In lieu of sleep, I operate on black tea, amazing food, and my excitement that absolutely everything around me is brand new. Crossing the hectic streets, learning the value of foreign coins, squatting over pit toilets, puzzling out menus, sterilizing water - everything takes focus. Not to mention trying to entertain myself for the 10 sleepless hours I spend in my closet-sized but luxuriously air-conditioned hotel room each night.
I only get two English TV channels: a 24-hour news network and The Hallmark Channel. While it's comforting to know that you can never travel far enough to escape the influence of Oprah, I can only watch so many episodes of "The Nanny." Like, one.
Last night, I busted out the Lonely Planet and drew a map of all the places I planned to walk to today. I sketched in the fashion street market, the oceanfront promenade on Marine Drive, and an English tea cafe. But when I emerged from my hotel this morning, something was off.
Every morning so far, I've stepped outside, admired the sunlight in the Banyan trees, and thought, "I can't believe I'm in Mumbai! Wow!"
This morning, I inhaled a big whiff of nearby dumpsters and car exhaust and thought, "I am so over Mumbai."
Uh oh. That's a bad sign for my first week in India, right?
Determined to overcome my sleep deprivation and sour mood, I marched to the first place on my map. Crawford Market is a large indoor fruit and veg market about a block up the road from my hotel. As soon as I entered the building, the overwhelming smell of overripe fruit combined with the urgent shouts of salesmen - "Hello! Hello! Madam! Excuse me! Hello!" - made me realize my error. There was no way I could handle this without a full night's sleep or a really strong chai. I made an abrupt turn and headed for the nearest exit.
Once outside, I was shocked to discover I was lost. I was only a few blocks from my hotel, but nothing looked familiar. A towering freeway overpass had sprouted out of nowhere, blocking my path. I retraced my steps back to the market and went inside, only to discover another mistake. Bloody animal carcasses were swinging from hooks. Chickens were shrieking. The floor glistened with slime and everything smelled, literally, like shit. I was in the meat market, where the vegan me never, ever wanted to be.
I clapped my hand over my mouth and ran outside where crows were fighting over metal bins piled with innards. I felt something gush over my bare feet in their flip-flops and looked down to see that I was standing in a puddle in unidentifiable animal matter. Welcome to the real Mumbai, tourist!
After a few more wrong turns (and yes, a few stifled sobs) I found my hotel and walked straight into the shower with my shoes on. A few minutes later, I was clean, but seriously bummed for the first time on my trip. I didn't want to go out, but I couldn't stay in my hotel room another minute either. I needed a friend, and since I only have one in India (so far), it was an easy choice to jump in a cab and head over to Breach Candy district, where I knew she'd be at her guru's for morning satsang.
Well, only in India could you be standing in guts one minute and sitting across from a guru with a microphone strapped to your chest the next. Every day two people are chosen to converse directly with Ramesh Balsekar during his satsang, and for some reason I was one of them today. I mostly kept quiet as this tiny Indian man in white expounded on his philosophies.
In the reverent atmosphere of his airy penthouse sitting room, I had the feeling that the sleeplessness and the guts had conspired to bring me there, free of resistance and ready to absorb new ideas. Unfortunately, I am way too sleepy to recall any of them. (That's OK. I bought one of his books, which I plan to read tonight when I can't sleep.)
You might think "guts to guru" would encompass the full spectrum of Mumbai's surprises for one day, but no. Fast forward a few hours and my friend and I found ourselves sitting on the patio of the members-only Cricket Club of India drinking Foster's beer and watching the green.
We met a man at the satsang who took us to lunch there for Indian Chinese food! I was a little embarrassed to be so sweaty and backpackerish at such a posh establishment, but I couldn't turn down the invitation. When would I get another chance?
Then again, this is Mumbai, where apparently anything can happen.
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