The airport exit ended in a crowded horseshoe and pleasant offers of help came from complete strangers. I saw my old school mate and we hugged, since in the last ten years we have moved so far apart from each other! Returning to her boyfriend’s home in the Parsi Colony was hampered by some mechanical problems in the old little taxi she had arranged for us. The driver pulled over on the highway and switched the ignition off. We waited and reflected on the solution absently. RAIN, RAIN, RAIN. The monsoon had arrived so late this year that every metre was being measured for its amenity. The taxi's flooded engine became something to be patient about. There was no hint of frustration or impatience. Eventually the battery infused a spark of like and we drove off again onto the highway. Phew!
VV pointed out some of the locations where they had filmed for "Slumdog Millionaire". It was difficult to see inside the units of shelters, and our eyes rested on the rain soaked windows and the velvet interior. When we climbed up the stairways, someone had decorated each corner with patterns. Then we drank chai. Ahh!
I took an opportunity to watch the preparations for the new Indian Disney film. They were on location at an industrial school in Bhandra where the heroine had landed up in prison! Rather a grim storyline n'est ce pas? While she had her long wig twisted into a knot, I considered what message Disney was going to sending to the potential young minds of India?
I made it downtown to Colaba and the area which is still named the fort. Walking from the fountain I found the Gateway and the impressive Taj Mahal hotel. A tout was persuaded to take a photograph of me as I stood for a moment by the landmarks. Then I found the cathedral and walked passed the maidans up to the Big Metro cinema, reading the reviews of the buildings in the Lonely Planet. This is where the Dalai Lama watched a movie, was it in Hindi? No Sunday opening hours for libraries and museums, which meant that my day trip out was pretty much accomplished. Chowpatty beach was open so I wrote in the sand and had my photograph taken with some curious youngsters. "Was I a reporter? What was I doing here?" they demanded.
The monsoon had rained heavily the day before, breaking branches and uprooting tree trunks by the pedestrian area near the children’s traffic park. I stopped to understand the meaning of such a park, but its gates were closed. Here, on the tarmac space, the Highway Code merges with civic duty, and the children are taught, apparently, how to drive.
After discovering how easy it was to walk across town without reading my maps with all the name changes, I found Leopold Café and drank some imported beer with my curry. It was a so so place, but the cafe in Fabindia was soooo much better. Ahh, drinking a cup of Monsoon Flush with a plate of humous, quite delicious!
Everybody’s talking about the new bridge in Bombay and what to call it. It should only take 7 minutes to cross with the sea link, but in the traffic at 1.00am it took us 20 minutes to cross from Bandra. The toll is 50 rupees, which presents locals with another thing to complain about. We had just watched the premier of Anuvab Pal’s comedy, 1.888.Dial India which is a shocking take on outsourcing and the depressed values of American life. The central character bullied his way through the plot, which had superb rallying dialogues and a hilarious bending of stereotypes. I liked Auntie practising her pole dancing, the online party for one and the arranged Facebook marriage.
