“Kya aap shahar dekhne akele aaye hain?” quizzed the taxi driver surprised, to which I nodded in the affirmative. He was astonished that I was visiting the city alone – unusual for an Indian girl who would normally visit with her friends or with family - a far cry from the backpacking culture of the West. However, I wanted to see Bombay (or Mumbai as we now call it). As a part of the nerdy software bandwagon from Bangalore, I had visited a lot of cities outside India – Boston, London, and Melbourne – but not Mumbai. The only thing I knew about this financial capital of our country was the route from the Domestic to the International Airport. Therefore, armed with a city map, I hopped on to a taxi headed towards South Mumbai.
Going in a taxi, in the last week of summer (a few days before the monsoon began), can still be hot, humid and tiring. Looking out of the window, I envied the other tourists who had come prepared with water bottles and caps. Ramlal, the driver, appeared friendly enough and hence I struck up a typically Indian conversation with him - about family, jobs, and where he came from. He was married and had migrated from a small town in Uttar Pradesh (UP) to Mumbai 15 years ago. Mumbai’s economy is driven by its high migrant population, which is a source of ire for the local politicians. Recently, their target was the significant North Indian population in the city. Did he face any problems since he hails from UP? “Nahi Madam”, he answered. However he had an interesting opinion on politicians. “Our netas feel that if they solved the basic problems of the poor, then they wouldn’t be needed anymore”. He also had a piece of advice – improve the village economy, so that the people don’t migrate from villages to cities in search of jobs. A simple taxi driver in Mumbai has the same concerns and opinions as Edward Luce, who in his much acclaimed book, “In spite of the Gods" describes the perils of this urban-rural skew in India.
We drove past the famous Haji Ali Dargah, which I had seen in 'Halla Bol'. Its reflection danced in the shimmering blue-green Arabian Sea. When we had nearly reached the Fort area, I hopped out, paid the driver and did a walking tour of the city.
The place has many beautiful Victorian buildings built by the British - the Regal Theatre, Flora fountain and Watson’s Hotel (that slighted JRD Tata). I could have been anywhere in Europe except for the mass of humanity, which is a constant reminder of our country.
From here, I visited every 'must see' place on the Mumbai tourist's list. Musuems, the beach, Fashion street, Victoria Station, the TajMahal Hotel and the Gateway of India.
Designed in Indo-Sarcenic style, the Gateway of India was built in yellow basalt stone and concrete, to commemorate the arrival of King George V. It also represents India’s freedom from colonial rule - the Gateway ‘out of India’, for the last ships of the English Army. As I stood there, I was swamped by hundreds of tourists, hawkers, photographers, honeymooning couples and peanut vendors creating a bazaar like atmosphere. I think most of them had come here just to have a good time or sell their wares, not really bothering about colonial symbolism hocus-pocus.
Flopping on a cement seat in front of the ocean,I contemplated over the assortment of sights, sound and smell I had experienced. From the concerned taxi driver who advised me to visit again ‘but with family’, the hawkers at traffic signals who urged me to buy the latest Chetan Bhagat novel with no idea of what the book was about, women selling hot roasted corn in scorching heat, to ramshackle shops selling anything from vada pao to Minute Maid, Mumbai had it all. I had not seen any gangsters or film stars as the Mumbai cliché goes, but I had seen Mumbai – it probably is the Gateway To India.