On the third day in this country, i have already been wholeheartedly infected by the energy, charisma and all-consuming vibe that Mumbai exudes.  While the air may be thick with a heat that 2 European years have not weathered me for, there is a certainty in my mind, that more do i feel this city’s buzz than anything else.  The noises and the movement are a giant mass of colour and invigorating sound:  darting bikes and endlessly honking cars, rushing people in crowded streets, with wandering animals, loitering around markets filled with people and all manner of trinkets, adornments, goods, foods, toys, instruments and anything more.

I can easily see how one might visit this city, and be compelled to stay a while.  Its like a good friend, that you look forward to seeing, that you can always be sure will lift your spirits, make you laugh and gasp and sigh in awe, make you feel, energise you, stimulate you, make you wonder, make you wander, help you explore and make you feel alive.

We head South from the hustle and bustle tomorrow, perhaps not so willing to leave, but having a decision dictated to us by time constraints, budgetry restrictions and the lure of the contrasting serenity to come.  . .

coming soon will be some excerpts from the bulk of my writing.  as soon as i have scans, i hope to post some handwritten pieces.

Here’s something for now…

I want genuine experiences, and one thing that felt genuine in Mumbai was the tastes.  – Indian food is almost stupidly common outside of India.  Some fascination with the unknown, inherent in human nature, causes us to always seek the other side’s greener grass, or wonder if we’re missing out – or simply just want to enlighten, educate and empower ourselves with some other, greater, different experience.  Who am i to argue with that?

Now that im having one of these experiences, i am taken by its acuteness in my mouth (amongst so many other acute acute feelings).  – In years gone by with (what i might even say) vast experiences with food “from the subcontinent”, im sure i have been privy to a wide range of Jalfrezis, Tandooris, Biryanis, Kashmiris and so on.  Sampling many similar dishes in their country of origin however, i cannot deny the somewhat subtle, but perfectly noticable differences in flavour i have experienced…

Full credit must go to their concoctors.  Perhaps its the inherent odour emanating from their kitchens?  Perhaps its some strange residue left on the dishes these said meals have been served upon? … Perhaps its the atmosphere in my mouth?  -  All of the above beside (and not to take any of these notable positive qualities away) there is obviously something within the heart and the mind of each style of cooking, each person and each nation, that makes these true experiences undeniably unique and relevant to the place of their origin, their conception, and their birth.

For this reason, i doubt i will ever loose the urge to stop exploring the planet of my life.  -  This reason and many more…

- Mumbai Central -

As Colaba is intense, Mumbai Central is far more deserving of a word that eclipses “intense” into a cave of serenity. – At least … Emanating from the old Victoria station (now named Chhatrapatti Shivaji Terminus) what is officially Asia’s busiest train station, gives rise to a literal tidal wave of people, both inside, outside and in its surrounding areas.  Locals and out of towners, wander, rush and weave their way to and from the strange, giant building of Gothic, Colonial and Muslim ilk, that encompasses CST’s platforms and reservations desks.  On the street immediately outside, the currents of taxis and commuters pour in every direction, horns blaring from vehicles in an unending tirade of this city’s most universal and unique language.  Marketers with little more than the stock that they sell, yell out their offerings, standing atop piles of shirts and jeans and shoes and pants, wildly gesticulating, thrusting, pointing, shouting and bending, each moment circus-like, in a scene of surreal intensity and competition for traveller business – of the local, farther and foreign kind.  The futile signs promoting quieter cities and suggesting “no” to horns, seem like a token gesture, ill conceived when atmosphere is clearly what this extraordinary area is all about.  – It really can only be seen (and heard) to be believed.  Carried away like a tiny fish in a massive school of darting mass, men pushing carts, lane upon lane of almost indeterminate traffic and pedestrians walking every which way amongst the blaring sounds, and you’re further along the road and well past the end of the imposing old Victoria, swallowed by the atmosphere, as you approach Mumbai Central’s bazaars.  The noise merely crescendos until you are left standing in awe, the energy and activity an unforgettable and unmatchable feeling.

You get the feeling that the inhabitants around here are fully aware that you might be shocked (we dont see a single tourist all day) and many welcome you with smiles, nods, the ubiquitous head-wobble and freezes for photos looking into their lives.

One small lapse in concentration, and it seems you’ll be mown down by a virtual wall of oncoming something; but for all the chaos and clamour, ive yet to see a near miss, or a close call or any kind of reaction of distress from a moment of discomfort.

-  Everyone seems to understand each other.  Everyone knows that they’re all competing and living and breathing to get somewhere, and do something.  Amongst all the chaos and hubbub, it flows.  When the markets are full, they’ll occupy the street, when the streets are full, they’ll encroach onto the road.  Buses overflow with people, clinging on to jerky rides, taxis house too many pairs of eyes, peering out from tiny cabins.  Everyone is going.  No-one stops.  – Only those taking a moment to pause and absorb the infinite activity of the giant that is their home…

The other side to the side we’ve seen so far

Beginning an Indian initiation in Mumbai (as many would) might easily convince you that this country is one revolving around noise and crowd, and the rush and pace associated with it.  Even more so, it may push  India’s spirituality into the corner of your mind.

As the days pass however, i am coming closer and closer and more and more in contact with the peace, tranquility, spirituality and simplicity that no doubt truly defines life in much – if not all – of the subcontinent.

Elephanta Caves

Off the coast of perpetually buzzing Mumbai, Elephanta Island couldnt seem more detatched from its mainland neighbour.  With a population of around 1500 people, satisfied in living from the land, a small tourist trade and supplies obviously shipping in from Mumbai, it seems a place where its inhabitants are more than happy with the quiet and simple life they live.

Most who come to visit the island (as we did) are attracted by the thousand year old caves dug into the island’s rising hills.  The spectacle of these dwellings from a bygone era, precise in their construct – albeit made with the most simple of tools – as well as intricate and detailed depictions of the religious stories they followed and shared, is nothing short of astounding.

Shrines to their gods and godesses echo the quiet noise of higher realms, and free of chatter and the shuffle of other visitors, a peaceful contemplation is almost unavoidable.

A truly magical and awe-inspiring place, where the value and profoundity of a people’s religious beliefs are made tangible and clear, where their art speaks of an era when art existed to worship and adore, to give thanks and sacrifice, to empower, communicate and cherish and to speak to the soul or the heart or the mind or the body of the person who may experience it.  It was a place where one would (should) be moved to think, at the very least…

Goa

“This is not India” remarked a jeweller to us, in his store down near the beach at Arambol in the state’s north.  – Still only slightly developed, the north of Goa welcomes a massive hippie community with open (albeit shaky and skinny) arms (or arm, should one be holding a joint).  “Relaxed” would imply that the locals here were capable of any other state of being, though floating on some whimsical breeze of the lost and the wandering would seem more apt.  Its a funny mix of the stange and the seeking, of the lost and the adventurers, of tourists looking to experience this still unique part of the country (ourselves) – unique for its certain ability to stand alone from anywhere else in India.  – It definitely is a place to sit and enjoy the sun and listen to the ebb and flow of the ocean… One gets the feeling though, that so many people here are caught in a delusion that convinces them that they’ve found their sanctuary, that they’re climbing the path to a higher more fulfilled spirituality, that they are sharing a oneness with their mother earth – and even though they are still surrounded in garbage, and there are no means to avoid polluting the earth, and even though everyone just drops litter where the please and all India might wonder where the Indian went, they are rooted here, in their India that is not India.  Slowly drifting .. Like a leaf gently floating on a stream, away from the tree to which it once grasped…  Hopeless to know where its going, but happy in its journey…

Palolem

ought to be the shape of things to come

Beachside, developed but relaxed and clean.  The only recent demolition of unlicensed businesses in what used to be an overcrowded messiness, seems to have turned a positive change for the area.

The water is cleaner, the majority of the huts and other accommodation remaining is modern, colourful, well planned and well made.

It seems that, owing to this, there is a general good vibe and sense of community permeating everything.

The remaining businesses are proud of their staying, and all that comes with this pride is forthcoming.

Happily impressed…

With being by the beach comes the feeling im at ease,

that i can relax with the world,

and do as i please.

But the thought of the city, seems never far from my mind,

with enveloping energy, of a less subtle kind.

If my home always lacked a buzz, or some pace,

if on some occasions, no sudden challenge id face,

id lust for the thrill of not having a choice,

and perhaps become tired of my mind’s solitary voice?

In these times, nonetheless, i cannot discount my contemplation,

just as certainly, the city’s stimulation,

so as long as i can, ill try and balance the two,

as it seems those among us who are lucky, might do!

A Welcoming Canvas

Thick haze of humidity chokes the air,

the tide recedes from its evening’s high,

dogs curl in sleep in small patches of shade,

hiding from the coming heat.

Restaurants and deck-chairs, just slowly fill,

the eager and some vain, swim and seek the sun now,

the early birds stride touristwards, with outstretched hands (and pleading eyes)

trying to catch the worm.

Boats putter in from a morning’s trip,

newspapers flick, heads look up into a still bare scene,

a different kind of peace before the day really comes,

morning in Palolem.

All of a sudden, half of our time has slipped through our fingers, and the often advised go with the flow given, whilst travelling in India, has turned into a flow mimicking the beaches that have stolen our time; with their ebb and flow and in and out and rise and fall, that never carries anything too far away.  Halted into a lull.  Lulled into a halt.  A gentle, deceptive rocking of time’s silent, invisible hand, and he has snuck slightly away from us.

In some ways, this oversight will only prelude a return.  In another, it will weigh on our minds for the rest that is to come, quickening our step, perhaps exciting us more? …

Its a shame to have to rush though, but taking our time (and losing it as well) has been thoroughly enjoyable, and not without a healthy share of unique moments, memories and experiences.

- The explosive, awe-inspiring, overwhelming buzz of Mumbai, its surrounds and the time-capsule-esque Elephanta caves; that train station and train down to Goa.  Centuries of history in Panaji and Old Goa and, now.  With all the little glimpses into such foreign, alien lives and existences, intermingled with each of these points in our (skewed) adventure so far…

(to be continued)

Out of Goa and back in India

Leaving the rhythm of the beach behind, a sometimes precarious over-night bus brings us to the serene Hampi, and we’re now in Karnataka state.

Unsurprisingly, the state of westernisation and development here is much less than before – so much so that just outside of Hampi in Hospet, people stroll, and some ride carts pulled by oxen, all amongst mountainous piles of discarded rubbish.  In many places, the waste dwarfs the bushes nearby (which, i might add, are on top of the ditches and trenches the rubbish sits in) and i am left at a loss to understand where they missed the part that such environmental disprespect was bad for their home? (more on this later) – Its probably just as much a sign of their struggle to keep up with capitalism, growth and consumption…

Needless to say, Hampi – a town revolving around ancient ruins, temples and religion – isnt trying too hard to keep up with modern times.  Accommodations are quaint at best, and most locals sell hand-made or hand-grown goods, dressed in traditional dress.  Its hub is one short, dusty main street with the 16th century Virupaksha temple bearing down at one end, and a nook, cranny, cow, guesthouse,  laundry, child, bike, mud, animal-excrement, tout and shop-filled bazaar, attempting to sprawl outwards from behind the main road.  As unmanageably dirty and uncomfortable as this picture may seem, this is India, and this is why im here.  This too, is life for the people here, and with this perspective and the undeniable peace and tranquility impregnating the air, its pleasant, to say the least.  A place to relax.  It feels like im unwinding (even though i couldnt possibly need it!).  With such little time left, it will be hard to move hastily in a town that says “take your time” …

Hampi

The years of intrigue and imagination that have culminated in the decision to bring me to this country, manifested before my eyes today.  – Years of ancient history and the remmnants of past civilisation – so far from what ive always known – was the order of the day, intermixed with the intense stares of a local people who too were witnessing something “so far from what they’ve always known”. Its almost surreal to see this city – especially from its outskirts:  It resembles a giant quarry, (commissioned by artists) with boulders of all sizes – from gigantic and monolithic, to footballish or goat or cow-like – leaning, balancing, piling and pressing against each other, in weird and infinite formations and scatterings of groups, all somehow formed over thousands of years of erosion.  As we cycled further away from Hampi proper, looking back towards it, with the towers of imposing boulders around, it almost resembled some kind of mirage-like abberation of a city..

We came into contact closely with India today – the ancient Vijayanagar civilisation, and their former “royal centre” where their civilisation once emmanated from, as well as some local children who were so fascinated and excited by our cameras, that they were literally climbing over each other and pushing each other out of the way, in order to strike poses for our lenses.

Religion and history, culture and people, did this city heavily and profoundly gift us with today.  One gift that will surely remain in my mind – just as i will always seek and be grateful for more of the same, amazing, uplifting experiences..

Mysore

And then we were shaken into our next adventure.  Literally.  An overnight bus from Hospet to Bengalaru, heralded our departure from the serenity and peace of Hampi.  Almost as though we were being shocked back into transit, the bus journey out, itself, was a memorable, comical experience.  As though we were driving across the craten-laden surface of the moon, we plumetted through the night like a jackhammer, bouncing and smashing and airing the bus and its passengers along the road, our wheels slowly becoming squares.  We were still laughing about it hours and hours after it had happened, then on a bus from Bangalore to here, in Mysore.

Throughout our journey, we’ve been decidedly cautious and sceptical about taking offers from rickshaw drivers to be shown around.  Today for some reason (aside from the stupidly cheap fare) our sense of adventure was engaged, and our reason for this being, soon became beautifully apparent.  After around 2 hours of being amazed by the stunning, excessive, awesome, exotic, ornate, historical, opulent, evocative Maharaja’s palace that puts this city on the map, our rickshaw driver took us along for a ride.  Literally.  – Ducking in and our and around the tiny, littered, crumbling, buzzing streets of Mysore’s old town, some “magical driving” (so proclaimed by our driver, who was sure of our amazement at his skill to drive so close and so nimbly to everyone who was driving and darting so close and so nimbly to everyone else) and local knowledge had us touring beadie factories and incense houses, and meeting the characters and faces who called these facets of India their life.

The beadie factory was a peaceful hive of activity, with gentle but direct men who looked like they’d been doing so for decades, rolling cigarettes in a cool concrete room that already had the overtones of the black and white photographs i would take.  Wisps of smoke danced into the air, as some sampled their work, all of them endlessly shuffling their hands, rolling, tying, packing, then tying again, bundles upon bundles of this natural cigarette that is somewhat of an Indian staple.  Young and curious boys watched the old men, taking everything in, cleaning up scraps and teacups, almost fussing over the quietly rolling machine.  It was a harmonious operation, to say the least – a harmoney undoubtedly influenced the the necessity of the succint and mechanic way of their work, in support of their production’s and hence, their own best interest…

The more you see India, the more it seems that everyone knows this is the best way for this seething country to run.  – Or is it just the frantic pace of everyone trying to keep up, or risk getting left behind?

(more on this to come)

Incense houses (or just one) were next, and this unexpected journey gave me the affirmation i needed for letting adventure have its way:  Whisked into a backstreet, yardside operation, we were guided through the whole gamut of scents and applications applying to the sumptuous fragrances being produced for this factory.

Our Hindu host – seating us and offering samples and demonstrations or lotus, sandal, jasmine, jacaranda, orange oil and more – not unlike a scientist as we watched and listened, he in his long white tunic, us slowly being consumed and moved by their world.  When conversation had moved between topics and different levels of engagement, and we’d shared a joint of delicious Manali hash, the feeling of a true and poigniant experience, finally became acute.

I was left with the feeling that id just had a typical day, with a typical Mysore local.

Im still left with the wholesome, genuine feeling that accompanies my gratitude for being shown this side of this country, with such normalcy and easy.  Simply enough though, because for them, this is just life…

Two train rides later, and the vast difference of Kerala state is distinctly apparent, as the pace settles down once more, and the air is less thick with smog and noise.

Travelling with Indians on the trains (as opposed to the tourists) is a much different experience – not surprisingly.  Aside from having less comfortable sleeping spaces (much of a muchness for one who doesnt value or need sleep so much) you are able to tune in further to the way they think and feel.

– The vendors endlessly pacing the train offering Indian snacks and refreshments (sometimes – oftentimes – in amusing or amusingly monotonous and always repetitive and original strains) are encouraged by their fellow country men and women.  Some kind of pack mentality makes everyone (and us) join in the purchasing.  I wasnt always sure what i was eating.  Friendly head wobbles and streams of inquiring eyes and curious questions are plentiful – maybe they’re trying to lessen the discomfort they might imagine we’re in.

One thing that you surely wont see in the tourist quarters, are the beggars.  More so, you wont see tourists forking out coins for every single one that asks.  The more i saw of it, the more it seemed that they’re acknowledged for their existence, and the only choice they have to live in a country where there are thousands and millions of people who will be given a job before or instead of you – especially if you happen to be legless, armless, disabled or so grotesquely and horrifically disfigured, thats its hard to look at you.  Whether they could afford it or not, wasnt an issue – India is a gigantic machine, and everyone helps each other function within it, perhaps with the hope and intention of mutual benefit for all.

Kerala (coming soon)