June 5th, 2011
I layed down on the old hard bed diagonally, head at the foot, my thin scarf as cover and my shirt balled up under my head. I did not move for 7 hours. Exhaustion. When my eyes drifted open just before 3 am I forgot where I was. A terrifying and exhilarating feeling that often accompanies this brand of travel. This small dingy room on a dark and muddy Mumbai street is made for kidnapping scenes in Bollywood films. I revel in the reality of it all and peek through the curtains at a boulevard rich with culture and pinned down by poverty.
The drive to my humble accommodation is similar to the first taxi ride in any other-than-west city. Honking horns replace rules of the road - and often courtesy - while no one takes offense.Personal space greatly decreased; body and other odor greatly increased . Rebar poles jet from unfinished cement buildings: developing world strip malls. Mud, broken concrete and presumably shit slop around between the gutter and the unruly street. Modernity smashes against tradition as billboards feature deities drinking Coke.
Welcome to Mumbai Boulevard, Bombay, India.
No comments:
Post a Comment