Two things I really love: driving and New England autumn. And now that September has arrived and I’ve heard that fall is in the Connecticut air, I’m beginning to miss jumping in my trusty 1994 Volvo and heading up to the West Hartford Reservoir for a run under a canopy of colorful leaves. It just doesn’t feel like September in 85-degree heat with palm trees lining the roads. Nevertheless, it’s 85 degrees and palm trees are lining the roads, so I’m not really complaining. And from what I’ve been told, now that monsoon season has ended, the heat is here to stay. 
So while I’m sweating it out in September, without a car or the New England fall, I’ve been enjoying exploring Mumbai via some different forms of transport. The ubiquitous rickshaw, as I’ve mentioned before, has to be one of the most fascinating parts of life here. These three-wheeled, handle-bar controlled, black and yellow roadsters are anywhere and everywhere, congesting the already overcrowded streets. The rickshaw driver is aggressive and bold, taking no mind of going the wrong way down a one-way or pulling out in front of a bus without even thinking twice. Crossing an intersection (traffic signals are almost non-existent) is an exercise that should be cautioned to blood-pressure patients. All who usually want to cross—from all four, sometimes six, directions—usually converge in a tangled mess in the middle of the road, but miraculously, after a lot of honking and untwisting, each scurries off in the intended direction unscathed. At first, getting in the rickshaw alone, or even accompanied, caused great anxiety. Not only did the ride seem dangerous, but it seemed impossible to know the labyrinth of roads in Mumbai. However, as I write this, I’ve been in India for seven weeks today, and somehow, I feel like some of my most treasured moments are in the backseat of a rickshaw. Unlike the train, where you have to push and shove your way on and off, in the rick, I can have my space and take in the sights and sounds of Mumbai. I admire the unflinching confidence the rickshaw drivers have on the roads, and even their daring moves and hail mary turns. Their judgment is keen, and knowing this, I’ve done away with holding on for dear life, and usually sit back and relax, enjoying the functioning chaos that is Mumbai.
Check back soon for survival stories from the local train!
It seemed like half the world’s population was gathered on Chowpatty Beach a couple Sundays ago for the final day of the Ganpati festival. After 10 days of being worshipped, Ganesh statues of all shapes and sizes were brought to be sent out to sea. For 10 days in September, Mumbai nearly comes to a halt while the city celebrates its affection for the elephant god, Ganesh. The festival starts with the bringing of Ganesh into the home or in the public worship spot, where for 1.5, 3, 7, or 10 days the god is offered fruits and sweets of gratitude. En route to immersion, huge groups of family and friends carry the Ganesh—or sometimes it is so big it needs to be loaded onto a truck—towards the sea, sometimes for miles. With red-painted bodies, the celebrants dance in the streets, singing and banging on drums the whole way.
