Below are video links for the sites and sounds of Mumbai.
(Be patient, these take a while to download.)
Ride to Office
Drumming for elections
Ride back to hotel
Slumdogs
Tears. Tears streaming down. “Delta welcomes you to Hartsfield Jackson Airport in Atlanta.” You never know how “proud to be an American” you could be, until you see the other side of the world. Flying into the US you view America, draped in a blanket of greenery – grass, trees, and plants with pockets of sparkling water. The air seems fresher and lighter, with less humidity. Although you view everything from a distance, you feel safe, feel calm, and feel at home.
This story, as you’ve noticed – begins at the end. Now let me start over. I left Raleigh, NC at 3:30pm April 11th eastward bound for Mumbai, India. Intimidated – no doubt. Worried to leave the US alone – no doubt. Afraid of what I would find – no doubt. I got to the Atlanta Airport roughly an hour after leaving Raleigh. Upon arrival my mission was to find a cellular phone that I could rent to use while in India. However, once I arrived and went to the kiosk, I was told there were no phones to rent while in India in this airport. Information desk confirmed – no phones. Panic set in. I frantically called home; Will was outside mowing the lawn. I tried Beth, certainly she could help! She answered, yes! She was out shopping and did not have access to the internet to solve this one. I called my parents; they were living it up in Vegas – no answer. Now I am really about to have a nervous breakdown. What are you going to do with no line of communication back to the US? You can not call anyone to alert them to any issues. What if something happens? Moments later, I get a call back. It was the parents. They called Verizon and found out I could dial the magical code that would reset my cellular phone to receive international access. A charge of $2 a minute and .50 cents per text was all you had to worry about. No price was too unreasonable at this moment. Crisis averted. After I calmed down I decided I better have dinner while I waited for the plane to board for India. I saw hundreds of people with Starbucks cups, and I knew I had to have a Dirty Iced Chai Tea Latte. I went on a mission. Husband checked and found that there was a Starbucks at gate 14 in Terminal E. I was at gate 36. I charged off, lugging my carryons and headed for 14. Reaching an intersection, I found that 14 was down a separate hallway – a long vast hallway that seemingly never ended. Knowing I had to have this drink, I decided to make the trek. I reached the end of the long hallway, shoulder numb from the pain of the very uncomfortable laptop bag strap that was being pressed into my shoulder by the weight of the backpack I had on my back, to find there was no Starbucks. No sign of a Starbucks anywhere. Oh good grief! So, I went back to the intersection of the E terminal to the food court. Caribou would have to do. I ordered my drink, and it was crap – as suspected. I also ordered a roast beef sandwich from Arby’s, knowing there would be no more beef on this excursion. I took the items back to the waiting area by the gate to wait for boarding of the 777. Upon settling at the waiting area I noticed that I was the only person with brown hair waiting in the area. Everyone else knew where they were going, had probably been there before, and were most likely going home. They were comfortable, ready to fly, and seemed to have no hesitation in stepping on the plane. Boarding began. Zones were called and all passengers slowly lined up to feed through the ticket line. Passports and visas were double checked. Zone 9. “Delta would like to welcome all passengers in zones 1 – 9 to continue boarding at this time.” I am zone 9. Hanging up the cell phone, I knew the miracle code better work once I arrived in Mumbai, or this was my last call to the US for the next 8 days. I boarded the plane.
I got to my seat and the fellow that would be sitting beside me for the next 16 hours offered assistance in getting my laptop bag into the overhead bin. Nice, and unexpected. I sat down in my seat, and said some prayers about the journey that I was about to embark upon. Thinking we would be taking off shortly, I buckled my seatbelt and tried to prepare for the long flight ahead. However, after an hour of waiting, the crew came over the loudspeaker to confirm they had an issue with no water on the plane, and that it was being added at this time. Since water is essential to flush toilets and wash hands, everyone agreed this was essential and we should not leave without it. Finally, after an hour and a half on the plane we were cleared for take off. Prayers were said again for peace, understanding, wisdom, patience, the safety of everyone on this plane, and for Saturday the 18th to come as soon as it possibly could.
The first 4 hours of the flight were easy. A movie watching marathon had begun in the headrest in front of me. Slumdog Millionaire was on the list. I had no idea how close to reality this movie could actually be. That movie was followed up by another movie, and then dinner was served. It was at this point that boredom began to set in. People began sleeping. Lights went off, movie screens went dark, and blankets covered all passengers. The movie marathon continued and went for another 6 hours before breakfast was served. From this point there was a ton of tossing and turning, and never being able to be comfortable in the 3”x3” confinement that I had been placed. India could not come fast enough. I watched the flight path of the plane on the “My flight” assistance tracker, and viewed our progress as we passed over Iceland (Hey – we need shoppers here, what if we just stopover and I can pass out some flyers – no – okay, let’s keep going then.) Continuing on we jet over Krakow, Poland – flying over all of these places, just wondering if you’ll ever get the chance to see this for yourself. Up close, in person. It was at this point that I watched 4 TV shows. I, for once in my life became sick of movies, sick of TV, and turned to a book. After reading 67 pages of “The Shack”, I finally dozed off. I believe I slept peacefully for about 20 minutes. At this point we were then jolted to a state of awareness by all lights being turned on and lunch being served. It was only 2 more hours to Mumbai. The last leg of the flight seemed to go slowly, as nervousness and shock that this was all really happening began to set in. The plane landed, and it was announced – “Welcome to Mumbai”.
All issues confirmed – no doubt.
I stepped off the plane and was greeted by heat and humidity. All passengers that were on the plane were herded into customs and waited in line as we filled out forms and were informed which lanes we needed to be in, and whose forms were properly filled out, and whose were not. This section of the airport was dark and appeared to be under construction. There was no air-conditioning. After my second attempt at filling out the paperwork, I was allowed through immigration. It was at this point where we needed to collect our bags. I headed through a gate and the people in front of me were showing their passports, so I pulled out my passport as well. The guard, dressed from head to toe in a khaki badged up uniform, asked for some slip of paper. I had no idea what he was referring to. I went digging through the passport and found a tiny slip of paper, where I was declaring nothing, and showed this to the officer. He confirmed this was good and let me pass through. I made it to the baggage claim. I waited as bags, hundreds of bags, went past me on the conveyer. My bag was not coming. I just knew it, why did I never listen and not put an extra change of clothes, some medicine etc. in my carryon in case my bag was still sitting at ATL? After 25 minutes of waiting, my bag finally made it on to the conveyer and I was able to leave the airport. I made the trek towards the exit signs. I was met with two more guards taking the slips of paper that were previously coveted by the other khaki guards. I whipped it out and began to hand it over and march on my way. However, the guard called out and told me I must fill out the slip with the requested information. I propped all of my luggage against the wall and dug for a pen. I filled out the paper work and submitted the slip. I was permitted to leave. Passing through I saw a few men holding signs with passenger names. I was hoping this was not the only place these drivers would be standing, because nobody was holding one for me. As promised by the India office, I was told I would have someone waiting to pick me up at the airport. However, nobody said when or where… I walked towards the exit door to leave the airport. Still no driver. I exited the building and was met by thousands of individuals holding signs and heckling to get passengers in their cars, taxis, vans, and rickshaws. The air was hotter and even more humid than it had been inside the airport. The masses of people were impenetrable and the volume of noise was overwhelming. As I made my way down the line I spotted a man in a light blue uniform, wearing a blue hat, holding a sign that read “Sea Princess welcomes Ms. Adrianne Taylor”. I locked eyes with this fellow and darted towards him. I confirmed that I was she, and she was ready to go! He asked me to follow him. He was on one side of a gated area, and I was on the other. I tried to keep my eyes on his hat as he skirted along the outside of the densely populated sidewalk. Finally we reached the end of the line and met up. He led me the rest of the way to the parking garage. Upon arrival at the parking garage he did his best to inform me that he wanted me to wait “right here” by myself “for three minutes” and he would “be right back”. I immediately pulled out my cell phone to call home. I called Will and informed him that I was here, I had arrived, and I was waiting unattended in a Chicago style parking garage for the driver to go upstairs and get the car and pick me up. He stayed on the phone with me until the driver arrived. The line to get out of the garage was thousands of cars long. It never ceased. He opened the hatch, put in the luggage, and opened my door. We climbed in and we were on our way through the masses.
Upon exiting the garage, I was aware of the multitudes of people leaving the airport at this hour. All cars were cramming onto a 1.5 car capacity lane bridge to leave the airport, but they were piled three cars across. Mirrors were sometimes folded in, so as to not scrape other passing cars. Upon reaching the crest of the hill of the bridge I noticed a group of 5 guys pushing a car up to the top of the hill, once they reached the top of the hill all 5 of the guys hopped into the back of the car and the car was then able to drive the rest of the way out of the airport. People had said there were dogs running all over India. I never thought I would see one at the airport, but I did. After leaving the airport we headed into town. We passed dark areas filled with large trees covered in green draped leaves. After making a few turns we headed down a street which was lined with people sleeping. People were sleeping on the sidewalk, on busses, in cars, and in the road. Men, women, and children were walking in the streets. Buildings were dark, dusty, and appeared abandoned. I knew I had no idea what I had gotten myself into. After a half an hour drive we arrived at the hotel. The hotel was brightly lit with a marble drive and stairs up to the attended glass doors. The lobby was filled with a fountain and a crystal chandelier. Uniformed attendants waited at the receptionist desks to check me in. Once checked in I took my key and made my way, with a bellman to my room. He opened the door and inserted the key card into a chamber in the wall. (I later found out this was the master power for the entire room, and that if you pull the key out of the chamber you will loose all power in the room.) The room was hot, but clean. The bed was white, curtains purple silk, carpet a dark shade of blue and purple, and the bathroom had a magnificent shower. Feelings of overwhelming aloneness settled in once I reached the room and figured out that the power converter I had been given would not work in the hotel. How would I charge my phone? How was I going to Skype with Will each evening? Again – back to the fear of no communication with the US sent me into panic mode. I called Will and he talked me out of catching the next flight back home. I cried and wandered around my room, wondering why I had ever said yes to doing this in the first place. Knowing, I would probably never do it again – if asked. I unpacked what I needed for Monday and called it a night, it was 1:30am.
The alarm went off at 6:30am announcing it was time to get up and prepare for the next round of unexpected events that would unfold when someone came to pick me up at 9am. I got ready and called home again. A pep talk got me into the tackle mode knowing that I would be able to handle this situation and everything would be okay. More prayers were handed out as I waited for a call from the hotel to confirm that my taxi had arrived. I reached the lobby and was greeted by Cheryl. She was friendly and quickly informed me that our taxi would be here and we would then take a 10 minute ride across town to the office. We briefly chatted and discussed some of the things we were passing as we made our way to the office. Not knowing where we were going, or what we were about to see, made me nervous and unable to process what I was seeing through the car’s windows. Everything passed by in a blur. We arrived at the office and made our way through a gate, down a courtyard, and up an elevator. We reached the second floor and went through a glass door with the company logo. Cheryl showed me to the conference room and told me I could set up here. I showed her the converter and she confirmed that she could not get it to work, but she would get the assistant to get me a different one. He headed out and quickly returned with a different converter to get the laptop up and running. I quietly sat in the conference room until I was greeted by the new GM of the office Nishith. He asked for the agenda of the week (which I was told by the US office that I did not have one…) and I explained the goals of the week and where I wanted to start. He obliged and I began introducing myself to all of the account executives letting them know that I wanted to get an idea of what accounts they handled and what knowledge they had of all of our companies systems and tools. I spent the next three days sitting with every employee of the company, going over their roles, work load, and usage of all systems. I had extensive conversations with Nishith and his visions for the company, his team, and his own job. The last two days in the office were spent offering training sessions, help with recruitment, and suggestions for ways to streamline processes.
The rides too and from the hotel quickly became my only excursions into India. The area right outside of the hotel was filled with people, shops, traffic, and noise. I had no idea who could speak English, how they would react to me, or where/what I should be doing, so I chose to never leave unattended. By Wednesday I gathered up enough courage to begin taking videos of my daily treks to the office. The assistant would come and pick me up each morning and escort me by taxi to and from the office. Thank God for this! The trips were eventful and eye opening. The streets were bumpy and mostly unpaved. Loads of construction appeared to have been started, but was never being worked on while I was in the area. There were huge holes in the street, upwards of 8” deep by 5” across that left wires and plumbing exposed. The unearthed rubble sat in a pile on the road next to the hole. The holes were everywhere. Roads were covered with traffic. Traffic consisted of people on foot, rickshaws, taxis, cars, busses, bikes, and trucks. There were no lanes on the road, and all traffic appeared to go in multiple directions at any given time. However, I never saw an accident. Horn tapping is popular. Horn tapping could announce any of the following: I am behind you, I am in front of you, I am getting ready to cross the road, I am in a hurry, Why don’t you move, Don’t step/pull out in front of me, Your car is too big and you are in my way etc.
Tuesday evening Nishith met me for dinner in the hotel’s restaurant. We met for dinner and I was introduced to new Indian customs to which I had never experienced. Cocktails are ordered and completely consumed before moving on to the next course. Buffets are served by an attendant who will gather up your selections for you and prepare your plate. Servers are spoken down to and no sugar coating is offered if you are not providing adequate services to the patrons. The meal was good; however it was not full of traditional Indian fare as I had hoped it would be. Offerings such as “Continental Fare” were not what I was looking for after traveling 9000 miles to come to India. Earlier meals in the office for lunch were from McDonalds, and I was beginning to wonder if anyone ever ate traditional Indian food anymore.
Wednesday night Nishith offered to take me to the real Bombay and show me around town. We headed to Juhu beach, right down from where my hotel was located. There was a large busy area full of people, lights, and activity. The entire event reminded me of the Salem Fair. People were all crowded around food vendors, small sideshows, and tiny carnival rides. Nishith informed me that the area was busy all of the time, even on a week night, but on the weekends, you would not be able to move around so freely because it would be so packed with people. The food stands were all brightly lit and decorated with signs and flowers. Vendors would holler out as you passed and try to entice you into their booth. All booths appeared to be offering similar types of food, things like you would normally see at carnivals/fairs, which in the US probably equivalent to funnel cakes and corn dogs. After making our way through the crowds we headed down the beach, through the madness to more vendors selling roasted corn, bags of berries, ice cream, puris, and the ever popular cotton candy. Nishith felt we needed to get some berries and he conversed with the fellow who had a table full of assorted berries to determine which berries I should eat. Knowing that I was told to “not eat street food” to avoid typhoid fever, fear again began to settle in. How was I going to get out of this one? The man quickly bagged up the berries with his bare hands (which I am sure he previously collected them with earlier in the day) and placed them in a tiny bag he had prepared out of pre-read magazine pages. Very green indeed. We picked up our bags of berries and headed down the beach towards the JW Marriott. Nishith confirmed that it was the elusive hotel where all rich and famous people stayed when they came to Mumbai. It was gated and guarded by the beach and on the street. We turned to head back to the food court area. I asked if anyone swam in the ocean, and he informed me that the ocean was not for swimming, and that the under current was too strong, and that the primary fun at the beach was just walking along the sand. Upon reaching the food court area Nishith suggested we try a snack. He picked a booth and asked me to have a seat at a low bench on the front of the counter. I sat and waited for something to be prepared. I watched as the man behind the counter took items from several places to come up with a mix of a dish of which I could not identify any of the parts. He placed it in front of me and everyone gathered to see how I would like it. The food was not bad, but the fear of Tommy’s foodie background made me cringe on every swallow. I watched the men clean the used plates and silverware as I was eating. It was one fellow’s job to take the “dirty” plates and silverware and “wipe” them with a rag before placing them back into the “clean” pile. I could see Tommy’s blood pressure rising with every bite. Finally, we had finished our plates of food when Nishith carried on another conversation with the man behind the counter and confirmed they were fixing something special for me. Again, I had no idea what was coming. A second plate appeared with an artful little display of puri covered in a yogurt sauce, cilantro, and some other unknown ingredients. I took the first bite and as I crunched the puri, the yogurt sauce splashed out into my mouth. Again, I witnessed flashes of Tommy and my doctor standing there asking me why I was eating from a street vendor! Avoiding certain stomach upset I announced, when asked, that this dish was not my favorite and wormed my way out of eating any more. We headed out of the food market area. Upon leaving I saw a man sitting on the ground weaving golden colored wires into bikes, puzzles, and key chains. I asked Nishith if we could stop so I could purchase a souvenir. The man attempted to show us how to work the puzzles, but we could not make them work. It was a golf tee/wooden peg flash back type moment from puzzle games at Cracker Barrel. “Complete Ignoramus.” I found two key chains and we were on our way. Nishith confirmed we would go have some more “sanitarily” prepared food.
We headed downtown and viewed larger buildings and intersections with stoplights. The traffic was heavy and solid into the area. We arrived at a large high-rise and valeted the car. Upon entry to the building Nishith was wanded down with a security device and we were allowed to take the elevator up to the third floor. We arrived on the floor and were greeted by a host station. We were then taken in, and I found out we were entering a night club – not a restaurant. Gulp. The music was loud and the décor reminiscent of Apple Bees. Unbenounced to me, Nishith was meeting some friends. The other three gentlemen quickly greeted me and we ordered a drink and found a table. They chatted together in attempts to get one of the friends, who had just returned from Dubai, to open his own business in Mumbai. He had left his job and needed to find work. The evening was consumed with beer, conversation in another language, and watching people dance to western songs. Oddly enough Jason Mraz, Billy Ray Cyrus, and Cyndi Lauper were all in the hit list. We left the club around midnight and they dropped me off back at the hotel.
Thursday night I decided to be adventurous and make my way down to the Marriott by taxi. I went to the front door of the hotel and requested a taxi. One was called over and I informed the driver where I was headed. He confirmed he would be charging 100 rupees for the trip. I agreed that was fine, and we were on the way. The drive was short and we arrived at the gated entrance of the hotel. All cars were checked under the hood and in the trunk. Once approved, drivers could then take passengers up to the main door. I was dropped off and headed into the Marriott in search of the great buffet. Cedric and “The Lonely Traveler” confirmed they had the best Indian buffet in Mumbai. I walked to the edge of the balcony which overlooked a sea of tables and a buffet. I was sure I was in the right place. I made my way down a marble staircase and was greeted by the hostess. The buffet was large and intimidating. When we made it to my seat she confirmed that the buffet was having a special and would be 777 Rupees. When my waiter came I decided I would be having the buffet and asked for a tour. He gladly obliged and showed me the offerings. The buffet was set up in stations. There was a candy station, ice cream station, pizza station, salad station, soup station, veg Indian station, non-veg Indian station, a bread station, a Peking station, and a dessert station. I gathered my plate and began with salads. After an extensive array of salads was consumed I made my way back to the buffet for some traditional Indian fare. I was excited that I was able to freely eat anything in the buffet without fear of Tommy and the doctor checking in. I finished up my dinner with an amazing little basil mango torte. This was an amazing treat! After eating I made my way back upstairs to look for any retail stores in the hotel. I found three stores, but all were filled with western items, and not really what I was looking for in terms of souvenirs etc. I made my way back to my hotel by taxi.
Friday after work several girls in the office offered to take me out shopping for souvenirs before I had to catch my flight. We left the office after a presentation of gifts and thank yous were given to me for my help in the office that week. We departed the office for shopping in a Rickshaw – it was good I was getting this chance, since all previous travel was done via taxi. All Rickshaw drivers wear the same uniform of khaki pants and a khaki button down shirt. They also wear no shoes. We arrived at the shopping area and went down the street into multiple retail stores. The girls were able to do some bargaining for me, able to determine prices, and what was of good value. Street vendors sold mountains of shoes, giraffe style Dooney & Burke pocket books, scarves, and other merchandise from make shift store fronts. The streets were busy and full of shoppers. I purchased as much as we could carry and was happy to have had the opportunity to shop with these girls. They watched the time and made sure I was headed back towards the hotel around 7:15pm. At this time they put me in a Rickshaw and sent me back to the hotel. The Rickshaw driver first asked for 10 Rupees. I obliged and gave him the 10 Rupees, as requested. A little while later he asked for 100 Rupees. I told him I would give him more Rupees once we arrived at the hotel – knowing that I had paid 100 Rupees for an air-conditioned taxi ride the night before. He was insistent. He never let up. By the time we were half way there he was demanding 500 Rupees. I reluctantly gave in and gave him the 500 Rupees. (Knowing I should not have.) We stopped at an intersection and a small boy came up to the Rickshaw asking for money. He could not have been more than 3 or 4 years old. I quickly dug into my pocket for 10 Rupees and sent him away. Moments later his friends swarmed the Rickshaw demanding Rupees as well. (I knew this would happen, but I could not leave this city without offering them something.) I told them to have their friend share with them, and unfortunately the Rickshaw driver had taken all of my money at this point. They were fascinated with the camera and one child attempted to take it on multiple occasions. Luckily they understood I was sorry I could not offer them anything else and they left as the traffic picked back up. We arrived at the hotel and the Rickshaw driver demanded 500 more Rupees. I quickly exited the Rickshaw and walked towards the hotel, completely ignoring his request. I knew this was way too much to pay for a Rickshaw ride, and if he needed something he could talk to the valet/bell man out front. He left.
I entered the hotel and made my way back upstairs to gather all of my belongings to prepare for departure. All souvenirs were packed and I made one last phone call home to announce I was on my way back home. I went downstairs to check out and was then taken by the hotel car/driver back to the airport. The drive was long, and the traffic was heavy. It was after all, a Friday night. People were crammed by the thousands at the carnival area I had been to several nights prior at Juhu beach. Things passed by my windows as we headed for the airport. I noticed a paper recycling store that was a store front that was filled from floor to ceiling with “recycled” papers for sale by the bulk. Next door was a dry cleaners that processed all of the cleaning out in the open, in a sort of make shift process. Beside this business was a small stand selling fruits. People, dogs, and garbage lined the streets. As we made our way closer to the airport I encountered a large 10 foot statue of Jesus on the cross. This is something I did not think I would ever see in Mumbai, India. However, I was thankful it was there, and we were almost at the airport.
Entering the airport I was greeted by guards asking for tickets and a passport. Nobody is allowed in the airport without these items. I passed through and was greeted by Delta. They checked through my bags and sent me on to security. I was checked through and found a coffee shop to spend the next few hours while I waited for my flight back to the US. When time neared for boarding I headed down to the waiting area. They called zones and we boarded accordingly. After passing through the ticketing agent we were re-checked by security, and rewanded and patted down to check for any items on our persons. Once we were processed we were able to make our way on to the plane and prepare for take off.
6 days after I arrived, I was heading back home. In some ways this flight seemed longer than the first, and in other ways it was much shorter. After all, I knew exactly what to expect when I arrived in ATL and even more so what to expect when I arrived in RDU. I was overcome with feelings of sadness, thankfulness, gratefulness, and humility. I knew that the experiences I had in Mumbai were completely reactionary and that I would most likely never know the real Mumbai.
Or had I already seen it?
