I have been promising a good friend for the last twelve years that I
would come to India. I met Deepali twelve years ago in university when
she was dating a High School friend of mine. She was an Indian
temporarily in Canada and we kept in touch over the years. I finally
got to Mumbai and she and her partner have graciously let me stay on
their couch which doubles as an extra bed. It is wonderful to see her
again.
Life in Mumbai (Bombay)
Even though it is hot, humid and muggy this city doesn't feel like
India. Far more cosmopolitian with scores of expats it feels like a
break from my India tour (her neighbourhood at least). Even the cows
and garbage are missing from the street. Gone are the streets dogs
replaced with well groomed dogs on leashes.
However it is still distinctly Indian.
At Deepali's the doorbell is always ringing. First the banana seller,
then the milk man, then the cleaner. It feels like you would never
have to leave to go shopping or get anything done. In fact anything
can be ordered to the door. Doctors make housecalls and even pharmacys
will deliver your prescription drugs (you don't actually need a
perscription).
The apartment tower they live in is modern even though it has manually
closed elevator doors. The elevator man usually does this for you but
often he doesn't show up. The cleaner is occasionally drunk and the
security guard directs you when you park your car.
Deepali is an excellent cook yet she is severely hampered by the
climate. An opened box of cereal or a packet or biscuits go soggy in
hours even when tightly shut. Ants are guaranteed to show up even for
a grain of dropped sugar. She even boils the milk not trusting the
Indians pasturisation process.
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