Presence

After a four hour delay in New York's JFK International Airport, we were on our way to the Indian subcontinent - a mere 17 1/2 hours, three first run movies and three meals away at an average speed of nearly 600 MPH. it all went fairly well up until that last 5 hours which seemed to stretch into about 10.

Upon arrival, I went through customs, grabbed my checked bag and hit the doors in wide-eyed anticipation. on my way down the hallway i noticed the definite presence of uniformed officials of some sort, one with a semi-automatic weapon. There were scattered around along my route and a group massed near the doors leading outside.

Apparently the whole city had been notified of my arrival because there was a throng of about 250 people behind make-shift barricades keeping them from spilling over onto the walkway I had no other choice but to wisely use. I saw dozens of hand written and printed signs with the names of the chosen few inscribed thereon. I hadn't yet found my name before one of those armed officially uniformed Indians hurried me along and when a hole opened in the crowd I stepped into it and blended in.

As much as a six foot tall bald white guy can blend in with a crowd of dark headed sea of people. I noticed there was chanting. It sounded like a protest. I learned there was some minister of something or other who had made his grand exit on the heels of my own - which explained the chanting crowd, the patriotic waving flags and the unceremonious hurrying along of myself by authority figure.

Enter official looking tout, stage left. I must have looked lost. Upon questioning me about where I was headed he told me it wouldn't be wise to go through the heart of the city at that time of night (1:30 AM), on that particular day (Anniversary of Gandhi's death) then recommended an alternative with a free cab ride, a reasonable rate and a speedy escape from the present madness. I took him up on it.

My first ride through the streets of Mumbai was fascinating. The city was fast asleep but there were signs that life existed everywhere. At the hotel I was asked to pay double what the official looking man had said I would have to pay. When I asked about it I was told 'those rooms are full'. Riiiight. I smelled a rat. I picked up my bags and made for the door. Once outside the hotel man ran after me, gave me the rate I had been told at the airport, and promised a free breakfast to boot. I stayed (cash only I came to find out).

Next morning, first thing (a mere 4 hours later) I was dressed and downstairs to catch a cab to the Railway Hotel, where I should have been all along. My cab driver completely RROOCCKKEED!! If you have ever driven with me you know I have a keen appreciation for anyone demonstrating an ability to read the road and position ones self one's best advantage. This man made me proud!!

He also gave me 44 more grey hairs and shortened my life by 273 days.

I learned that honking your horn is a sign of respect and you do it when you're being careful and obeying the rules rather than the other way around. This guy played the car horn like he was the first seat in the Mumbai Symphony Orchestra.

After a first sketchy evening, the trip was definitely beginning to looking up. After playing chicken innumerable times, experienced dozens of near misses (of other cars and other people) I was suddenly in front of my hotel. I quickly checked in and got back out on the streets to see the nearby structures. It was still early morning so I took a walk around the block, becoming an avid fan of street hawker and food vendor alike - all experts in their chosen field and a keen sharp knowledge of how to separate me from my rupees.

I kept a safe distance.

I ran across some kids who I asked if I could photograph. They all lived by one another in wooden structures attached something solid (I couldn't tell what) with their parents (I assume) and happy as anyone I have ever seen. They were more than willing subjects save for one lad who didn't want his picture taken. So (taking my queue from 'Born into Brothels') I employed him as my chief photographer, a job he took to with great interest. When we shot up my entire memory I had to bow out with a promise to return (which I did a short time later but the kids had evaporated).

I ordered lunch through room service on the cheap and got far more than I had bargained for. Next time I will order one thing instead of four (ggrrooaannn).

This is a before and after of the very first meal I ordered on Indian soil. I didn't understand that Pakora meant a whole plate of them. SO...I ordered two. And samosa and chicken biryani. Oh..and french fries, just in case all this wasnt enough.

Basically I was only able to finish one plate of pakora, some biryani and a samosa.