Malabar Hill - 29 Nov 2013

This afternoon, Matt will catch his sleeper train to Delhi. I am impressed that he has fit everything into such a small backpack, and it's a good thing - today he'll have to carry it around with him.

We catch a taxi to the West side of South Mumbai known as Malabar Hill, and visit the hanging gardens. The taxi swallows us into the heaving, blurting chaos of traffic and spits us out a few hundred metres from our destination whilst stuck in a jam. The hanging gardens are more garden than hanging - awash with colourful butterflies, they are an oasis amidst the city's tower blocks.

We trek north, spying old colonial buildings amidst the modern flats, and enter the Mahalaxshmi Temple, where hoards of people are making offerings of flowers and coconut at the temple shrine. A quick stop for sugary, spicy tea from the chai-wallah (7 rupees each) and we mix our religions by heading along a spur cutting through the ocean out to the Hali Aji Mosque. The guy guarding our shoes introduces himself as James Bond and gives us headgear that may either keep us respectful in the temple or single us out as idiot foreigners. The whitewashed mosque cuts a beautiful outline across the horizon of sea and sky, and has a dazzling ceiling and calligraphied arabic writing across the walls inside.

Finally, we realise there is little time until Matt's train, so hot-foot it to buy him some snacks and get to the central station before I hop in a cab back to the sweet, sweet air-con of the hotel.

In the evening, Pat, Jan, and I head to the Leopold cafe, which is a-buzz with chatter and the quaffing of drinks. Bullet-holes still marr the walls and ceiling from the terrorist attacks five years ago. Jan remonstrates with the taxi drivers until we can find one who will take us back on the meter, and then I am left to continue the adventure on my own for a few days until brother Bryn arrives...

Sanaya and Zubin's wedding - 28 Nov 2013

Dressed in our wedding best, Matt, Pat, Jan, and I head to the Afghan Church for Sanaya and Zubin's wedding. Once we realised that one guy burning stuff in the churchyard does not constitute a wedding, we followed our noses to the venue just down the road.

Sanaya and Zubin each made their separate magnificant entrances looking spectacular. For a while they sat up on a stage, separated by a curtain, while their hands were bound together, and then the curtain was removed, symbolising their spiritual union. At this point, the couple sat on stage whilst priests made blessings and sporadically threw handfuls of rice into their faces. This seemed to go on for quite a while, with Sanaya and Zubin occasionally risking a peek, only to see another volley of rice heading in their direction. When the rice attack was over there were a lot of smiles and the couple looked incredibly happy. Following a short trip to the fire temple, the couple returned to the stage for everyone to go up and congratulate them, then the feasting and dancing could begin!

I am very lucky to have been a part of this special day - congratulations to Sanaya and Zubin and their families!

Elephanta Island - 28 Nov 2013

We sail away from Mumbai, the rippling water quelling the chaos of the city into a subdued yawn. Just one hour off-shore is Elephanta Island, home to hungry monkeys, street stalls, and temples carved into the stone caves. Amidst the forst of underground columns like a dwarven citadel, I halt at the statue of the three-headed Shiva; creator, preserver, and destroyer; whose close-eyed serenity envelops me.

More Mumbai

In the past 48 hours, amongst other things, I have: been interviewed about terrorist attacks by Indian news; told a drunken local that drink makes everything better; sat in on a case at the Mumbai high court; danced to D.I.S.C.O. and the birdy song; been provided with a veritable banquet by Sanaya's parents at the gift-giving ceremony; and generally meandered through the streets of Mumbai with my fellow European tourists. Today, Matt and I explored the museum, where Matt attempted to learn dance moves from the intricately-carved statues. I look forward to seeing the results at the wedding tomorrow!

Everyone has the horn in Mumbai

Everyone has the horn in Mumbai and they are not afraid to use it. Even though I have experienced this type of thing before, the taxi ride to my hotel is a blast (mostly of horns). The traffic spews constantly, pushbikes and motorbikes sifting through the heaving mass of cars, lorries and tuk-tuks. Everyone beeping merrily away - vehicles should be heard if not seen. Stuck in the traffic I have my first un-solicited approach of someone trying to sell me postcards through the car window. Housing blocks are tightly packed, squeezing skywards as there is nowhere else to grow. I smile at two people on a motorbike which is bleeping furiously at our taxi as it veers left towards them. Mumbai passes into my eyes and mind but I haven't properly met it yet, in my little air-conditioned bubble.

It's a long way to Mumbai

Being one of the few white people on a plane full of Indians definitely highlights your own otherness. Not that the otherness isn't there the rest of the time, it's just hiding amongst all those other white people.

The old guy sitting next to me on the plane is definitely proud of his turban. He has swigged 4 whiskies before I've even got a proper taste of the short story I'm reading. This has made him somewhat gregarious. I repeatedly help him with the food tray in the arm of his chair which he can't seem to master alone, for which I receive a grateful pat on the knee. I feel I have struck up a language-less friendship like I might with a cat, whislst the old man regales his fellow passengers in an Indian dialect.

I am glad of his presence. It calms any pre-travel nerves, and reminds me of my previous trip to India, when people would often strike up conversation and debate with fellow bus/plane/train travellers. It is rather un-British and I like it...