Mumbai

by Piia Nykanen (Australia)

I didn't expect to find India

I felt that a leap of faith had more magnetism at work than planned summer programs. I turned down internship of the lifetime in New York and volunteering in Africa to embark on a one-way flight from London with my second-year University friend Duncan. As the night closed in, we landed in Mumbai. We picked up our bags and sat in the plastic chairs in the arrivals hall staring outside. Thoughts and possibilities stirred fast through my mind, unfamiliar and difficult to catch like something unusual were about to happen. Outside the arrivals crowds of people were lining up and standing still, some having their faces tightly pressed against the steamy glass doors. There had been a downpour of monsoon rain and the entry hall started to flood with brown water. When the water got to just below our knees, Duncan peeled himself off the plastic chair and picked up a mop and a bucket that was left by the concrete wall. “I think it’s time to head out of here” I motioned outside, watching the surreal sight of him mopping the floor in India in the middle of the night. “Where to?” the taxi driver said in perfect English as he hurried us to his car, pushing the crowds away as the gust of strong wind blew us forward. I pointed at a page in my pocket travel guide with a random hotel. Surrounded by blackened clouds, we were driving on the unsealed road, through humidity and smog. In the heart of monsoon season, there was no scenery of steep mountains shimmering in the distance, flat colourful fields with grains and lush plantations. The rain started to pour down and it was nothing like the London gentle pitter-patter we had left behind. The bursts of high-speed winds nudged me from the comfort of the back seat of a taxi to prove I was on a different continent. Stepping into the grandeurs, vast, marble Taj Mahal Hotel lobby with our backpacks on our shoulders we considered our only option. A bulky rose pink velvety couch underneath a golden floor lamp looked inviting and without saying a word we sank into it. I looked over at the reception area and no one seemed to care we were claiming the couch for the rest of the night. As we walked outside in the morning, it felt like the same relentless crowd from the airport was waiting for us again. Women carrying small children, young boys and girls, elderly men all trying to touch my mousy blonde hair and their voices relentless, whispering words into my ear, I was confused whether they were mocking or praising us, but whatever it was it had a weighty heart achy meaning. They were taunting us with their very existence, basic discomforts of life we complained about vanishing into thin air. We braved ourselves away from the crowds and walked on the uneven concrete where rubble littered the walkway. My mouth felt dry and I was trying to control my shallow breathing when we entered a small empty restaurant. I had imagined eating foods that were rich with complex flavours, but we ordered plain chips and bottled water. A lurch in my stomach didn’t help to contain my feelings of distress and heartache rolled into one. With my trembling hands, I managed to eat little and my heart palpitations eased. Sitting under vinegary-pungent steam whilst faulty lights flickered, nobody paying attention to us, similar feel to any London greasy spoon, I momentarily forgave myself for feeling so pathetic. We ate in long silence before swallowing our traveller’s pride and hatched a quick plan to give up and leave. There’d be less pressure at flying to Thailand and carrying on with our travels. Walking back to Taj Mahal Hotel whilst my guilt still tripped me, I started to grasp into the discomfort like it was fleeting fragile fairy dust, a fear being a teacher leading you home. Mumbai has an abundance of a different kind. A tourist doesn’t come here to embrace the postcard paradise but to find something much more meaningful; what goes on inside you is valuable than what goes on outside.