Exhausted, nervous, and wide-eyed I landed in Bombay. I had planned to sleep on the four hour flight from Doha to the Chhatrapati Shivaji International Airport, but my excitement and the excellent seat buddy kept me awake. I was glued to the window, itching for my first glance at the country. Of course, flying in during the monsoon season brings with it a difficulty of seeing out windows, and night doesn't help either.
Anyways, I landed. Then I prepared myself for the immense smell that everyone assured me would come. The smell concocted in my head was a mixture of black water tanks, human feces, chicken litter, and rotting potatoes. All the worst smells I've experienced.
The door opened, and my nose braced for impact.
As the smell of Bombay first visited me, it was not at all assaulting. The carpet in the airport was obviously moldy, but it smelled exactly like the old Fayetteville Airport at Drake Field. Oddly enough, it smelled kind of like home. However, as I've found out, the smell of India is never static. In one breath you may smell human crap, but in the next you may smell wonderful curries, then more crap, then the smell of rain, then body odor, then perfume, then more food. It's unbelievable. My nose has never been more hard at work.
Within my first minute of India, I experienced the infamous queue. There must have been at least 300 people lining up to get through immigration. When I finally got to the front of the line, the immigration officer didn't believe I didn't know my address in India. I still don't. All I know is that you go to the KFC on Linking Road, go up the cross road until you come to a hill, then turn right and go down that road a bit until you get to Sabita Apartments. No roadsigns, no street names, just chaos.
Luckily, he let me through, and after about an hour wait, I was ready to leave the airport with 3000 fresh rupees in my pocket.
Then, I experienced the Indian road.
Forget all traffic rules, suspend the laws of physics, and be prepared to die, and you'll be ready to drive in Bombay. Cars scrape by inches away from concrete barriers, other cars, people, and cows. Head on collisions are imminent at all times, and somehow, after closing your eyes to pray and make peace with God you open your eyes and you've survived. Every crossing of the street, every journey is a life-risk. There is no order to the hustle and bustle, and I've never been happier crossing the road.
Why did the chicken cross the road? If he was in India, we wanted to be dinner.
Sabita Apartments, my new home, is wonderful. It's really quite large, with a nice living room and kitchen, both of which have balconies. I live with two other guys, Lukas Davies and Nelson Mendoza, and we each have our own room, bathroom, and balcony. The floor of the entire apartment is marble, and the rooms stay pretty cool with the fans. My bed is rock hard, but somehow I'm getting great sleep. Maybe it's the jetlag.
Right now I'm sitting at a tea shop, with the monsoon rains coming down in full. I'm drinking Bombay Chai, which is like tea, but made with milk, ginger, and cardamom. The rain outside is wonderful. It's different than rain I've experienced before. It's a warm rain, but still cools. You get wet, but it feels so refreshing that you really don't care, or hardly even notice. Rain back home hits your skin and shocks you a little bit, makes you jump from surprise or cold. This rain pats you, and says, you're gonna get wet, yaar. But don't worry. I just take out my 200 rupee special umbrella (from Rim Zim), and keep on keepin on.
I've only been here for a day or so, reader, but there is so much more to say. Bombay has been an attack on all my senses. I'm hearing noises that I've never heard before, and some that I've heard all too often...
...quick aside, reader. The horns. Honking is a requirement in Bombay. Want to turn left? Honk to announce it. Slowing down? Better honk. About to kill someone? Honk. Want to say hi? Honk. Someone else honked? Honk in acknowledgement. Newton could have learned a thing or two on the streets here:
Every action has an equal honk in reaction.
...I'm smelling everything. I know this is the second Matrix reference in as many posts, but stay with me. I feel like Neo when he had Kung Fu downloaded into his memory. He jolts a little, and suddenly he knows Kung Fu. That intense download of massive amounts of information is what my nose feels like constantly. And eyes, for that matter. One second here would take ten minutes to digest. But there's no time: gotta move on to the next second. I feel like I might need two years after I finish with Mahindra just to ask myself, "What just happened?"
So far, so very good reader. Tomorrow I'll visit the Mahindra office for the first time, to get some paperwork figured out.
We're at the entrance to the rabbit hole, diving in.
Anyways, I landed. Then I prepared myself for the immense smell that everyone assured me would come. The smell concocted in my head was a mixture of black water tanks, human feces, chicken litter, and rotting potatoes. All the worst smells I've experienced.
The door opened, and my nose braced for impact.
As the smell of Bombay first visited me, it was not at all assaulting. The carpet in the airport was obviously moldy, but it smelled exactly like the old Fayetteville Airport at Drake Field. Oddly enough, it smelled kind of like home. However, as I've found out, the smell of India is never static. In one breath you may smell human crap, but in the next you may smell wonderful curries, then more crap, then the smell of rain, then body odor, then perfume, then more food. It's unbelievable. My nose has never been more hard at work.
Within my first minute of India, I experienced the infamous queue. There must have been at least 300 people lining up to get through immigration. When I finally got to the front of the line, the immigration officer didn't believe I didn't know my address in India. I still don't. All I know is that you go to the KFC on Linking Road, go up the cross road until you come to a hill, then turn right and go down that road a bit until you get to Sabita Apartments. No roadsigns, no street names, just chaos.
Luckily, he let me through, and after about an hour wait, I was ready to leave the airport with 3000 fresh rupees in my pocket.
Then, I experienced the Indian road.
Forget all traffic rules, suspend the laws of physics, and be prepared to die, and you'll be ready to drive in Bombay. Cars scrape by inches away from concrete barriers, other cars, people, and cows. Head on collisions are imminent at all times, and somehow, after closing your eyes to pray and make peace with God you open your eyes and you've survived. Every crossing of the street, every journey is a life-risk. There is no order to the hustle and bustle, and I've never been happier crossing the road.
Why did the chicken cross the road? If he was in India, we wanted to be dinner.
Sabita Apartments, my new home, is wonderful. It's really quite large, with a nice living room and kitchen, both of which have balconies. I live with two other guys, Lukas Davies and Nelson Mendoza, and we each have our own room, bathroom, and balcony. The floor of the entire apartment is marble, and the rooms stay pretty cool with the fans. My bed is rock hard, but somehow I'm getting great sleep. Maybe it's the jetlag.
Right now I'm sitting at a tea shop, with the monsoon rains coming down in full. I'm drinking Bombay Chai, which is like tea, but made with milk, ginger, and cardamom. The rain outside is wonderful. It's different than rain I've experienced before. It's a warm rain, but still cools. You get wet, but it feels so refreshing that you really don't care, or hardly even notice. Rain back home hits your skin and shocks you a little bit, makes you jump from surprise or cold. This rain pats you, and says, you're gonna get wet, yaar. But don't worry. I just take out my 200 rupee special umbrella (from Rim Zim), and keep on keepin on.
I've only been here for a day or so, reader, but there is so much more to say. Bombay has been an attack on all my senses. I'm hearing noises that I've never heard before, and some that I've heard all too often...
...quick aside, reader. The horns. Honking is a requirement in Bombay. Want to turn left? Honk to announce it. Slowing down? Better honk. About to kill someone? Honk. Want to say hi? Honk. Someone else honked? Honk in acknowledgement. Newton could have learned a thing or two on the streets here:
Every action has an equal honk in reaction.
...I'm smelling everything. I know this is the second Matrix reference in as many posts, but stay with me. I feel like Neo when he had Kung Fu downloaded into his memory. He jolts a little, and suddenly he knows Kung Fu. That intense download of massive amounts of information is what my nose feels like constantly. And eyes, for that matter. One second here would take ten minutes to digest. But there's no time: gotta move on to the next second. I feel like I might need two years after I finish with Mahindra just to ask myself, "What just happened?"
So far, so very good reader. Tomorrow I'll visit the Mahindra office for the first time, to get some paperwork figured out.
We're at the entrance to the rabbit hole, diving in.
