FROM TUESDAY 19th Dec....6am Colaba awakens, the sound of sweeping then scrubbing outside my window, a soft cooing through the leafy courtyard, a cacophony of black crows cawing. A beat-up old tom cat hobbles down the street below. Gradually the soft mumbling of human voice, clinking aluminium cooking pots, a rickshaw rumbles through the back streets, the beep beep of a yellow-black taxi. The crows are hovering ready to snatch leftover toast from the balcony breakfast as we set out jet-lagged, adjusting to the humid heat.
Gate of India, enormous, grandiose, a vision of colonial might...in all it's glory silouetted against blue sky and ocean. Erected 1924 through which the last British regiment departed only 24 years later leaving an independant India. Today there are touts, hawkers, balloon sellers, begging children, tourists.My dear friend and travel companion Corinne, tall, blonde... a magnet! In moments we are surrounded. Me, chatty with the locals, susceptible to their yarns, although I should know better. We receive our blessing from the hindu priest, the ubiquitous piece of string round the wrist (oh no! this one's so thick it'll never fall off!) Yes 50 rupees please. Ma'm! Ma'm! milk powder for the baby, 150 rupees please. Sightseeing all mumbai Auntie, just looking! just looking! only 2000 rupees.
Escaping, we head up The Causeway towards Kala Ghoda, our first taste of Mumbai traffic... cars, buses, taxis hurtling at top speed, rickshaws, bikes, motorbikes weaving inbetween... pedestrians taking life-threatening leaps to cross the street! Dusty buildings loom round 'Regal Circle' and up Mahatma Gandhi road! Traffic exhaust tinges everything black from buildings to trees to traffic and people.
Leafy respite at last in Horniman Circle, leads to our first Gandhigiri opportunity!
"The Spastic Society of India" (refreshingly Un- PC name!) is having a bazaar. Beautiful items for a good cause, I buy two bags.The cashier, gazing at my freckles in fascination, returns too much change.... I hand her back the 50 Rupee note, she smiles embarrassed. We get invited to the inaugural show to see the kids perform and guided to the cushy front seats. Seemed like a good idea to rest our legs.
Ah.... but.... the endless gift giving ceremony, the speeches, the American consul general, I start to nod, applause, I jerk awake sitting bolt upright, mortified at the idea of nodding off in our honoured guest seats. More speeches, jet-lagged drooping eyes, nodding head, I lurch to the side. Then a prod from the 'spastic kid' behind. He's sharp! nobody else noticed! I glance pleadingly at Corinne and then the entrance... it's jam packed, no escape! We're here for the duration. I think of Gandhi who got away with 4 hours sleep a night, I pinch myself. Suddenly I'm rescued! Miss Bollywood Babe herself is onstage, her high pitched voice and the jangling music searing my ears and shaking my brain as she gyrrates to her latest hit, "Oh what a Babe!" Bollywood's answer to Janet Jackson and my answer to jet-lagg!
We make it through the whole program, the kids in wheel-chairs with dancing arms, the girls school choir with tinsel batons singing 'Silent Night' and 'little Xmas Tree'... and the tree herself with jingling ankle bells and flashing lights. A sense of guilty pleasure as the whole thing draws to a close, the Xmas tree sashays offstage with 'father christmas' loosing her beard and belly. Surely patience is a double virtue when you're jet-lagged and in desperate need of a nice cup of tea!!
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