Looking Through the Gateway to India

Finally wakening from out jet lag coma.
Moving s-l-o-w-l-y as we adjust to the heat.
Following the finely dressed crowds,
dressed in their brightest, swaying back and forth
past the Gateway to India
like an aquarium of exotic tropical fish.

Photographers try to capture the innocence
of young, playful children with cameras
that don't even look out of place alongside
the black and yellow 1950's taxis.

It's organized chaos in the streets as the taxis
weave and dance through the wide streets knowing
when to take the lead and when to carefully
follow as not to get stomped on by passing
overloaded trucks busting with goods.
Horns honk to their own beat in a language of their own.

Our evening wooden cruise boat finds some
welcomed cool breeze past battleships,
junks, and sailboats that turn to shadows
as the sun sets in Mumbai.

Salaam Bombay

What is that reminds you of certain places? Is it the smell? The architecture perhaps? The dress sense of the people there? Organized chaos can be one of them and if it is, 'Bom baii' or 'beautiful bay' fits the bill.

Cafe life and upscale dining emporiums clash with market stalls huddled next to tailor shops. Tourists are easily spotted and descended on by ragtag streetchildren trying to feed themselves by begging from well heeled passersby. The travellers are usually left to their own devices, only occasionally being mistook for weekly visitors.

Streethawkers sell all manner of wares from bhudda bags to Gucci glasses. A short tour of the area shows a barber grooming a client sitting on a raised barbers chair with waxes and oils being applied, oblivious to the cacophony of sounds that surround his stage.

Car horns tooting have as many meanings to other drivers as the nod of a head. Nodding from side to side can mean a 'yes, no, maybe, not quite yet, what do you think, oh really' or just about anything you want to interrupt it to.

Sample the delights because this city is full of Eastern promise.

Namaste India


Having arrived at mid-day, little did we know that an oven or furnace of heat would be there waiting at the airport to greet us. Now tell me, how many novels have you read where it's begun like that. It's little wonder that the English language runs out of euphemisms to describe such a thing but that's the closest in the descriptive language of English we can arrive at to conclude that it was 'hecka hot' as, generally it's not.So, there are a gazillion ways to describe depressing, dreary, overcast weather, but moggy or humid would rarely be used. In Hindi, they would perhaps nod their head from side to side stating that it's so-so, in Gujarati they would make a welcoming hand gesture and write it off as normal but in Ireland we would say 'it roasts the pants off ye and we're not even on the beach yet. ' Such is life when one is unaccustommed to difference.Welcome change! Salaam grey days of yore!