It’s just a little past 6.30pm. The sun’s setting, and I, after a 20-minute autorickshaw ride from my client’s plush office, have managed to make it to Vashi station. It’s been raining during the day, and the station is dark, muddy, and wet. Involuntarily, I…Read More

It’s just a little past 6.30pm. The sun’s setting, and I, after a 20-minute autorickshaw ride from my client’s plush office, have managed to make it to Vashi station. It’s been raining during the day, and the station is dark, muddy, and wet. Involuntarily, I find myself comparing it to the Metro stations, clean and uncrowded, in Delhi. This place looks, in comparison, horrendous. There are no signs to indicate which trains come and go from which platforms. There don’t seem to be any helpful employees I can ask. And all around me there’s a madly rushing crowd of people, racing towards the trains.

It’s rush hour.

And rush hour, on the Mumbai Local, isn’t a nice time. But my guardian angel is working overtime, and I find myself, without any trouble, at a platform where a train’s about to leave. An anorexic girl in jeans is blowing kisses to a young man on the platform, and she confirms that the train’s headed for CST. I hop in, relieved. Just getting into the right train has been a minor achievement in itself.

The compartment I’m in is the Ladies’ Compartment. Mere coincidence, but I’m not complaining. It isn’t terribly crowded: there’s no room for me to sit, but there’s plenty of standing space, enough for me to lean back against a rhythmically lurching metal wall and gaze out of the wide doors- which, by the way, are simply doorways; there are no leaves to these doors. One push, and out you go, hurtling on to the tracks.

The train moves on, first at high speed as it crosses the relatively uninhabited stretch between Vashi and Mumbai. This is a place of marshes—glittering expanses of water, reflecting the swollen grey monsoon clouds above. There are trees, shrubs, grasslands, wild flowers, and water birds. A pretty, tranquil non-city scene.

The scene inside the Ladies’ Compartment is equally absorbing. Sitting on the floor, just a few feet away from me, is a trio of young village girls, in bright ankle-length skirts and cotton blouses. Bright-eyed, dark-skinned, maybe about twelve or thirteen years old. They’re selling long, fibrous green pod-like vegetables known in India as drumsticks: not a personal favourite of mine, but much adored by those who find them deliciously chewy. The girls are soon joined by another hawker: a grey-haired woman, her sari draped knee-length in the traditional Maharastrian style, with a long, broad loop of cloth gathering up the sari between her legs. The wares in her basket are more appetising than the drumsticks: savoury crisps made of gram flour, rice flour, sesame seeds, and a light sprinkling of seasonings ranging from red chillies to sugar, tamarind, and fried curry leaves.

Behind me- and soon beside me, for I manage to find a place to sit- is seated a bunch of young women, laughing and talking in an easy blend of English, Hindi and Marathi. They’re obviously colleagues- some of them in jeans and shirts, some in salwar-kurtas. Cosmopolitan to the core.

The train crosses into Mumbai city and whizzes past stations: Kurla, Dadra, Reay Road, Cotton Green… the names are evocative enough- most typically Marathi, some a throwback to colonial days. Finally, about an hour and a half later, I’m there. I’ve arrived at my destination. Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminal, or as everybody seems to refer to it, VT- Victoria Terminal. It’s muggy, so crowded and stuffy and confusing that I just stand still for about ten seconds, trying desperately to figure out which side I should be headed.

By the end of ten seconds, that decision’s been wrenched out of my hands. I find myself pulled and pushed, willy-nilly, by the mob that’s surging all around me, rushing towards the main gate. Everybody’s walking as if their lives depended on it: old ladies, toddlers, people who look as if they barely get one square meal a day- all are swirling past, and I’m getting caught up and carried along on the wave of humanity.

Outside the station, I stop, move swiftly to the fence that blocks off the station from the main road, and look up at the bulk of VT. Grey stone, colonial in every line and column and arch. The buildings around, I notice, are also much the same. All beautifully lit up, enabling me to get some shots on my camera. In Delhi, a lone woman standing outside a mundane building like a railway station, taking photographs at night, would invite stares and quite possibly even questions. Here, everybody around is just too hurried to notice.

I shove my camera back into its bag and take a taxi to Gateway of India. Another thing I wouldn’t have attempted in Delhi, because taxi drivers in Delhi have a tendency to throw their weight around if you want to go a short distance. Here, the cabbie simply puts the meter down and takes me the couple of kilometres to the monument. It’s illuminated, too, and crowded. I make a leisurely circuit around the Gateway, fending off hawkers of ice cream and kulfi, brandishing my camera significantly at photographers offering to take pictures of me against the building.

It’s past 8, and the thought of the journey back to my hotel in Vashi- at least an hour and a half away- is already looming large in my mind. I’ve got to get back- but not before dinner at a place I remember fondly: Café Mondegar. I don’t, unfortunately, recall its location too well; all I remember is that it’s somewhere at the back of the Taj Mahal Hotel. But a little bit of slightly lost walking about, and I find it. Dinner’s quick, slightly awkward because I’m the only person sitting solo in a café occupied almost completely by couples, families, and groups of backpackers. Nobody pays much attention to me (except the wait staff, who have an almost protective air about them), and I’m out of Mondy’s by 9.

It doesn’t take brains to figure out that if I catch a Local back to Vashi I’m hardly likely to get to my hotel before around 11. And despite everything people may say about the Local being safe for women any hour of the day, I have my qualms. How safe? Really safe, or safe just in name? I give in to my cowardly urges, and take a taxi.

The ride back is long. Very, very long. I’d have thought there’d be less traffic on the roads, but Mumbai, I realise, is not Delhi. Traffic in Delhi is significantly thin after about 9; here in Mumbai, it’s bumper to bumper even at 10.30. The taxi crawls along, and every now and then, a sudden sharp downpour brings home to me the fact that the weather in Mumbai, especially during the monsoon, is thoroughly unpredictable.

We finally reach Vashi close to 11. I’m not the sharpest pencil in the pack when it comes to directions, and the cabbie doesn’t know Vashi too well. "Never mind, madam", he assures me- and hops out every couple of kilometres to check with passersby about the location of the Blue Diamond Hotel. We get there just at 11, and I see that the hotel’s restaurant, on the ground floor, is packed with diners. But I’m really too tired to dawdle; I pay off the taxi, grab my room key from the reception, and head upstairs to a cold bath, followed by bed. Outside, neon lights twinkle, cars vroom past, the seemingly incessant activity of Mumbai continues.

The city never sleeps at night.

Bombay is filled with hawkers, restaurants, and upscale eating joints. The interesting thing is that Bombay caters to both strict vegetarians and non-vegetarians, and eating joints tend to maintain a fairly strict distinction in some places. If you are not used to Indian street food,…Read More

Bombay is filled with hawkers, restaurants, and upscale eating joints. The interesting thing is that Bombay caters to both strict vegetarians and non-vegetarians, and eating joints tend to maintain a fairly strict distinction in some places. If you are not used to Indian street food, then I would urge you to be careful, to stick to well-known restaurants, and to order bottled water when you eat out.

If you are a tourist, then chances are that you will stay confined to south Bombay, near Colaba, where the favorite hangout place is the ever-popular Leopold Cafe. Apparently, you can even get a chance to appear in a Bollywood film. Agents come scouting for talent at this café.

Kulfi falooda is a must-have dessert in Bombay. This falooda does not remotely resemble the Iranian version, and instead has a clear Indian stamp. Kulfi is a rich ice cream of sorts that is available in different flavors. One of the best places to eat kulfi falooda is Badshah Kulfi, near Crawford Market. The other place to eat kulfi falooda is Elco Chaat Place in Bandra.

Vada pav is this city's favorite dish. Vada is a concoction of potatoes and other vegetables that is liberally sprinkled with spices and butter, while pav means bread. Pav is actually the altered version of the Portuguese word for bread, Bombay and the neighbouring state of Goa were influenced by the Portuguese.

There are good eating joints all along Marine Drive, where you can get a bite to eat. I prefer to go to Taj near Gateway for my fix of Indian or Middle Eastern food.

Bandra/Juhu/Pali Hill is the other major hub where you can grab a good bite of food. However, I cannot vouch for the quality and consistency of some of the food. Bandra Bandstand has a Coffee Cafe Day where you can sip your coffee and look out at the Arabian Sea. Be aware that your nostrils maybe assailed by a strong fish smell towards the evening hours. Farther down the road is Taj Landsend and Hotel SeaRock. This Taj is a smaller hotel that has a couple of restaurants and a bar. The food at Masala Bay is not too bad, and you can kick back and have an aperitif at the lounge before heading to your restaurant.

Bandra also has the newly opened Bread Boutique; Elco Chaat Place; and Olives, the happening Italian joint. Olives has a decent selection of Italian food and bread, but like many Indian-Italian joints, they tend to focus excessively on rissotos and heavy, creamy, cheesy pasta offerings. If you are hankering for a California kind of Italian dish, then you will be disappointed.

JW Marriott on Juhu Tara Road is a good place to hang out for sandwich and Indian food. The couple of times I have gone to their Italian restaurant, Mezzo Mezzo, it has been a disappointing experience.

If you travel farther up, close to the international airport, you will find a slew of great five-star hotels with some fantastic restaurants. The Leela has The Great Wall, Jamavar, and Citrus. The Grand Maratha has a great lounge, Dakshin, and a couple of great northeastern Indian cuisine place. Then there is the Hyatt, with its share of restaurants.

If you travel west from Andheri, you will be travelling towards Powai, which has Hotel Renaissance. This is a great place to hang out and relax away from the maddening crowd of south and central Bombay.

My group traveled to Indore via plane and van from Bombay/Mumbai for an industry work conference. The sidewalks in Indore weren't paved; we mostly walked on dirt roads. As I walked down the street, I often got stared down by motorists and bicyclists, since…Read More

My group traveled to Indore via plane and van from Bombay/Mumbai for an industry work conference. The sidewalks in Indore weren't paved; we mostly walked on dirt roads. As I walked down the street, I often got stared down by motorists and bicyclists, since they had probably never seen an Asian person before (by Asian, I mean non-South Asian, since Indians are "Asian" too). I just waved to them; they probably thought I was a crazy tourist. There were cows and (what looked like) wart hogs roaming around in the streets. I saw an elephant with an advertisement draped down his side.

In the "downtown" area, we experienced the colors and bustle of a small Indian outdoor market. We visited a traditional Hindu temple and entered Kanch Mandir, a Jain temple that is completely inlaid with glass. It looks like you are surrounded by a mosaic of colorful mirrors swirled in beautiful patterns. We also ventured into an old palace, but I don't recall the name. I wouldn't go out of my way to visit Indore, but it is most definitely off the beaten path!

Even though the travel agent booked us at The Oberoi hotel, it still took the reception at least 30 minutes to check us in even though we arrived after 2am. I was later told by the travel agent that that is the normal course of…Read More

Even though the travel agent booked us at The Oberoi hotel, it still took the reception at least 30 minutes to check us in even though we arrived after 2am. I was later told by the travel agent that that is the normal course of business in India. The lobby of the Oberoi is very nice, but the design is more modern and sleek, so don't expect a traditional Indian look. The pool was outdoors and didn't look that nice. It was a bit cold to go for a dip. I didn't use the spa facilities; the massages were pricey (especially for India) since it was a nice hotel. My hotel room was great. I had a view of the Queen's necklace (see pictures).Close

I had my first taste of India when I went to get my visa at the consulate in New York City. I was in a small room overfilled with 100 plus bodies. They run a disordered, but somewhat mysteriously efficient system. I took a number…Read More

I had my first taste of India when I went to get my visa at the consulate in New York City. I was in a small room overfilled with 100 plus bodies. They run a disordered, but somewhat mysteriously efficient system. I took a number and waited around for my number to be called. Towards the tail end of my time there, I broke down, found a relatively empty corner, and sat on the floor with no shame.

After 2 hours, my number was finally called and I went to the teller's booth and submitted my visa application with picture and passport. After submitting my documents, I returned in 3.5 hours to receive my passport with a sparkly, new Indian visa.

Despite the numerous hours you spend there and amidst all of the confusion, you somehow end up with your visa at the end of the day.

The address is 3 East 64th Street (between Madison and 5th avenue), New York, NY 10021 if you're up for the challenge. Ask the security guard if you have any questions. When I was there, they did not have any signs that described the lengthy process.

Last year there was a wedding in our extended family in Bombay, and I was dazzled by the clothes that the bride had chosen. No, not the bridal clothes, but the nice everyday outfits that one can get to wear in India, other than the…Read More

Last year there was a wedding in our extended family in Bombay, and I was dazzled by the clothes that the bride had chosen. No, not the bridal clothes, but the nice everyday outfits that one can get to wear in India, other than the boring trouser-and-shirt combination. Yes, you can dress it up with a nice pair of pumps or accessories, but it does not come close to the colorful Indian outfits.

Unable to contain my curiosity, I asked the new bride where she got her selection of outfits, and she had two words, "Mangaladas Market." I had vague recollections of having read about the market and had been dissuaded by many not to go there. "Oh, it is too crowded and you won't be able to make it through the narrow gullies," they said.

My timing was off since it was Ramadan, the Muslim festival, and Mohammad Ali Road and its surrounding areas turn into a veritable all-night market, with people milling around various eating joints to break their fast. I was advised to select a different time of the year to visit the market.

In the meantime, I had made many sorties in this neighbourhood and familiarized myself with the general layout and navigation of the streets. Armed with a good reading of the contours of this area, I finally paid a visit to Mangaldas Market, the place where designers from all over the world come to scout for fabrics of all various shapes and textures.

I almost missed the entrance to this huge, densely packed market, where the shops are packed from top to bottom with textiles, textiles, and more textiles. This is the place to get the fabrics of your choice. There is raw silk, pure silk, china silk, silk mixed with cotton, tussar silk, mugha silk, and more varieties of silk than you might care to know. There are bolts and bolts of lovely embroided material on silk, cotton, crepe, georgette... you name it they have it here.

Strangely, haggling, or bargaining was frowned upon by some of the shopkeepers, who firmly said that they only sold fixed price.

I bought yards and yards of material in black, ecru, saffron, mustard yellow, canary yellow, lime green, etc., etc. By the end of it, I was weighed down by bags and bags of shopping and was not sure if I would be able to make it to the car that was parked a couple of blocks away. But, before I could make it to the car, I made a quick detour to Badshah Kulfi, which was mercifully around the corner.

I have since unpacked and safely tucked away my precious silks, and am now scouting around to find a good tailor who can make my outfits. India is a great place to get your outfits made, provided you find a good, reliable tailor.

Chor Bazaar Chor Bazaar literally means a thieves' bazaar. The local myth has it that this is the place where people came to sell their stolen goods. Today you can buy a mixture of old and new stuff at the bazaar. Local people will urge…Read More

Chor Bazaar

Chor Bazaar literally means a thieves' bazaar. The local myth has it that this is the place where people came to sell their stolen goods. Today you can buy a mixture of old and new stuff at the bazaar. Local people will urge you to take a dekho at this place, but will warn you to look out and be careful. There is a popular saying that if you go to shop in chor bazaars, don’t be surprised if you find your car tires being sold in one of the shops!

These few sentences are more than enough food for your brain to go on over-drive. Right there your mind starts to conjure up images, and you start to wonder if you should go anywhere this place. Put your knee-jerk reactions and instant analysis aside and venture out to this shopper’s paradise, which has lots of hidden treasures to offer. The place is not clean and spiffed up; instead, the maze of streets, with their crammed, dusty shop fronts, can be a bit of a shocker the first few minutes, but it quickly wears off when you realize how passionate and knowledgeable the shopkeepers are. If you don't know something, fess up, and don't pretend like you know everything about various kinds of wood, grain etc. And, be sure to ask if the furniture they are selling is an old piece, or a new piece that has been recreated.

A word of caution: it is best to wear closed-toe shoes. Do not venture into this area if it is raining. It is also best to go with someone who can speak Hindi or the local language.

I put all my misgivings aside and ventured to this place accompanied by a seasoned guide: my husband. After one trip to this place, the man was enamored by chor bazaar and their range of goods. Every weekend he makes a beeline to the dusty storefronts, eager to know what he can uncover from these shops.

Chor Bazaar is located off of Mohammad Ali Road in South Bombay. You turn into the lane where Al-Rehmani Hotel is located. You will go past Gulistan perfumes, Bajaj Choice Center, Alamgir Hotel, KGN Bakery, KGN Chinese Food, Tip Top Lights and then you make a left into Mutton Street the start of chor bazaar.

We have great pieces of furniture and artifacts that we acquired from various shops on Mutton Street. The trick to shopping in this place is to bargain. You will always be quoted a higher price, but bring down the price by 20-30 percent. If you are not an expert, do not pretend to be one. These guys know their stuff, and they can smell when you are faking it. Instead, ask them to give you details. You can ask if the piece is a new or an old one. What I found is that they will let you know if they are selling you an old or a new piece. One shopkeeper who had a huge stock of Spode and other China stuff confessed that he gets his stock from UK and sells it in his shop!

The best time to visit the bazaar is on Fridays, I am told. However, you might want to check on that. The best time that has worked for us is the 10:30 am to 4:30 pm time-slot.

Bread Boutique is the latest bread place that has opened for business in upscale Bandra. In my quest to find a good loaf of bread, I have braved many traffic congestions and travelled far to get the right loaf. And I believe I have found…Read More

Bread Boutique is the latest bread place that has opened for business in upscale Bandra. In my quest to find a good loaf of bread, I have braved many traffic congestions and travelled far to get the right loaf. And I believe I have found a good place in Bread Boutique. (Word of caution: this is a new place, and they might be romancing the customers with good-quality stuff. I have to wait and see if they continue to sustain their quality.)

This is a tiny place with enough room for two tables and chairs. What they don't have in space, they make up for in what they offer. They offer various kinds of bread: wheat-grain, 7-grain, soya, pita, focaccia, etc. You can either buy them as regular loaves or elect to buy a sandwich roll.

Besides bread, they have a nice selection of cakes: real American cheesecakes, chocolate cakes, Napoleans, muffins, and croissants.

They sell a limited variety of spreads like basil butter and toppings. You can also buy pre-packaged chocolate cake mix.

We choose the seven-grain roll, pita bread, and focaccia sticks and were very pleased with our buy. The roll had a nice texture and flavor and made a great base for a cheese sandwich. The focaccia sticks were nice and crisp.

I can see myself making a beeline to this bakery anytime I am in Bandra. The only downside is that there is no parking available. We had to park right outside the bakery, which is a major traffic choke point, while we made a quick sortie into the bakery.

India is different, but the people were great. The men wear smart casual dress, and the women wear saris, or uniforms. Most people in India work 6 days a week and take Sunday off. As I walked out of the airport in Mumbai (Bombay) at 2am my…Read More

India is different, but the people were great. The men wear smart casual dress, and the women wear saris, or uniforms.

Most people in India work 6 days a week and take Sunday off.

As I walked out of the airport in Mumbai (Bombay) at 2am my glasses instantly fogged up in the sweltering 99% humidity and 32 degree Celsius heat. The line of about 200 drivers meeting the arrivals stretched for a 100 yards along the railing bordering the walkway. Nobody spoke a word. Car horns blared in the distance. I found my name scratched on to a bit of cardboard. The driver and my guide scurried off with me to the car. The car was air-conditioned thank god. The departure from the parking lot to the city streets involved the driver pressing the gas pedal to the floor and literally tearing down the dashed line in the road. The best way to describe how they drive in India is to say they drive like we would walk in a crowd. The paint used to mark the driving lanes is a colossal waste of money and good paint!

When you arrive at a red light, all the motorcycles make their way to the front of the lineup. When the light turns green it’s like the start of a Formula 1 race lead by a pack of crazed motorbike riders. The women ride sidesaddle on the back with their saris flowing back in the wind, or dangling dangerously close to the rear wheel. Some motorbikes had a protective screen around the top of the wheel to avoid accidental entanglement of saris, but most didn’t. Motorbikes carry from one to five people. It is supposedly a 1000 Rupee fine for having more than two passengers on a motorbike.

The guesthouse entrance looked like the rusty corrugated sheet metal gates to an automobile recycler. Inside the entrance was ceramic tile, and the gardens seemed to be well tended with waves of blooming bougainvilleas growing over the high stone walls surrounding the complex. In the morning I awoke and looked out the window and thought "I’ve landed in the worst slum on earth, and they built it on a garbage dump!" The other guests politely nodded hello and avoided contact. One of the younger men remained in the common living room and I engaged him in conversation by asking questions about India. He had been working in the San Francisco area with a US work permit in past years, prior to returning to India to do some work for a communications and IT company, specifically data warehousing. He was on his way to Australia for a little one to three month escape. We had a great conversation for about 2 hours about India and general world events.

I asked that the car be sent early so that I could get a brief tour of Bombay. The driver drove full speed until we reached the "tourist area" where he stopped at some opulent guarded jewelry and art gallery and I was invited to go in and shop. I said I wasn’t interested in shopping but just wanted to see the city. We drove around some more with me sticking the camera out the window to take a photo as we whizzed past the sights. He dumped me at the train station, let me know the platform to expect the train. Once my train pulled in the porter I hired found my first class compartment, and put my suitcases away for 100 rupee’s ($2). The guy moved like lightning.

The three Indians on the train were fun to talk to. We chatted about family life, wives, and kids. It seems that women and children behave the same universally. Different ways of reserving train tickets; the prices and their comparisons to flying were also the subject of discussion. It seems it costs about the same to travel by first class rail from Bombay to New Deli as it does to fly. Both my train trips to and from Surat were first class air-conditioned coaches. The trip back was not in a compartment, but more like airline seating. All along the train tracks in the cities are shantytowns and garbage. I was told that there are a lot of migrant workers who set up shanties along the railway right of way. Every once in a while the railway clears them out, but within a month others are back.

When I got off the train in Surat the driver had no problem picking out the two Caucasian men he was supposed to pick up. The other guy was a British expatriate from the United Emirates. The driver bumped another van backing out of the parking lot, which raised a small altercation that resulted in a cop making him pay the other van owner some money directly, and then we were off on another India car race, but this time the driver was upset. Oh GREAT! As we drove out to Hazira where the plastics plant was, we got stopped a railway crossing. There are crossing guards that manually lower the railway barriers at every level crossing in India. Surat was cleaner than Bombay. The government was forced to clean it up after an outbreak of the plague a few years ago.

The guesthouse in Hazira was tastefully decorated in furniture similar to that from the Bombay Company, Dark reddish wood with old British/Indian styling. The room was air conditioned. I found that everywhere I stayed in India had moth balls in every corner and drain. Leave the moth balls alone as they were a deterrent to the local cobra snakes and other critters.

The monsoon rains had come on the second day I was there. The temperature drops somewhat, but the humidity level increases dramatically.

I occasionally eat spicy food, but the only thing that they had in India that was not spicy was fruit, plain rice, breakfast cereal, funky toast or eggs any way you wanted them cooked. The continental cuisine was still very spicy and not exactly what I had expected. I found that after 4 days I was craving less spicy food.

We worked from 9am until 1pm, took lunch until 2pm and worked until 6pm. The plant and construction people worked until midnight. I usually had a swim between getting back to the guesthouse around 6 - 6:30pm and 8 – 9pm when we ate dinner. The state or Gujarat is dry and it’s the state that Gandhi was born . As a foreigner you can purchase an all India liquor license for beer and wine.

The flights were business class from Toronto to Bombay via Frankfurt. On the way to Bombay I found showers in the Frankfurt business class lounge. All the business class lounges have free Internet access computers.

Lufthansa bumped me to first class on the flight from Frankfurt to Bombay. These seats recline completely to make a flat bed. Lufthansa also displays the GPS position of the airplane at all times on one of the TV channels. This way you can look out the window and see which country you are over. I saw Austria, the Chech Republic, Rumania and the black sea before retiring to sleep.

The plant personnel are all college level educated, and very capable. The trades people are good as well. They work with less of a safety culture. I was particularly impressed that nobody got fried by the rats nest of electric arc welding cables strewn around the 15 meter level of the plant during the monsoon. They do everything by hand. It’s like watching ants work. The women wear special construction helmets designed to carry tin pans. These are used to carry everything around the job site; dirt, cement, bricks, water etc. There is a line of them between the cement mixer and where the bricks are being laid. Most of them are wearing sandals. Scrap metal from the piping is handed down from the 20 meter level to the ground floor by a human chain of people lining the stairs. Everyone wore hard hats, but only the Reliance Industries people wore uniforms and safety shoes. Nobody was wearing safety glasses. The welders did not have to use welding shields to protect the people working around them, but they wore welding helmets or goggles.

Unbelievable and amazing at the same time. That’s India.

We walked the streets of Bombay and discovered many wonderful things. We found small non descript looking shopfronts, which were like Alladin's Cave, full of magnificent silk sarees, in the finest silks and the most vibrant colours. A small opening in the shopfronts would lead…Read More

We walked the streets of Bombay and discovered many wonderful things.
We found small non descript looking shopfronts, which were like Alladin's Cave, full of magnificent silk sarees, in the finest silks and the most vibrant colours.

A small opening in the shopfronts would lead to a market, overflowing with the freshest looking exotic fruits and vegetables, painstakingly and artistically arranged in towers and patterns. There were colouful dyes built like so many multicoloured sandcastles and stalls packed with glass bangles and trinkets, and everywhere the smell of sandalwood and jasmine.

We met many Indian people on the streets, who, thinking we were lost, stopped to offer assistance. Sometimes a crowd would gather, all trying to help us and then wanting to talk to us,to ask where we were from, and if we liked India. The people were some of the friendliest I have found anywhere.
Bombay is definitely on the list of my favourite places.Close