a glimpse into Mumbai's madness
What is it about this place? One of a handful of cities that supports a population in excess of 20 million folk. It’s huge!
I’ve been to India a dozen times, and each time I never tire of the thoughts and emotions that strangle you the moment you step out of the airport. They hit you like a thump to the gut.
The smells, the visual shocks. Imagine walking into someone’s home to immediately see the sofa upside down, smashed crockery on the floor, a carpet ripped up, glass windows shattered, food in bowls on the floor, holes in a wall, and a man laying down in the corner of the room. You would be shocked, right? You’d be surprised and wonder how anyone could live like this.
Well, the emotions are no different walking into the heat and humidity of a Mumbai morning now far away from the relative, short-lived sanctuary of the clean, marble-tiled, air conditioned airport.
Immediately beyond the Customs hall and baggage area, I spot my taxi driver, Parjoli, because he’s holding up a placard with my name on it. He has a big grin on his face, lobs the luggage into the boot and offers me a bottle of cold water, which I welcome while he opens the rear door for me. We set off into a midday turmoil of only the second day into a four-month monsoon season. The heavens are open and copious quantities of water not seen before are tumbling from the dark skies onto everything below.
The drive is about a half hour to my hotel. The Westin Powai Lake is the destination, but there is so much to take in before we arrive.
A taxi ride from the Mumbai airport.
A thrilling journey amidst Mumbai's highway maze and unfinished horizons
I’m inquisitive as we speed along the highways. There is room for about four lanes but I count 11 vehicles touching each other and all of them trying hard to get ahead of the one in front. Further along the road, a monstrous concrete stanchion appears smack in the middle of the highway. As my eyes move from the ground toward the top of this huge structure, I note that a large, secondary highway joins us from another direction and now sits right above us. Not much evidence on anything moving on this elevated section and this is well understood a minute later as I note that the highway shrouding us is incomplete. The road surfacing stops beyond one structure and by the look of the quality of concrete and steel materials, work on the elevated section probably ceased in 1961.
The rains continue and quickly, large sections of the surface are no longer visible and under water. But this doesn’t prevent a man on a Royal Enfield motorbike screaming through the waters, spraying everything off to its side. On the back is a woman with a gorgeous pink and green sari sitting with both legs off to one side. She is holding an unsighted child close to her bosom. At no point is she holding onto the driver, or the vehicle and any emergency stop would have them all thrown from the bike in a ghastly accident. But this is India. Live for the moment, don’t worry about what might happen.
The air conditioning in the taxi is chilling and I adjust the settings above me while the driver respects my desire for quiet and says nothing.
Around me for several miles are a series of large lakes and boundaries shrouded with vegetation-like grasses and reeds. The white egrets stand out above the deep forest green as charcoal buffalo appear half-submerged among the winding tributaries.
Beyond the lakes and visually blurred by the hydrated atmosphere are a hundred or so, tall apartment blocks, most with fifty odd floors. They look devoid of residence and without window glass at any level. Probably erected by the same redundant construction company that half-built the flyover. My eye catches a few men near the buffalo and I assume they are herdsmen managing their stock.
Vibrant street bazaars: A kaleidoscope of sights and sounds in Mumbai's urban tapestry
I pass two blocks of unsteady stalls and outlets selling anything from textiles to woks and karhais sitting on naked flames full of ghee and breads being deep fried. Bright orange magnolias are being strung together by a bunch of laughing women sitting on the sidewalk, all going about their business irreverent to the fast moving traffic just inches away. Skinny, bare-footed men wearing very little, exert effort as they try to move their mobile stalls on rickety, wagon-like wheels. The tops are packed high in an orderly fashion with ripe, yellow mangoes.
More concrete posts and fences followed by concrete posts with no fences. Mumbai’s infrastructure is clearly, very much unfinished. Vehicle noise reverberates throughout the traffic as drivers sound their horn to warn others they are close by.
As we slow to a halt at an intersection where drivers on this one occasion may actually be taking note of the red traffic lights ahead, the entire width of the road is packed with heavy machinery. From behind a large, brightly painted truck is a family of six including four young children. They all step into the road among the smoke-bellowing tuk tuks with a look of calm on their faces and start to negotiate the crossing. I watch in disbelief as they all stick together and zig-zag through open spaces while mum holds her baby. Between the lines of traffic, the occasional motorbike screams down the narrow space and it is a miracle that the rider is not met head on by the wandering family, all risking their lives… but for what?
Stray dogs search for scraps of anything they can eat with the females, exhibiting largely exaggerated teats. On one street corner a woman cares for her pet cow by offering her a bucket of grass.
As we make our way to the hotel, we cross one significant railway line. As the taxi slows to another brief stop I make out about twenty railway lines below us and in between two of these lines a chap squats, releasing yesterday’s vegetable masala right there, onto the track and probably minutes before the Pune Express rolls past. The firewater sprinkler outlet nearby will allow him to freshen up when done and tie back on, his mundu.
The sides of the roadways are absolutely stacked three or four feet deep with dirt, debris and rubbish. Holes appear where colonies of rats reside and come out at night, if they haven’t already been washed away from the downpours.
My taxi driver steers away from the main highway and up onto another, higher ramp as we increase speed. I await with bated breath for the unfinished section up ahead and my mind flashes back to Keanu Reeves asking Sandra Bullock to increase the speed of their bus.
Tuk Tuks: Mumbai's fearless road warriors
Male drivers of three-wheeler tuk tuks sit with one leg tucked under the other. They push forward for that one magical fare from an American that might put food on his family’s table for nine months. As they merge with the trucks, motorbikes, pedestrians and taxis there is no sign of road rage as no-one has any visible, true right of way. There are few road markings and an insurance company would have a nightmare trying to establish blame in any accident.
Forty-five minutes in and we turn off the frantic mood of the saturated highway and enter a steep road up toward the hotel. At a mid-point security checkstop, three chaps greet us and hold their hands together like they were about to prey they found nothing untoward from the check.
As two open the bonnet and boot without too much detail in the checks and while still talking to the third chap, they flag us through. We continue up the now opulent, brick-laid road surface to the front entrance of the hotel and stop.
Seventeen men try to open the door for me. I sign the taxi chit and retrieve my luggage from the boot. Another bottle of water is thrust into my hand as two guys race forward and place my luggage on a short conveyor. The bags move forward without stopping and twenty seconds later after being screened myself I am following five members of the entrance staff into the lobby.
Checking in and the bags delivered to my room, I glance at the wonderful view I have from a sixth floor window and throw myself onto the white bed linen. I smile at the thought of doing this all again, twice a day for a full week.
