Survival game called Mumbai

by Tamara Šmidlehner (Slovenia)

I didn't expect to find India

It was 10,15 on a sunny morning in Mumbai when my taxi driver pulled over in the middle of the road and waved towards the car door implying that it is time for me to leave the car. Although he doesn't speak English, he's an expert in a universal language called rudeness so I could understand him easily. His anxiety grew rapidly as I remained seated for a couple of moments longer just to double-check if this is my destination. It was and I bowed for Namaste but he didn't care. Every single day in Mumbai is a new survival game and I just earned myself two points for successfully surviving maniacal city drive and arriving at the desired location. The local train station, where I'm supposed to meet my friend, appears to be across the road. At least, that's logical to assume due to millions of people heading towards the three-steps entrance in the wall that endlessly extends along the road. Time to face another challenge Mumbai has for me today: crossing the road. After a few days in Mumbai, I trained myself to cross the road in one breath. Breathing is just a disturbance while trying to avoid trucks, cars, motorbikes, people, cows, and other unidentified objects moving in all directions. A long inhale later and I am on the other side. Another point for crossing the road! I am rocking this game! Now, the only concern I have left is to spot my friend in that crowd. I will stand at the very entrance of the train station and hope he will notice me. From this side of the road, not much has changed. The traffic is still chaotic but that doesn't disturb the cow that is casually approaching from my left. On my right, some people are sitting on the ground, in less than the two-meters-wide area between the wall and the speeding cars. But they are not just the adults, and actually, they are not just sitting. One lady is squatting impressively deep and proficiently kneading dough on an oval rock placed on the ground. Her sun-faded sari is shredded at the bottom revealing her bare feet and only by closely looking you could tell that her sari was purple once. She is having an intense conversation with two men sitting next to her. Around them, three children are jumping and playing with the rocks, none of them wearing shoes. There are some clothes hanged on the rope attached to the wall, a pile of bags, some pots. This is their home. Just a few centimetres from the road, on the outside wall of the train station. Yet, they seem relaxed and happy. I instantly grabbed a phone from my bag to capture the moment. The lady suddenly stood up and her face changed dramatically from a busy cook to an angry mama bear. She started yelling and pointing towards me. Surprisingly, despite the huge noise on the street, that brought quite a lot of attention. What is going on? Is everyone looking at me? My brain signalled me that the survival mode is on again and no photo is important anymore, so I torpedoed into the train station. Only when I turned around the corner, it finally hit me. I wasn't just standing on the street in front of the train station. I was standing in someone's living room, in their bedroom. Once again, in less than ten minutes, I felt unwelcomed, only this time I was the one being rude. And then I could feel it. My heartbeat was pumping in my ears and my hands were shaking, I could feel the vacuum my stomach produced by shrinking into a tiny ball. A painful shame flushed my body, with the intensity much stronger than highschool moment when you see your crush walking towards you. "Tamara!" a familiar voice woke me up from my agony and I saw a friendly face for the first time that day. My friend is here and our Mumbai adventure will about to begin, but my shame hunted me for a long time after. Lost a game at the very first level.