Lesson 3: Strangers must smell funny

Whilst in Bombay, we wanted to learn more about the Doorstep School, a charity organisation that supports and sponsors the education of streetchildren in Bombay. Nooj, who has already been involved with the organisation for several years now, put us in touch with the organisation's founder, Bina. So we met Bina late on Friday afternoon, and she talked to us about the organisations and the initiatives it had undertaken.

Then she asked if she could take us to the field, so we could meet the children and and see their classes being conducted in the slums. We entered the narrow, dingy corridors of the first slum, and started cautiously making our way towards the centre, where the school had set up base in the midst of the little one-room homes, tightly packed up against eachother like coins in a roll. There was a raggedy old stray dog lying languidly in the sand, enjoying it's afternoon siesta. Bina stepped past him as we pressed on. The dog, sapped of all its energy under the direct glare of the sun, barely reacted. I stepped past him next. He barely twitched a muscle to shoo away a hovering fly. Then, just as Delta started to walk past him, the dogs nose suddenly pricked up. It cocked its ears and rose up to a sitting position in a sudden burst of alertness, and emitted a low-throated growl of warning.

We've probably just stepped in it's territory, I figured, and it'll stop when we walk a few more steps away. But it didn't. It wasn't about the territory, we suddenly realised. It was about Delta. Out of the hundred or so people passing through or just hanging out in that little area, it had picked the one white guy, and decided there was something different. And he wasn't having any of it. The dog followed us along for a little while growling threateningly the entire way, keeping all three of us on edge. Then, suddenly tiring of Delta, it headed off in its own direction, much to our relief, and we proceeded further into the slums to see the school. We laughed to ourselves on how odd it was that the dog had picked Delta out from the entire crowd, as the person to feel threatened by.

Half an hour later, having spent a thoroughly enjoyable time with the children and the classes, we were heading out of the slums from an entirely different direction than where we'd entered. We were deep in conversation about the school and its initiatives, when suddenly we heard a growl in the distance. It can't be, I thought, but yes, it was. The dog had somehow kept a watch out for Delta, had picked him out amongst the crowds in the distance, and came pounding towards us from more than a hundred yards away. Barking and growling loudly the entire way as it approached. It had actually been threatened enough by Delta's presence (white skin? different smell? American accent?) that it had hunted him out from the crowds to chase him out of the slums.

The dog didn't harm any of us in any way, but it sure made us all remark in wonder about it's uncanny discernment.
"I probably smell funny to him," Delta remarked, "just a scent he's never smelled before."

Lesson 2: Never take anything for granted

We needed to get passport sized photos taken so that Delta and I could get updated membership cards to our club in Bombay. So we headed over to a local photo studio to get the pictures taken.


The taking of passport sized pictures is done with a formidable level of seriousness in this city. Once Delta was seated in front of the camera, the photographer said, "look a little left. No not that much, now look a centimeter to the right. And up a bit. Now smile." And he continued with commands like that until Delta's face was positioned in his camera lens to perfection, before he would agree to click. And then he started with me. "No, look down more, we're seeing too much forehead. Smile less. No teeth. Look up into the lens. A little to the right." All of these commands had to be obeyed by subtle movements of our heads until we were positioned to the photographer's satisfaction. There was something reassuring about the amount of conscientiousness applied to our pictures. I felt like we were guaranteed the mugshots would come out good-looking. Now, if only the guy who took my green card and driving license pictures had applied this level of diligence to my photos, I wouldn't have to cringe every time I produced those documents for inspection, would I.


"Come back in fifteen minutes and we'll have these photos developed for you," the photographer told Delta and I. So we left the store and wandered the streets for a while, taking pictures of everything of interest we encountered. Finally, about half an hour later, we headed back to the photo studio, only to find a dejected photographer shaking his head in apology. "I'm sorry, but my memory card got ruined. I've lost all the pictures on the card. I'll need to take the two of you again." And so began the entire process of perfected head-positioning all over again.


"Come back in fifteen minutes and we'll have these photos developed for you," he said again, once he'd re-taken the pictures. So Delta and I hit the streets once again, with another fifteen minutes on our hands.


There was a shoe-shine man who had set up shop on the sidewalk outside the studio, with an eccentric look to him that immediately drew our attention.
"Man, I would love to take a picture of him!" I said.
"Well, why don't I get my shoes polished, and then you can take a picture," Delta suggested, so we approached the man for a polish.
"How much for a polish?" I asked the shoe-shine guy in Hindi.
"Just pay me as much as you like when I'm done," he suggested.
I hate it when people do that, because you nearly always end up paying far more than you would if a price had been pre-agreed upon. I tried to coax a price out of him, but he was adamant on his "at will" payment policy.

As he diligently rubbed various coats of various types and consistencies of polish into Delta's shoes, I asked Delta, "how much do you think we should pay him?"
"Erm, I was thinking a hundred?"
I smiled. Delta was falling into the tourist trap of paying far too much for a service because he was converting from dollars. "A hundred rupees? You know he probably gets five for this when he does it for the locals."
The shoe-shine man looked up. "This is not a five-buck job, ma'am," he said, in clear, fluent English.

Delta and I both did a double-take. It was entirely unexpected for a man living and peddling wares on the streets of Bombay to speak fluent english. But before I had time to examine the amazingness of this fact, I was overcome with a wave of mortification. Right in front of his face, I had told Delta it wasn't worth more than a fiver. How does one backpaddle out of that one?


"Erm, you're right, you're right," I stuttered.

The shoe-shine man continued to mumble under his breath for a bit, decidedly unimpressed with my attitude. And Delta and I stook in awkward silence, unable to talk to each other about the shoe-shine experience anymore, fully aware that he could understand everything we were saying. The awkward silence went on for about ten minutes, and I'm convinced he put on an extra effort of diligence and an unnecessary two coats of polish, just to prolong his moment of revelling.


Finally, when he was done (and it had seemed like this moment would never come!), Delta thanked him and told him what a fantastic job he had done, and gave him the hundred he had first talked about. And then he sat himself down on the sidewalk next to the shoe-shine man, and asked him if I could take a picture of both of them together. The shoe man was happy to oblige.


I had just raised the SLR to get my shot, when the shoe man suggested, "why don't you stand over there to the left instead, you'll capture a nice light falling on our faces. I moved over to where he suggested, and saw that the lighting was indeed much improved. I looked at him in surprise.

"I used to be a photographer," he explained.


Wonders never cease. Here was this man, living on the streets of Bombay in tattered clothes, who would have ever thought he had been fully educated, spoke english, and had been a photographer. Unbelievable. Shows you can't assume anything of anyone.


I wonder what happened to him in life to bring him to where he was. But that would be a thought for another day. For the moment, we were just filled surprise, awe and admiration.

Lesson 1: Bombay is a party city

No matter what crazinesses New York brings into our daily lives, Bombay is just a whole different kettle of fish.

Our flight over was everything we could have hoped for. I'd been a bit worried that we might have a problem at airport security, seeing as I haven't had a chance to update my passport yet, but the kind people at security seemed unconcerned by the different names I bore on my ticket and passport, and who am I to interfere. We also managed to swing a seat in first class, which, on a thirteen hour flight, makes a world of difference. when we reached our seats, Delta and I gaped at each other in surprise. On this new 777 plane, no luxury had been spared. We had each been assigned little pods, and infact my only complaint would be (since I must have one), that out pods were so big it was difficult to talk to each other. As Simone would say, Oh, welp. They brought us a glass of champagne before the flight took off, and Delta and I toasted to our first trip to Bombay together. And positively gluggled the champagne in our excitement.

Our first night in the city, my parents said one of their friends were hosting a party, and had invited Delta and me to join. Would we be interested? Of course, we said. I mean, a quiet little get together with my parents friends, it would be a great chance for us to talk to everyone, right?
Wrong.

As soon as we entered the friend's apartment, Delta and I did a double-take. The apartment had been converted into a nightclub. The lights had been dimmed, loud bollywood music was pulsing through the apartment, alcohol was flowing freely, and everyone who had got there before us was pretty much already drunk. I mean, these were my parents friends!
"I'm heading for the bar," Delta murmured, and we knew we'd need a drink or two just to catch up. An hour into the evening, we'd eaten a bit, we had a couple of drinks in us, and we sashayed onto the dance floor and started pulling out our repertoire of bollywood moves. Jumps, hops, hand-swinging, head-bopping, spinning and twirling and hip-swinging, the entire kit and caboodle. I couldn't complain about it, it was rather fun. We just lost ourselves in the boogey of the moment. Although every few minutes, when we grew conscious of what we were doing, our eyes would meet and we'd laugh in sheer disbelief. Here we were, trying to keep up (and failing miserably) with the partying habits of my parents friends!

"Boy, Bombay sure is a party city!" Delta commented as we returned home later that evening, as we stared at each other in awestruck silence. And this marked the beginning of our vacation.

Off and away, for a couple of weeks

Tonight, Delta and I fly to India to spend a couple of weeks with the mater and pater. In many ways it's the most ill-timed trip in the world, what with the apartment still being in shambles, but on the other hand, I have to admit it's also a bit of a relief to not be worrying about DIY for a while.

We left Queen Jaffa with the girls, who offered to take care of her while we were away. Despite how much I poke fun at her, as soon as we left her there, I missed the little critter. Queen Jaffa of course, returning to her old abode, at once made herself entirely at home, and splayed herself across the living room floor. When we left their apartment, the girls were already fawning over her, and Queen Jaffa, who was regaling in this added affection, just barely had time to look up and squawk a quick "mao!" in farewell.

So there was naught to do for Delta and I but to shuffle back home, like bereft parents who had just dropped their kid off with the grandparents for a week, worried that the kid would be spoiled rotten, and when they returned, their kid would love their own home just that little bit less.

But there isn't much to be done, for tonight, we fly to India.

With a bit of luck and a lot of crossed fingers, I do believe we might just get a seat in first class. Which I'm not a snob about usually, but of course it goes a long way when you're sitting on a plane for 16 hours. And though it goes without saying, there's definitely that something to be said for clean toilets.