Mumbai, India 8/8/07

Mumbai, India 8/8/07
-Chowbatty Beach-

It's about 9 p.m. and I've come to the place that the Lonely Planet says is the "favorite evening spot for courting couples, families, political rallies, and anyone out to enjoy what passes for fresh air." I fall into the last category.

This is the end of my third full day here, home of the Brits Gateway To India, and a fitting start to my wandering in this country. I have been cautious not to be to quick to form an opinion of this place, city or country. After all it's a big place and I've barely scratched the surface in 3 days. India's population is 1 billion plus, which is more than 3 times the United States and about 1/6 of the entire world population. The City of Mumbai (formerly Bombay) alone is home to around 15 million which is around twice as much as New York City. I know I won't even scratch the surface of this country in my 3 weeks here and I hate generalizations in all cases so I'll try to just state my observations.


Of course usually when you withhold an opinion it's because you are giving it a chance to improve rather than decline and that would be the case here. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad I'm here. It truly is an experience that I will never forget and I'll emerge a better person for doing it. I feel like this is true traveling, not touring, which is what I preach, and keep reminding myself lately as I try to find breathable air.

In an effort to change this somber tone I will definitely say it's not Mumbai's fault...it's mine. By nature I like order. I'm methodical and organized. Mumbai in contrast is organized chaos; swarm theory in practice. Everyone going to, coming from, selling, or buying, as individuals that all seem to flow together. Note I didn't say "cleaning" in that sentence. Few people are actually doing that it seems.

In my 3 days here I have covered some ground by foot, car, and rail and I have yet to see an area that I would not describe as squalor. I have always heard that India was a land of extreme wealth and poverty but so far I've only seen the poverty. Inside the restaurants, hotels, cafes, etc. you are surrounded by what you would describe as middle class citizens but when you step outside the door...it's back into squalor. I think it's the opposite of the States. There the poor are mostly found in the poor parts of town. Here, it seems the poor are the majority. You operate in there world, not the other way around.

I could fill this book with details of sad images I have already seen, and again I know I have only scratched the surface. Things that we Americans just would not stand for if we saw it on our own streets. For example you don't step over a 2 year old sleeping on a sidewalk in a major city and just keep walking. Here I've stepped over entire young families. It makes me sad and we shouldn't stand for it on any street in the world. I'll get back to my changing the world rhetoric another time though.

My jet lag has been interesting. I thought I was on a good schedule leaving Singapore but then flight delays into Mumbai cost me a nights sleep and now I'm playing catch up again. As a result I've been up before the dawn each day, which I don't really mind. The chaos doesn't seem to start until around 6:30 a.m.

One morning as the sky was turning from black to gray, signaling another sunrise on a rainy, overcast day in the monsoon season here, I ventured down to Sasoon Dock to watch the fishermen unload. It was probably around 5:30 a.m. and nothing was open on my 15 minute trek to the dock. The people that would eventually be trying to sell me something, the cabies that would eventually be honking like crazy, and even the poor families and kids that would soon be begging for my money and food were all still asleep. I literally passed them all where they lay on the sidewalks, doorways, stalls, and cabs they call their homes.

The humidity level had not risen to 96% yet and there was a nice breeze. I chuckled to myself when I thought "What a beautiful morning." and then took a visual note of the actual decrepit conditions that surrounded me.

When I reached the dock I was instantly amazed. It felt like I had stepped into the pages of one of my Dad's National Geographics only there was now more sensory input, most notably, smell; a mixture of raw seafood, salt air, and diesel. The marina was packed with worn out, but still colorful, old fishing boats. I guess you would call the area a marina but there weren't any boat slips. All the boats were just tied to each other. They looked like they had been collected by the current as they, again chaotically, bumped together and more boats pushed their way through the narrow channel into the enclosure.

On the dock was a flurry of activity; men and women yelling things and sorting things, guys pushing huge carts with various heavy items like ice or barrels of fuel. The women had large baskets. How they carried them varied, some in their arms for just a short walk to an awaiting truck, others with them balanced on their heads preparing for a longer walk.

I was the only tourist there and while I got a hundred looks it was just curiosity. Nobody said a word to me expect for a couple passing smiles and a "Hello boss!" Nobody tried to sell me anything and even the guards stationed under the "no trespassing" sign and "no photography" sign didn't feel like they needed to tell me anything.

After moving past the actual dock where the boats unload I found myself on the backside of the marina where the boats and crew wrapped things up. A few guys were cleaning decks on the boats but most were cleaning themselves. I tried not to take note of what culturally for me is private but you couldn't help see it all. I thought one guy was getting ready to roll back into the water off the edge of a boat until I unfortunately realized he was just using the perch for his morning constitutional.

Aside from shocks like this, my trip to the dock that morning was an amazing experience. A true traveller moment where I felt like I was really at a particular place in the world. It's hard to describe it in words but I hope I'll at least remember the feeling.

I have also had more "normal" sight seeing experiences here in Mumbai. I checked out the actual Gateway to India monument which is just a few blocks from my hotel, Bentleys. I wandered around the Fort and Churchgate sections of town and strolled past the High Court and Mumbai University. The Oval Maiden, a large park, was mostly mud so there were not any cricket matches going on but I could imagine it would be a popular spot after the rainy season.

I was inspired by my visit to Mani Bhaven which was the residence of Mohandas Gandhi when he lived, and worked, in Bombay. This is the site where he launched the Satyagraha movement in India and basically changed his country forever. The house is now a museum and office for a foundation.

I have read a lot about Gandhi including his autobiography "My Experiments With Truth" and he has always impressed me. Many of his doctrines and quotes are my favorite reminders for how I want to live. I found some new "favorites" in his former house that I will need to commit to memory. One of his statements about machines summed up nicely my thoughts on escalators.

"The supreme consideration is man.

The machine should not tend to make atrophied the limbs of man."

Mohandis Gandhi

I saw a letter there from him to FDR where he mentions his love of Thoreau and Emerson. This brought a smile to my face; a little validation from a hero of mine that I'll never meet. I also read the most fitting tribute I have ever seen to him, written by Albert Einstein. It's no wonder I suppose that he wrote it. I hear that guy was pretty smart.

"The admiration for Mahatma Gandhi in all countries of the world rests on recognition, mostly sub-conscious, of the fact that in our time of utter moral decadence, he was the only statesman to stand for a higher level of human relationship in a political sphere. This level we must, with all our forces, attempt to reach. We must learn the difficult lesson that an endurable future of humanity will be possible only if, also in international relations, decisions are based on law and justice and not on self-righteous power,

as they have been up to now. "

excerpt from Albert Einstein's tribute to Gandhi as posted at Mandi Bhavan.

I'll wrap up this entry with a fun story. Mumbai is also home to India's Bollywood. Like the U.S.'s Hollywood, it's the center of India's movie making industry. In fact I read that Bollywood cranks out more movies each year than Hollywood. However in my opinion they seem to have sacrificed quality for quantity.

While I was walking down the Coloba Causeway, a main tourist thoroughfare, in the chaos of being asked to buy a dozen things, one guy started walking with me and said "Would you like to be an extra in a Bollywood movie?"

It took a second to register what he had said but then I recalled a section in the Lonely Planet that referred to just this. Apparently at certain times the movie folks need a lot of Caucasians, or just non-Indian, extras. For example, to shoot a scene that takes place in a London Club, instead of shooting in expensive London they just fill an Indian club, or set, with people that could pass for Londoners.

The guy offered me 500 rupees for the day, gave me his card, and told me where to be at 7:30 a.m. the next day if I wanted to do it. I asked him "How do I know you are legit?"

He replied "There will be a bus load of people here in the morning that look just like you. If you don't feel safe you don't have to come."

So much for being discovered I thought to myself, but it sounded like a safe plan and an unusual adventure. I figured the chances of an entire bus load of Westerners going missing was slim so at 7:30 a.m. the next day I set off with about 25 other Backpackers to make our India film debut.

I was expecting to find a movie studio lot similar to what I've seen on T.V. in California, basically a large area with various large warehouses. I also figured it would be outside of Mumbai and would give me a chance to see more of the city and maybe some of the less blighted areas. I was wrong on all assumptions other than the location being outside of town.

It was about a 90 minute bus ride to the set and as I stared out the window during the ride I never saw an area that looked like an improvement from the area I was staying. If anything, Coloba was looking better and better.

The movie production was just like the rest of what I've seen in Mumbai, chaos. The lot was a collection of dilapidated shacks, buildings, trailers, and warehouses. I followed some other people from my bus into a room that looked like a small Good Will thrift store. There a guy glanced me up and down and then handed me a black pin striped suit. No instructions. No explanation. As I moved along to make way for more people coming in I realized this day was going to be about following along and figuring it out as you go.

I put my suit on and figured as long as I didn't take any deep breaths, high steps, or sudden twists it was a good fit. So much for doing any action scenes that day. I guessed they were only shooting from the knee's up also because the thrift store, uhhh, I mean Wardrobe Department, didn't worry about my shoes. So with my "new" suit and Teva sandals on I was ready to become a star. I wandered around the studio, which looked more and more like a condemned building, for a little while until a guy pointed me to set #4. There I found the rest of my Caucasian bus friends and a set that looked like a bar. A bar decorated by a prom committee but a bar none the less.

Bollywood movies are almost always musicals of some sort. They love a good choreographed dance routine. My movie looked to be no different and dance routines were all they were shooting on my day, little dance routines in sections of the "bar". There was probably about 100 of us extras there and we mostly just sat around and talked. I met people from the UK, US, South Africa, Australia, and Denmark. I was the only one just starting out in India while the rest were just wrapping up so I got a lot of good travel tips.

Occasionally a member of the shooting crew would point at me and direct me to stand somewhere. That was the extent of my directions. No instruction to look at something or not look at something. I was not told to smile, or even stop talking. There was no discussion of what my motivation was or what my character was feeling in that particular scene. Hell, even when I stood where they told me to I don't think I was even in the shot half the time. Nobody yelled "action" or "cut". I would just stand where I was told and talk to whoever was around me until they started moving the lights and camera around. This was my only clue that my "scene" was over and I could go find a place to sit down again.

This went on for about 4 hours until there was a break and I followed the swarm of extras to another room where they fed us. I was sitting on the floor with a guy from Australia and two girls from Scotland when I got word of an escape plan. It seems I wasn't the only one a little disappointed with my break into the cinema. I wasn't having a bad time...I was just bored. The thought of another 6 hours there was not appealing and the rumor going around the set from the extras that had been there before was that the day would last easily until 9 p.m. or later. Luckily one of the extras I knew actually knew the area that we were located. She explained that if we didn't mind getting wet in the monsoon outside it wasn't to far to the local train station. From there she could help us navigate the proper trains back to our respective homes.

We all quickly changed out of our costumes and returned them to the wardrobe room. The guy there looked a little confused at the early return. It was about 1 p.m. and we had agreed to stay until at least 6 p.m., a point that was then reminded to me, as we bolted out into the rain, by a staff member trying to thwart our escape. "Where are you going? You can't leave?" he kept saying to me.

I felt a little bad for breaking the verbal agreement but just smiled and kept walking and eventually made it to the gate of the lot, into a tuk tuk, and to freedom. My early departure meant I didn't get my 500 rupees (less than $10) . I'm pretty sure I won't get credit towards my SAG card either but it saved me from a very boring afternoon in an uncomfortable suit. Plus I got another great experience; navigating the local trains back to Coloba. My box car hopping past was good practice.

Of course I am still glad I did it. What a fun experience and a great story. I'm sure I'll make more than 500 rupees when I sell my first screenplay "Escape From Bollywood!" to an American studio.

MJF