As we first descended over Mumbai, all we could see down below were numerous blue hills. Someone quickly pointed out to me that what we were seeing were actually the slums on the outskirts of the city. And man, they were huge! Not just regular huge but HUGE, in full caps! Before my unbelieving eyes the blue hills slipped by beneath us and the bold Mumbai skyline came into view. The transition was phenomenal!
I was alone in a strange, new city. As my first week in Mumbai passed in a flurry of filling application forms, clearing advance dues and settling into the hostel, I became more and more aware of how much my little knowledge of Hindi was helping me. I could at least read banners and other notices in public places, thereby saving me a lot of energy and perhaps some amount of embarrassment too.
The first discomfort I faced was the food, which was way too spicy for my more delicate digestive system, and which eventually led to my being hospitalised for three days. It's a good thing I'm slowly getting used to it. Everything else was not too shabby, at least after some adjustments were made. And there I was, standing nervously on the threshold of a new chapter in my life. Later I would discover just how difficult life was going to be from that moment on. For now I was just a little too hazy and wobbly.
Amidst all the many exciting new flavours of experiences life was now bringing me, I remember one very particularly. And for a very good reason too. It was truly a night to test my courage and survival skills.
I was a thrilled eighteen year old, and the reason for my thrill was that I was finally visiting home for my first summer holiday. The airport is a good two hours by train from my hostel--and I can't even begin to describe the conditions of the local trains here in Mumbai carrying five times their capacity during peak hours--and my flight was due early the next morning, so I wisely decided to spend the vigil night at my friend's, who by the way was to be my travel companion and also whose place was just 10 measly minutes from said airport. Well, why not? That seemed a good enough reason. Now for my ordeal following that decision.
Having made up my unsuspecting mind, I immediately dragged my suitcase (which, by the way, had been packed a good two weeks beforehand) to the nearest train station, which in my case was just across the road. "Endure one hour today and breeze through tomorrow," I told myself through clenched teeth as I stepped into the end-position of the quarter-mile long queue at the ticket counter, which, to my immediate irritation and impatience, was currently vying for the "world's slowest moving queue" title. I grudgingly participated.
After waiting for nearly as long as the duration of the dreaded journey itself that awaited me, I was finally at the counter. So much for forgiveness and tolerance, I calmly took my bitter-sweet time getting my ticket. I deliberately incoherent-iated the name of my stop when asked. It was perfectly understandable (provided the ticket-man remained in the dark about my now almost impeccable Hindi) because I was just an unsuspecting tourist struggling for the hair on his head trying to wrap his tongue around the slippery slopes of the local tongue. The station's name was Andheri(Ahn-dhay-ree) by the way, but which I persistently re-christened "And-the-rye". After enjoying the drama for about 10 minutes and ultimately getting tired of it, I hopped to the platform to await my train.
Fifteen minutes of patient waiting later, someone informed a clueless me that the Andheri platform was at the other end of the station. I prayed to God my recent "deed" had not caught up with me yet and hurried into the churning crowd to escape its presence if it indeed had.
A mighty wave of crushing human bodies carried me and my suitcase into a compartment where I stood packed in a Mumbai sub-urban train human-pie until another wave washed me out at my stop. I mused that if ever I had to go through a time-portal, the experience would not be too unfamiliar to me. Jump in; get crushed; escape out at the other end. Phew!
It was raining when I arrived. Not to worry. I nonchalantly fished out my umbrella from my bag and sauntered down the corridor-like platform and out the exit. I stood there for a good twenty minutes before I realised that something was totally wrong. Upon enquiry, I learned that the taxi union had called for a hike that day to protest against fares and the ever-rising fuel costs. This was turning into an ugly situation. It was late night now and I had not the slightest idea which way to go next. Or what to do.
I checked my cellphone and my fears came alive as the "No Network Coverage" message flashed across the display in almost taunting bold letters. The in-built GPS had no signal either and the internal Maps were no help either as I couldn't make out my current position. I felt some neurons snap inside my overheated brain and burst out laughing in the pouring rain, looking like a total lunatic.
I did some direction-asking and returned more confused than ever as the instructions couldn't have been more conflicting from source to source. I shrugged it all away and took a leap of faith down the street. I felt I had never been more courageous.
Five minutes into my determined stroll, I was dripping wet from head to toe, walking down the deserted street like the dead man dragging his coffin from that good ol' ghost story someone absolutely terrified me with as a kid. My oversized suitcase was water-proof by the way. I braved through twenty more minutes before a miracle manifested before my eyes. A lone taxi stood parked at the side of the road. I tensed immediately. Robbers? Murderers? A serial-killer waiting for his next victim? A scene from "Zodiac" flashed before my eyes.
I slowed down and carefully circumvented the next-morning paper's front-page news. I wasn't taking any chances. I heard someone yell behind me as I passed the taxi. Pretending not to have heard, I quickened my steps, only to hear a pair of footsteps splashing through the street towards me. My heart nearly exploded. I turned around and faced the driver, an old Muslim man. He didn't look dangerous in any way, and I could tell that he definitely didn't fit into any of the categories I had listed earlier. He told me that he'd be willing to drop me to my destination. I agreed and followed, because I trusted him to be a good man. But mostly because I could also tell that I was quite capable of "handling" him if I had to.
Once seated in the warmth of the back-seat, he informed me that he was taking a huge risk in going against the union's directives by plying today. I could tell he had something really serious to tell me by the look on his face. He leaned closer and told me that he'd be charging 10 times the rate. I heaved a huge sigh of relief and smiled. He smiled back, relieved too, and I told him where to go. As we drove down the street, the events of the night began to fade from my mind like nothing more than just a horrible nightmare. There was nothing to worry about now.
My smile broke into a beam as I gleefully realised that I had been walking in the right direction afterall!
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