Thursday, January 8, 2009
Mumbai's Vibrant Street Life
After finishing my Hindi lesson late yesterday afternoon, I decided to detour through a busy market area before making my way home. The market road—like nearly everything here—was under construction, but builders had kindly slapped down a narrow strip of new cement in the center, flanked by heaps of rocks and dirt on both sides. I headed down the plank-like walking path, bumping my way past women carrying fish in baskets on their heads, tailors ironing newly stitched clothing, men selling colorful-looking sweets, and children pasting fake tattoos of super heroes on the back of their hands.
It was at that moment that I was reminded of how much I love living here.
As night descends on the city, the streets awaken with vibrant chants and colorful cravings. Chai vendors head to the sidewalks with large tin serving canisters and bags of Dixie cups, selling the evening fuel for five rupees a swig (about a dime). Next door, food sellers of all sorts prepare made-to-order meals, including the one I had with black chick peas, tomatoes, onions, coriander, and lemon tossed together in my serving dish—a cone made of newspaper—and my one inch-by-one inch cardboard scooper that served as a utensil. Cost: 8 rupees. Rating: Delicious. Next, I headed across the road to the samosa vendor, ordered two, and sat on a stool next to him while I dunked my potato-and-pea-filled fry into a zingy green chutney.
Since I had barely spent 50 cents on my evening meal, I decided to make the requisite stop at the sweets counter. Like everything here, these meal cappers come in every color. I chose the bright orange one and enjoyed it as walked over to get a drink of coconut water. The coconut man had a cloth wrapped around his head, which looked similar to the skirt wrapped around his bottom portion. He grabbed one of the hard, green balls from the pile stacked around him and slashed into it with his machete-looking power tool--Voila! I popped in the straw and sucked the coconut dry of all its refreshing nutrients. Further down the road, Muslim men clad in white faced Mecca and prayed, all on the side of the street. Behind them, a woman knelt in a Hindu temple with her husband standing behind her.
In Mumbai, everything happens on the streets. At times, this can be trying, especially when that everything includes people and animals of all kinds doing their duty on the sidewalk. Lesson one: always walk with head down as to avoid poo of all varieties—that of stray dogs, birds, cows, humans, and more stray dogs. At the same time, keep head up as to avoid bumping into stray dogs, cows, humans, rickshaws, cars, busses, vendors, and more stray dogs.
I’ve mastered this technique of navigating the streets as much as possible (got attacked from the sky the other day when a bird let loose on my shoulder), and in doing so, have come to embrace the energy rocking the streets. Even with hop-scotch game of keeping shoes excrement-free, I find this city addicting, and I’m afraid to ever leave it behind.
It was at that moment that I was reminded of how much I love living here.
As night descends on the city, the streets awaken with vibrant chants and colorful cravings. Chai vendors head to the sidewalks with large tin serving canisters and bags of Dixie cups, selling the evening fuel for five rupees a swig (about a dime). Next door, food sellers of all sorts prepare made-to-order meals, including the one I had with black chick peas, tomatoes, onions, coriander, and lemon tossed together in my serving dish—a cone made of newspaper—and my one inch-by-one inch cardboard scooper that served as a utensil. Cost: 8 rupees. Rating: Delicious. Next, I headed across the road to the samosa vendor, ordered two, and sat on a stool next to him while I dunked my potato-and-pea-filled fry into a zingy green chutney.
Since I had barely spent 50 cents on my evening meal, I decided to make the requisite stop at the sweets counter. Like everything here, these meal cappers come in every color. I chose the bright orange one and enjoyed it as walked over to get a drink of coconut water. The coconut man had a cloth wrapped around his head, which looked similar to the skirt wrapped around his bottom portion. He grabbed one of the hard, green balls from the pile stacked around him and slashed into it with his machete-looking power tool--Voila! I popped in the straw and sucked the coconut dry of all its refreshing nutrients. Further down the road, Muslim men clad in white faced Mecca and prayed, all on the side of the street. Behind them, a woman knelt in a Hindu temple with her husband standing behind her.
In Mumbai, everything happens on the streets. At times, this can be trying, especially when that everything includes people and animals of all kinds doing their duty on the sidewalk. Lesson one: always walk with head down as to avoid poo of all varieties—that of stray dogs, birds, cows, humans, and more stray dogs. At the same time, keep head up as to avoid bumping into stray dogs, cows, humans, rickshaws, cars, busses, vendors, and more stray dogs.
I’ve mastered this technique of navigating the streets as much as possible (got attacked from the sky the other day when a bird let loose on my shoulder), and in doing so, have come to embrace the energy rocking the streets. Even with hop-scotch game of keeping shoes excrement-free, I find this city addicting, and I’m afraid to ever leave it behind.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Makeshift Movie Theater
Just before Christmas, I decided to surprise the boys with movie night on the beach. We popped Pixar's Madagascar into my laptop, rigged the cord and power outlet so it would charge through my American-voltage plug, and sat back to enjoy the film. The only thing between our little movie theater and the Arabian Sea was a wall full of cooking facilities, including two stainless steel pots, a pile of plates, a gas burner, tumeric, corriander, chilly powder, garlic powder, and a host of other spices.Amazingly, these boys cook for themselves, alternating days according to an elaborate schedule of duties that keeps the place running. Lately, however, many of them have been able to relax while Parwinder, a tall, thin older boy, has done the daily meal preparation as punishment for arriving late too often. I've observed Parwinder carrying out his sanctioned chores, and from the humming and smiling, I'm beginning to think he couldn't have asked for a more enjoyable punishment.
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
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