I step out of my flat, my little peaceful haven, to the maximum city of Mumbai. My daily walk to work takes around 15 minutes, weather depending. I leave my two little bags of rubbish, one organic and one plastic, for the rubbish-wallah to collect. She’s a very pretty girl in her 20s, dressed in bright coloured saris. When I first arrived she quite forcibly insisted that she “will” clean my flat twice a week for 400rs (£5) a month. I declined the offer, as I actually didn’t want a cleaner, however my work colleagues were flabbergasted. “Don’t accept her offer”. Unbelievably it’s double the going rate! Still, she smiles at me in the morning despite my refusal of her services.
After waving to the Nepalese guard at the front gate of the apartment building, whose daily reply is “Good morning sister” I venture out onto the muddy streets of Mumbai. The monsoon has now officially started and lately it has been pouring down for days. My wellies, which were a fabulous recommendation from a current VSO volunteer, are a godsend. My flat regularly becomes an island surrounding by fast flowing rivers. I never seen rain like it, the streets become instantly are water clogged, the drains overflowing and the smell is rising fast!
Before turning off my street to the main road, I always pass a large, smelly pile of rubbish where an elderly lady alongside the street dogs, are always having a good sort through. She’s a fascinating women, which wild air, and a very loose and revealing sari. A sari, which is a large cloth beautiful wrapped around the women’s body, is usually accompanied by a small tight crop-top keeping what is hidden underneath out of view. However this garment seems to be missing on the rubbish lady, and more than once, while she rearranges her the tangled garment, I along with the other passers-by have had a good view of what is underneath …
Turning onto the main thorough fare of Vile Parle East, I have to be extra careful dodging the puddles, street vendors and cyclists. You see all sorts of things strapped to the back of a bicycle. Today I saw the ice-wallah. He had three gigantic slabs of ice, probably 2 foot wide, piled on top of each other and strapped with filthy sting to the back. If it was a dry day, you’ll be able to trace him back to the ice factory due to the constant dripping of water. I would like to say that it is used just to keep packaged drinks and wrapped icecreams cool, however I know too well that it is stored on the floor below a counter, and corners chiselled off and served up in slushy juice drinks.
My area has a number of very prominent temples, one of which is a Jain temple, they are particularly conscience of not killing any other living creatures, so much so that they don’t eat onions or garlic, for fear that insects are killed when the vegetables are pulled out of the ground. They will eat carrots though, which baffles me slightly. Outside the temple you get the Sacred Cows. I pass two on my walk, tied up outside the temple. These must be the happiest cows in the world. They are beautiful brown beasts, incredible well kept and patiently waiting to be fed, watered and patted by passer-bys. I still haven’t plucked up the courage to tap their hinds, not something I ever felt comfortable doing. But at some point I’ll pay my 5rs I feed them some grass.
Pass the temple, further up the street to my office, I am met with another pack of dogs that linger again near a rubbish pile. The dogs are becoming as familiar to me as the local vendors, they never roam to far away from their territory. Today a car had to screech to a halt, while one of the dogs, in a sitting position, dragged itself 10meters up the road with its front paws. A tell-tale sign of worms, I guess there’s only so much rubbish you can eat before the inevitable.
After waving to the Nepalese guard at the front gate of the apartment building, whose daily reply is “Good morning sister” I venture out onto the muddy streets of Mumbai. The monsoon has now officially started and lately it has been pouring down for days. My wellies, which were a fabulous recommendation from a current VSO volunteer, are a godsend. My flat regularly becomes an island surrounding by fast flowing rivers. I never seen rain like it, the streets become instantly are water clogged, the drains overflowing and the smell is rising fast!
Before turning off my street to the main road, I always pass a large, smelly pile of rubbish where an elderly lady alongside the street dogs, are always having a good sort through. She’s a fascinating women, which wild air, and a very loose and revealing sari. A sari, which is a large cloth beautiful wrapped around the women’s body, is usually accompanied by a small tight crop-top keeping what is hidden underneath out of view. However this garment seems to be missing on the rubbish lady, and more than once, while she rearranges her the tangled garment, I along with the other passers-by have had a good view of what is underneath …
Turning onto the main thorough fare of Vile Parle East, I have to be extra careful dodging the puddles, street vendors and cyclists. You see all sorts of things strapped to the back of a bicycle. Today I saw the ice-wallah. He had three gigantic slabs of ice, probably 2 foot wide, piled on top of each other and strapped with filthy sting to the back. If it was a dry day, you’ll be able to trace him back to the ice factory due to the constant dripping of water. I would like to say that it is used just to keep packaged drinks and wrapped icecreams cool, however I know too well that it is stored on the floor below a counter, and corners chiselled off and served up in slushy juice drinks.
My area has a number of very prominent temples, one of which is a Jain temple, they are particularly conscience of not killing any other living creatures, so much so that they don’t eat onions or garlic, for fear that insects are killed when the vegetables are pulled out of the ground. They will eat carrots though, which baffles me slightly. Outside the temple you get the Sacred Cows. I pass two on my walk, tied up outside the temple. These must be the happiest cows in the world. They are beautiful brown beasts, incredible well kept and patiently waiting to be fed, watered and patted by passer-bys. I still haven’t plucked up the courage to tap their hinds, not something I ever felt comfortable doing. But at some point I’ll pay my 5rs I feed them some grass.
Pass the temple, further up the street to my office, I am met with another pack of dogs that linger again near a rubbish pile. The dogs are becoming as familiar to me as the local vendors, they never roam to far away from their territory. Today a car had to screech to a halt, while one of the dogs, in a sitting position, dragged itself 10meters up the road with its front paws. A tell-tale sign of worms, I guess there’s only so much rubbish you can eat before the inevitable.
By the time I get to work, I am in need of my second shower of the day. My back is drenched from carrying my laptop, and the outline of my bra is visible to all. My hair is nearly as wild as the rubbish lady, and the back of my legs splattered with mud. However despite all the unusual sights on my way to work, I think I am probably one of the most unique. Being one of the few white people in the area, with my trousers tucked into my green wellies (everyone is quite content walking though the water in sandals) and my dupata (a long scarf that accompanies Indian dress) usually trailing behind in the mud, I probably make the passer-bys walk to work as interesting as mine.
