Kiwis Don't Fly, But They Do Take Rickshaws

I had heard you paid at the entrance, and would then be taken on a guided tour. I handed over a couple of hundred rupees, received the ubiquitous Indian head wobble, and was simply ushered through the gateway. Thrust into chaos, with no obvious pathway to take, I faltered. My senses were assaulted wherever I turned.

Men were up to their thighs in murky grey water, stomping on jackets with the same vigour as a winemaker treading his latest vintage. The sharp chemical smell of detergent punctuated the heady freshness of clothing drying in the tropical heat, and the air was thick with humidity. I saw row upon row of what appeared to be larger than life bunting: vast loads of laundry carefully organised by some miraculous system which prevented the loss of any article. A string of pastel coloured business shirts created a rainbow over my head, and brightly patterned harem pants ballooned in the breeze.

I tentatively wound my way around concrete troughs and down narrow alleyways of tiny houses built for entire families. A small, barefoot child perched hopefully behind his offering of the day: handpicked seashells in a small silver bowl. Other people greeted me with cheerful waves, curious glances and varied attempts at conversation. The trains rumbled past in the distance, the local cats looked on uninterestedly, and bemused tourists held their oversized cameras like shields as they negotiated the damp, soapy obstacle course.

Cheeky youngsters darted between the dangling garments in an endless game of hide and seek, occasionally scolded by an ageing washerwoman. Traditional saris, kurtas and dupattas sat bundled, like piñatas awaiting their fate, while denim jeans baked to a crisp on the iron rooftops. A goat lay munching on leaves, beneath garlands of marigolds and jasmine adorning the dusty walls.

I climbed up a rickety ladder, to an even more rickety balcony, and looked out at waves of aqua green hospital scrubs, hundreds of bamboo poles, and the strange brown patchwork of corrugated iron beneath a cloud of flowing white linen. Gazing at what seemed to be an entire landscape, it was hard to believe I was in the centre of Mumbai, one of the most densely populated cities on earth.