Hello Everyone!
I'm back in Mumbai and my good friend Fish, AKA Mota Matchi (Fat Fish in Hindi) has joined me. I picked him up in wearing my best: a tailored white shirt, cowboy hat, my orange skirt, and a camel leather utility bag (heheh) over my shoulder. At around 4 am Fish finally found the exit of the airport and threw me an awkward smile that asked 'what's with the dress dude?'. I returned the smile with one of my own, one that said 'Yeah man I'm wearing a freakin skirt and it's comfortable, and so am I, so how the fuck are ya doing?'.
We jumped into a cab and entered a sleeping Mumbai. The next morning we walked around, drank some beer, and very nearly got caught up starring in a Mumbai hair commercial (we had our photos taken but, unfortunately, it was canceled at the last second. Ah well, maybe next time). At around 7:30, while standing on a busy street corner we asked ourselves 'what the hell should we do next?'. Enter Terence Alan Bradley, who magically materialized in front of us. He was a small, wiry Indian man with crazy eyes, a long beard, and massive mole on his bulbous nose. At first, he asked us the typical 'gettin to know ya' questions i've come to expect, but then he unleashed his shpiel: A tour of the darkside of Mumbai, a mind blowing experience you won't see on any travelogues or guidebooks. Mr. Terence knows Mumbai better than anyone, every nook and cranny, and he'll show us how sadness and joy can exist within the same smile; how the poorest of us can also be the richest; how cruelty and compassion can live side by side and somehow be amicable neighbours. Okay Mr. Terence, we say, we'll take your tour. We shake hands, and then, Mr. Terence revealed his own darkside, his pirate side : "How bout a drink!" he asked through a devilish grin. Of course we said yes. This ought to be an interesting night.
Like many, Terence's greatest strength is also his greatest weakness. Actually, for him, it's his second greatest weakness. Terence loves to talk. And will never allow a moment of silence to pass through his presence. This is nice when you want to avoid the sometimes inevitable awkward silence. However, through Terence I have found that there is far more awkwardness found with speech than without it. And from now on I belong to the camp that believes there are some things better left unsaid. I digress, on to Terence's single greatest weakness: Alcohol.
Once we found a nice bar to sit in it didn't take long for the patrons to simultaneously love and hate this gremlin of a man. It didn't take long for me to do the same. The cricket world cup is on, and Canada (yeah Canada is in the cricket world cup!) was playing Pakistan, India's bitter rival. Very quickly Terence was Canada's greatest supporter. As the game wore on and Canada's chances grew slim, rum replaced cricket as Terence's main focus. We spoke of many things, of injustice, of women (or chickens, he liked to call them ... more on that later) and when his loudness and appeals to nobility reached a pitch too high for the establishment to handle, we were kindly given our bill. We chased taxis around until one dared to let us in. We were to meet Terence the next day at 9 am, to begin our tour.
9 am came quickly and Terence was there bright, early, and only slightly drunk. This man has traveled the world, he has met many people from all walks of life, he himself has walked many paths and through the next 2 days only a few of those paths were revealed to us. We began the day at a massive market in the heart of the city. He wanted to scare us off eating meat, as this market shows how the meat is handled before being shipped off to the many restaurants around the town. From holes-in-the-walls to five-star dining. The meat room was a large dank room buzzing with flies, crows cawing and swooping all around. The walls seemed stained black, hooks swung slowly from the ceiling, and a pile of skulls sat in a pile, crows picking off what was left to eat. It smelt of rotten blood and death. What Terence didn't know is that I've seen the darkest markets of China, and held no illusions, and Fish is greatest carnivore I know. So when he asked us if we would continue to eat meat after what we saw we looked at each other, shrugged, and said 'Yeah'. He seemed disappointed.
From there we were taken to the largest clothes-washing machine in the world: Thousands of large cement water basins sitting in the middle of a large slum. Even more thousands of women could be seen cleaning all kinds of clothes, and it is said that nearly every hotel sends its clothes there to washed. When I got my clothes back from the wash, they were very clean, very well folded, pressed, and wrapped and tied in a neat newspaper package. From there we caught a train to northern Mumbai to the 'Mosque on the water'. In high tide the mosque is inaccessible, but in the low tide a thin trail leads to a large, beautifully intricate white building. The trail is lined with beggars of all sorts. Small, dirty, naked children scampered alongside us, mumbling 'Please handsome friend please'. Old woman sat staring vacantly at the ground, their black dresses signifying them as widows. A circle of men lay sideways on the ground, their crippled or non-existent arms raised in the air while they chanted 'Kana ... Kana ... Kana ... Kana ... Kana'. It was chilling. My pocketful of change disappeared before I got to the halfway point of the trail. The Mosque itself was grand, it was the tomb of an old Muslim who went off on a pilgrimage to Mecca but drowned along the way. His body floated all the way back to his home, to the coast of Mumbai.
From there we went into the largest slum in Asia, the Dharavi slum. It felt strange. I didn't really like the idea of ogling at people's poverty; of taking pictures to send back home of the suffering millions of people call everyday life. But it didn't turn out like that. Children came and shook our hands, large smiles on their faces. Men would do the same, smiles with outstretched hands. After each handshake they would touch their chests and then show me their palm. It was a beautiful way of greeting. We were invited to a woman's home who had the most beautiful smile I've ever seen. I very nearly fell in love with her. Her children were working hard at studying the Koran, when they looked up at Fish and I with amazed expressions, she quickly returned them to their studies. We left them and entered a slum bar, to try the local liquor, which was some sort of fermented lime concoction. It actually didn't taste half bad. Once again, the men at the bar silently approached us, only to shake our hand to greet us. After a few shots of distilled lime we left the crowded, incredibly narrow lanes of Dharavi behind. But the place has left an indelible mark on me. I am grateful to have visited it and to have seen the pride of the men and women who live there; the ingenuity of people who seek to meet only the most basic of needs.
We moved on. It should be said that Terence, well, all of us, had been drinking all day. And by 5 o'clock he had his familiar swagger about him. He would speak loudly and constantly to the taxi's we took. But whenever I thought he might of crossed the line somehow, the driver bellowed out a deep laugh. There was something bizarrely likable about this man. He wanted to rob a dog because he believed he was hiding millions, then chased a rooster down the road for no apparent reason at all. On the train he appealed to everyone about the daily injustices found everywhere and people either completely ignored him or listened and agreed.
There is more to Mr. Terence then I can put here. At first, I had planned to tell you his story but, I think it's better he do that. He's certainly far better at it than I. We spent the next day with him as well, along with his dear friend Ramon. The four of us found an instant rapport, and we shared many great laughs and fond moments.We very nearly convinced the two of them to come with us down to Goa. But alas, it was not too be. I'll attempt to organize a reunion with Terence on my way home, it should be easy because I got him on facebook ;). The day after Fish (furthermore referred to as Mota Matchi) and I caught a train to Goa. Where I met my doppleganger and found a reason to visit Denmark.
Intestines still fine.
I'm back in Mumbai and my good friend Fish, AKA Mota Matchi (Fat Fish in Hindi) has joined me. I picked him up in wearing my best: a tailored white shirt, cowboy hat, my orange skirt, and a camel leather utility bag (heheh) over my shoulder. At around 4 am Fish finally found the exit of the airport and threw me an awkward smile that asked 'what's with the dress dude?'. I returned the smile with one of my own, one that said 'Yeah man I'm wearing a freakin skirt and it's comfortable, and so am I, so how the fuck are ya doing?'.
We jumped into a cab and entered a sleeping Mumbai. The next morning we walked around, drank some beer, and very nearly got caught up starring in a Mumbai hair commercial (we had our photos taken but, unfortunately, it was canceled at the last second. Ah well, maybe next time). At around 7:30, while standing on a busy street corner we asked ourselves 'what the hell should we do next?'. Enter Terence Alan Bradley, who magically materialized in front of us. He was a small, wiry Indian man with crazy eyes, a long beard, and massive mole on his bulbous nose. At first, he asked us the typical 'gettin to know ya' questions i've come to expect, but then he unleashed his shpiel: A tour of the darkside of Mumbai, a mind blowing experience you won't see on any travelogues or guidebooks. Mr. Terence knows Mumbai better than anyone, every nook and cranny, and he'll show us how sadness and joy can exist within the same smile; how the poorest of us can also be the richest; how cruelty and compassion can live side by side and somehow be amicable neighbours. Okay Mr. Terence, we say, we'll take your tour. We shake hands, and then, Mr. Terence revealed his own darkside, his pirate side : "How bout a drink!" he asked through a devilish grin. Of course we said yes. This ought to be an interesting night.
Like many, Terence's greatest strength is also his greatest weakness. Actually, for him, it's his second greatest weakness. Terence loves to talk. And will never allow a moment of silence to pass through his presence. This is nice when you want to avoid the sometimes inevitable awkward silence. However, through Terence I have found that there is far more awkwardness found with speech than without it. And from now on I belong to the camp that believes there are some things better left unsaid. I digress, on to Terence's single greatest weakness: Alcohol.
Once we found a nice bar to sit in it didn't take long for the patrons to simultaneously love and hate this gremlin of a man. It didn't take long for me to do the same. The cricket world cup is on, and Canada (yeah Canada is in the cricket world cup!) was playing Pakistan, India's bitter rival. Very quickly Terence was Canada's greatest supporter. As the game wore on and Canada's chances grew slim, rum replaced cricket as Terence's main focus. We spoke of many things, of injustice, of women (or chickens, he liked to call them ... more on that later) and when his loudness and appeals to nobility reached a pitch too high for the establishment to handle, we were kindly given our bill. We chased taxis around until one dared to let us in. We were to meet Terence the next day at 9 am, to begin our tour.
9 am came quickly and Terence was there bright, early, and only slightly drunk. This man has traveled the world, he has met many people from all walks of life, he himself has walked many paths and through the next 2 days only a few of those paths were revealed to us. We began the day at a massive market in the heart of the city. He wanted to scare us off eating meat, as this market shows how the meat is handled before being shipped off to the many restaurants around the town. From holes-in-the-walls to five-star dining. The meat room was a large dank room buzzing with flies, crows cawing and swooping all around. The walls seemed stained black, hooks swung slowly from the ceiling, and a pile of skulls sat in a pile, crows picking off what was left to eat. It smelt of rotten blood and death. What Terence didn't know is that I've seen the darkest markets of China, and held no illusions, and Fish is greatest carnivore I know. So when he asked us if we would continue to eat meat after what we saw we looked at each other, shrugged, and said 'Yeah'. He seemed disappointed.
From there we were taken to the largest clothes-washing machine in the world: Thousands of large cement water basins sitting in the middle of a large slum. Even more thousands of women could be seen cleaning all kinds of clothes, and it is said that nearly every hotel sends its clothes there to washed. When I got my clothes back from the wash, they were very clean, very well folded, pressed, and wrapped and tied in a neat newspaper package. From there we caught a train to northern Mumbai to the 'Mosque on the water'. In high tide the mosque is inaccessible, but in the low tide a thin trail leads to a large, beautifully intricate white building. The trail is lined with beggars of all sorts. Small, dirty, naked children scampered alongside us, mumbling 'Please handsome friend please'. Old woman sat staring vacantly at the ground, their black dresses signifying them as widows. A circle of men lay sideways on the ground, their crippled or non-existent arms raised in the air while they chanted 'Kana ... Kana ... Kana ... Kana ... Kana'. It was chilling. My pocketful of change disappeared before I got to the halfway point of the trail. The Mosque itself was grand, it was the tomb of an old Muslim who went off on a pilgrimage to Mecca but drowned along the way. His body floated all the way back to his home, to the coast of Mumbai.
From there we went into the largest slum in Asia, the Dharavi slum. It felt strange. I didn't really like the idea of ogling at people's poverty; of taking pictures to send back home of the suffering millions of people call everyday life. But it didn't turn out like that. Children came and shook our hands, large smiles on their faces. Men would do the same, smiles with outstretched hands. After each handshake they would touch their chests and then show me their palm. It was a beautiful way of greeting. We were invited to a woman's home who had the most beautiful smile I've ever seen. I very nearly fell in love with her. Her children were working hard at studying the Koran, when they looked up at Fish and I with amazed expressions, she quickly returned them to their studies. We left them and entered a slum bar, to try the local liquor, which was some sort of fermented lime concoction. It actually didn't taste half bad. Once again, the men at the bar silently approached us, only to shake our hand to greet us. After a few shots of distilled lime we left the crowded, incredibly narrow lanes of Dharavi behind. But the place has left an indelible mark on me. I am grateful to have visited it and to have seen the pride of the men and women who live there; the ingenuity of people who seek to meet only the most basic of needs.
We moved on. It should be said that Terence, well, all of us, had been drinking all day. And by 5 o'clock he had his familiar swagger about him. He would speak loudly and constantly to the taxi's we took. But whenever I thought he might of crossed the line somehow, the driver bellowed out a deep laugh. There was something bizarrely likable about this man. He wanted to rob a dog because he believed he was hiding millions, then chased a rooster down the road for no apparent reason at all. On the train he appealed to everyone about the daily injustices found everywhere and people either completely ignored him or listened and agreed.
There is more to Mr. Terence then I can put here. At first, I had planned to tell you his story but, I think it's better he do that. He's certainly far better at it than I. We spent the next day with him as well, along with his dear friend Ramon. The four of us found an instant rapport, and we shared many great laughs and fond moments.We very nearly convinced the two of them to come with us down to Goa. But alas, it was not too be. I'll attempt to organize a reunion with Terence on my way home, it should be easy because I got him on facebook ;). The day after Fish (furthermore referred to as Mota Matchi) and I caught a train to Goa. Where I met my doppleganger and found a reason to visit Denmark.
Intestines still fine.
