I had breakfast with the rest of the hippies at the Salvation Army. Apparently Kim Jong Il has conducted a nuclear test, which, well, sucks. Bush wants sanctions, so Japan closed their ports to North Korea, and South Korea is extremely vulnerable. Also, China is now having to comply with the United States. Still, I doubt even 10% of the United States knows who Kim Jong Il is. I went out for a walk of downtown Mumbai. I started at the Gateway of India, and walked up the streets to Kala Ghoda, the art district. The streets were deserted except for streetdwellers and some stray taxis. Along the waterfront there were some bourgeois middle-aged Indians with Spandex and iPods stretching and out for their Sunday jog. The streets were lined with Gothic colonial buildings like the police station, life insurance building, theatre, and private library. Some teacher came up to me and started speaking English, and said there was a huge fire in Chinatown, so they were having services at the Hindu-Buddhist temple. I walked with him there, and he took me to see the cremations. There was also a graveyard for children, and for the first time ever I saw human skulls, which was eerie. The undertakers, or doms, wanted money for the poor people who couldn’t afford the wood for their cremation. Since touts already harassed me the same way in Varanasi and my wallet and phone were stolen recently, I was not interested at all, and ran away. I continued my walk in peace, up Mahatma Gandhi street, to the busy Churchgate Train Station and Flora Fountain, the center of town. Around the fountain, tons of poor children and their parents were begging. I went down the street to Horniman Circle. I’ll give you a minute to appreciate that name. A Bollywood movie was being shot on-site. A huge crowd had gathered, watching the crew film a marching band. Huge mirrors reflected the light, and the wealthy crew yelled out to fix certain things. The cast, a bunch of old men in suits and well-dressed and made-up young women, sat behind near the trailers and generators chatting. I continued down past the High Court building, university with its high clock tower, and reached Oval Maidan, a huge open grass field, which was filled with cricket games. Mumbai is also the center of cricket in India. I watched some games for a while. Some guys were wearing white hats and suits, while others were dressed in normal acid-wash jeans just scrimmaging. I walked to Victoria Terminus, and underneath is a whole market, like Palika Bazaar in Delhi. I had lunch in the Fort Area, now very quiet because it’s Sunday. I stopped to peer into a Parsi Temple, which looked like a bunch of Amish people praying into a well. The Parsis are Zoroastrians who fled from their homes in Persia to Mumbai following the Muslim invasion. They have become fully integrated into mainstream society, however they keep some of their traditions. This includes the custom of leaving their dead outside for the vultures to eat them. However, the vulture population is in decline in Mumbai. The Parsis have been very successful in the business community of Mumbai. For example, the Tata clan are Parsi. Then I walked west and took a stroll for miles down to Chowpatty Beach along Marine Drive. The walk was nice, the weather comfortable. Mumbaikers were sitting along the boardwalk talking, while cars whizzed by. The views of the city and Back Bay were really good, and appear in every tourist publication of Mumbai. I saw more Mercedes cars on this road than I have the entire time I’ve been in India. At the end is Chowpatty Beach, the reclaimed beach where courting couples, hawkers, tourists, and picnickers go for some fresh air. Because it’s Sunday, the beach was filled. Stands selling foods were busy, and I got a quintessential Mumbai dish called bhelpuri, a mix of dry noodles, tomatoes, and garbanzo sauce. On the beach, kids played, people waded far out to the bay, people were talking or courting, and women were preparing fish and coconut. At the far end, the homeless were panhandling, and formed an ironic foreground against the corporate skyscrapers downtown, symbolizing Mumbai’s extreme economic disparities. I watched the sunset over Malabar Hill, and then took the train back to Churchgate at the southern tip of the island. On the way, a huge rat (probably a foot long and 10 pounds) scurried across my path. Did I mention I hate rats, and I hate this city equally. Luckily the train wasn’t busy, so I didn’t have to push, shove, or get pushed or shoved. I took a nap at the hotel before going out a little later. Apparently there is a sketchy club called Voodoo, which sounded fun. However, I couldn’t find it through the maze of dark alleys. On the way, I ran into a huge dark slum where people were everywhere, playing, talking, and watching me. I thought I was going to get mugged or beaten up. And to make matters worse, a creepy short guy with one eye and a raspy voice kept following me, asking me if I wanted a girl, hash, alcohol, or cocaine. I told him no, and he popped out of a corner and freaked me out. I briskly walked away, and then ran into a group of East Africans, who were yelling and pushing one another. Then I said enough, and walked home. Apparently the freaks come out at night...the freaks come out at night. On the way, I saw another huge rat run into the gutter. I was so relieved when I got into bed. By the way, I don’t think I mentioned it, but I HATE Mumbai.
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