025 Mumbai - Selected Moments

Just a few jam-packed streets away from Mumbai's closest commuter train station stands one of its more impressive sights. The Gateway of India, build to commemorate the arrival of the British King and Queen in 1911, presides over a vast square next to the waterfront. To reach it, one has to circumvent the plaza, and enter through the security gates, where your bags are hastily checked by security officers. The protective boundaries and the separate queues for ladies and gentlemen have been in place since the terrorist attacks in 2008 on the immensely luxurious Taj Mahal Hotel on the other side of the road.

After negotiating these security measures, friendly but firmly refusing the ten or so photographers milling about and descending on anyone looking like a tourist, you walk up to the square, where the huge  Gateway, shaped like a Indian style Arc-du-Triomphe, looks out over the harbor, surveying the busy ship traffic.

As monuments go in India, this is a fairly new one, but this is not directly apparent, because it is not build in a British way, but contains Muslim and Hindu references.

 

I was admiring the gateway and the harbor behind it with Poornima, who had offered to show me around in her city, when I was approached by one of the photographers. These gentlemen walk around with a digital camera and a photo album to show off their aptitude for their profession. They are around near any attraction in the city, usually there is a man with a digital photo printer sitting somewhere in the shade to directly print the snaps. I started to tell this one the same as I had told the others, when he broke in and asked politely if I would be so kind as to pose for a picture with two locals who wanted to have their picture taken – with me. I was momentarily stunned, but since this was the first time this had happened, I agreed.

Now somewhere there are two Indian friends who have a picture of themselves and a slightly surprised me. When the photographer had done his thing, I wanted to walk away, but another couple was of the same mind and asked me to stay so they could have me on their photo as well. Deciding that one picture a day would suffice for me, and wanting to avoid queue being formed, I declined.

 

Later that week, my new friends invited me along to the Kanheri Caves, situated in the Sanjay Gandhi National Park, one of the biggest natural parks surrounded by such a large metropolis. Getting there required a ride in the local train, a rickshaw drive, purchasing a ticket for the national park, a bus ride towards the centre of the park, walking up a hill and buying another ticket for the caves. Interestingly, entrance tickets for some of these cultural heritage sites have two prices, one for Indians, and one for everyone else, who have to pay multiple times the 'normal' prize. Well, it was till not expensive, so I guess it is fair.

We were on this excursion with Raghu, Poornima, Elvis and Nisha and me. Earlier that day, we went wall climbing in another part of the city (Dylan was there as well, but couldn't join us to the caves). Poornima brought her camera (which I borrowed to snap some pictures with a big camera), Elvis had too much energy and was climbing and running all over the place, Raghu stoically watched over our shoes when we entered a cave that doubles as a Buddhist temple (no shoes allowed), and Nisha was telling me she was annoyed by my jokes (mock-annoyed, she assured me laughingly after I made my apologies). It was a good outing.

The caves where varied and plentiful, with 109 numbered caves and a couple more that apparently have to go without a number.

Build between the first century BC and the 10th after, by Buddhist monks who lived and worshipped here, the caves are spread out over a big area. We didn't get to visit all of it, but the part we saw was impressive, with beautiful sculptures and hidden chambers.

 

After a week in the city, the time had come to say goodbye. Earlier I had bought a ticket for the night train to Goa. I got a 3AC ticket from the tourist counter (yes, sometimes it is practical to be a foreigner as well. Some tickets are reserved for lazy last-minute travelers like yours truly). I went for dinner with Poornima and some other couch surfers. Raghu couldn't make it because he was visiting friends somewhere else in town, but he had ensured us to meet us at the train station.

After dinner we went to the humongous Victoria Station where, after some searching for the hidden platform 18, we found my train. My carriage was made up out of open cabins with 8 beds, two time three above each other, and two above each other across the pathway. No doors, but bed sheets and with beds that where long enough to sleep on.

We waited at the platform for Raghu to show up and say goodbye. Then he calls and says that he is still in the local train but will try to make it. We joke that he will probably show up very last minute. We talk some more, and when there are 5 minutes left before departure, Raghu calls again, telling us that he is almost at the station. Since my platform is way in the back, we give u on him, and I thank Poornima for the fantastic time I had in her city. It is 23:05, and the huge train slowly sets into motion. And then Raghu makes his dramatic last appearance in this part of the play, coming running down from behind cart laden with packages. He runs up to where Poornima is standing waving at me, sprints past her, practically jumps into the doorway of my carriage, shakes my hand and jumps out again. The train leaves for a night through India.

Goodbye, Mumbai.