered by them in a totally different way than we understand it. Marriage is not between two people but a union of families, a conformation of a clan, which will then move from one side to the other in that way, all together everywhere. From there it was remarkable to notice -when visiting monuments- how the local tourism was mainly made up of large groups of Indians who were -justly- families on vacation.
Death for the Hindus generates a mourning, but only for twelve days, because after that, life takes over. In fact, their main gods are Brahmā, creator god of the universe, Viṣṇu, preserving operator god, and Śiva, destroyer god. It is that destruction entails new creation.
So began our first approach to Hinduism, to that of trying to understand it, on a balcony of Malabar Hill, while enjoying a wonderful view of the sea and the city skyline.
The last stop was at the viewpoint of the polluted Chowpatty beach. The skyline with the buildings was glimpsed in a grayish tone because of the smog generated by pollution.
We said goodbye to Aakanksha and returned to the hotel, which felt like a refuge in the vibrant metropolis, but not before taking the mandatory photograph at the historic India Gate.
Already in that oasis of peace, pleasant aroma and extreme luxury, we made a first reflection on how intense the next twenty days would be.
We decided to relax by taking a warm bath in the hotel's Jacuzzi, while enjoying the beauty of its architecture in this monumental building created by Jamsetji Tata. He is a historical figure of India, owner of countless industries, to the point that his name would later be present in several destinations we visited. The story goes that the millionaire decided to build the hotel facing the Arabian Sea after an episode of discrimination suffered at the Watson Hotel, when he was not allowed to enter. Thus it was that in 1903 he inaugurated the emblematic ultra-luxury hotel in the Indo-Saracenic style, combining elements of Indo-Islamic and Mughal architecture and details typical of Hindu temples. Of extraordinary beauty!
In the hotel elevator we ran into a lot of cricket players staying there. This is the sport par excellence in India. Throughout our tour of the huge subcontinent it was common to see locals playing it in parking lots, on esplanades, everywhere.
After a last tour of the huge hotel, like a tour in itself, the longed-for rest came after so much adrenaline on our first day in India with a promising impression of good fortune for the whole trip.