Bombay through New Eyes

My first trip to Bombay was the typical westerner’s experience of the city. The girls and I hit up all the local points that cater to western desires. We ate pancakes, scrambled eggs, bagels and cream cheese for breakfast and most importantly we payed around 100 rupees for our delicious Italian roast coffee. I stayed with young people from all over the world in the Salvation Army Hostel. These young people dressed in hippie or alternative fashion with skin being shown in excess and smoking and drinking for enjoyment. My second trip was quite a different experience, as I went carrying the eyes of my fellow travelers, my co-teacher and her daughter that are well accustomed to their small and calm life in Bajipura.


As foreigners we are used to carrying around our passports, while traveling, knowing that we have to conform to police regulations and register at all hotels. I thought it would be a different experience for my Indian counter parts, since they are within their own country. They came to the hostel, where I stayed the first time, and were immediately turned away because they were not able to show identification. Hansabhen was so bewildered to know why a resident of India had to show their identification, she repeated over and over that she has never been asked for it before. Finally we got an offer from one hotel that would take us if Hansabhen could fax in her documentation. The hotel staff proposed to me that I “the foreigner” would be in charge of making sure they did not cause any problems in the hotel. The one glitch in the hotel staffs’ plan is that foreigners and Indians cannot cohabitate in one room, so therefore I would have difficulty watching their behavior.



When we finally tackled the obstacles presented with finding a place to stay we made our way to the streets. I had not quite been aware the first time how many foreigners frequented the area we were staying. Hansabhen frequently talked about how Mumbai was just like America, since there were so many Americans. I tried to inform her that most of these people were not Americans, but she insisted that Americans and foreigners are pretty much the same thing.

We sat down at the restaurant nearest to our hotel for breakfast. I did not put myself in the others’ perspective while choosing the restaurant, a famous hot spot, Leopold’s Café. As soon as we looked at the menu Hansabhen gasped at the prices and then started commenting that it was a beer bar. We sat down for a total of five minutes and then were off to find an Indian restaurant. We found a nice hotel that had high prices as far as Hansabhen was concerned, but actually it was pretty reasonable. Because the prices were considered high, we all had to sit at the table and stuff ourselves until we were going to burst out of our pants. We still could not finish and Hansabhen looked very distraught and had the remaining food packed for later, something a foreigner would rarely think of doing on a vacation. As we sat filling our stomachs, Hansabehn checked out each of the foreigners saying which member of the Nanubhai staff they looked like. She finally decided that all foreigners look the same.


The first destination in our travels was the temple of Ganesha. We waited in long line to find out I could not enter because I had my laptop. I waited outside for them to finish and then Hansabhen came back and said she would be happy to fight the crowds for a second chance to see Ganesha. We made our way to Ganesha, but were only allowed to go on a balcony and see the god at a distance. We sat looking from far away as people pushed their elbows into my side to move. Other people were able to get close to Ganesha and Hansabhen was determined to figure out how this could be done. We exited and she immediately started looking around to find the way to enter and gain closer proximity. She found a location where all the people were exiting from the temple and knew that these were the people getting close to Ganesha. Before I could hold her back she was disappearing calling my name as she pushed through the masses of people trying to exit the temple. Since I knew I would make a big scene attempting the same maneuver, I decided to go find her daughter and hoped that we would meet up again in the huge crowd.



After this we were onto going for our shopping marathon. We did not shop in the tourist areas that meet my every western desire for buying “Indian” jewelry and clothing, but in the heart of local shopping streets that consist of many stalls, lining the street. Instead of having the “Indian” jewelry and clothing that I enjoy so much they have the actual jewelry and clothing that Indians wear, which is many times to elaborate and over decorated for my taste. We spent around four hours going from shop to shop looking at the gold and sequins. Hansabhen and her daughter never grew tired but I became weak as I wasn’t interested in the items and each shop took a matter of hours due to the ruthless bartering of Hansabhen the professional bargainer.
For dinner they found their newest hot spot, a place where they could get 25 rupee dosa. We finished our leftover food from earlier that day so we could save even more money. On our way back to our hotel I began asking myself the question, “Why I was having them stay in this area?” As the westerners prepared for a night on the town in their low cut and low waisted clothes, I began to see them differently as Hansabehn and her daughter looked with their mouths open at the number of bra straps and bare legs they say hanging out of clothes. I became embarrassed at the way foreigners presented themselves in India and felt completely distant to the people in which I was supposed to belong. During these moments I felt like I was looking through the lens of a rural Gujarati, rather than seeing the world with the same perspective as the peculiar, under clothed travelers.



A huge struggle for anyone coming from the village, where we pay 5 rupees for a rickshaw ride, is taking the Bombay taxis for 50 times that price. The second day Hansabhen was bound and determined to figure out the bus system. On that day we spent our entire morning seeking out a way to get to Juhu beach, by bus. We asked around 30 locals and waited searching bus after bus to try and find the correct number. We finally found our bus and nearly did not make it on because the bus stops for a mere second and if you do not move fast it will be gone before you blink your eye. We finally found ourselves some seats and we were comfortable enjoying our 12 rupee bus ride all the way across Bombay. Our peaceful ride was interrupted when a whole crowd of people came on the bus shouting and bickering between themselves and they squeezed in every corner of the bus that they could find. One woman wrapped herself right around Hansabhen’s daughter who was frowning and not breathing and looking to me with a pained glance. I gave her a look as if to say I thought you were used to this crowd. As the ride continued the woman pushed in further and found a perfect spot on my lap.



As we talked together in our mixed Gujarati and English, Hanabehn began seeing me as a local, entirely different from the foreigners she saw surrounding her. She began commenting on how I looked different from them and I did not have the same bad habits as them. I also saw the separation of myself from the foreigners and began wondering how I will fit into my home again. Will a part of me always see the world with my new rural Gujarati perspective or after going home will I only see with an American view of the world. Through this journey I have realized how I have grown and changed in my new life and this realization was both surprising and enlightening.