Tuesday September 15th 2009
Unfortunately we arrived a day too late and missed the Hindu Ganpati festival. It’s a ten day celebration where each home, society etc make their own statue of Ganesh. On the last day everyone walks their statues down in a parade fashion (uncoordinated by anyone) full of music and dance to submerge their statues into the sea. I’ve heard that the procession is so well attended that streets are pretty much blocked off and traffic comes to a standstill. The statues range from small hand held ones to large ones stories high. They used to be made of organic material like clay and plaster of paris and painted with similar organic material. However, as the modern day and age of consumption and status become governing factors in our lives the statues have taken on forms derived from more toxic material and paint. I’ve been told that after the festival the ocean waves and tides bring in scores of dead fish.
We have arrived in time for the festival of Our Lady in Bandra. Of the suburbs in Mumbai three of them –Borivili, Malad and Bandra – hold the higher concentrations of Christians. When people think of India they immediately associate images of the Hindu of Muslim culture with their conception. While Hindu’s make up roughly 82% India’s population Muslim’s about 12% it is understandable that people’s conception of India is primarily comprised of those two religions. However, what most people don’t realize is that while the Christian population in India is comprised of roughly 2.3-3%, it is 2.5% of over 1.3 Billion people –which in perspective is almost the entire population of Canada.
Bandra is probably my favourite part of Mumbai. It’s right near the ocean with a promenade that hosts tons of road side vendors roasting corn, fresh fruit juice, joggers and at night it teems with couples trying to relish each other’s company out of sight of their family and hidden in the anonymity of the crowds. Bandra is a very cosmopolitan –or rather western –part of Mumbai. It’s where many of the night clubs and cafes are with a piercing and tattoo parlour. It’s the hub of roadside shopping with stalls upon stalls stacked up in every little crevice and alley way running down Hill Road. It’s where the first McDonald’s and KFC opened. I find that what makes me feel most comfortable and at home with a new part of the world are the trees and the foliage. We’re spoiled in Halifax with multiple streets lined and arched with trees. When I lived in India about three years ago for 6 months I lived in Bandra for about 4 months. I remember the first day I moved into the apartment I lived in, driving up to it and feeling at home because of all the lush greenery. The ocean and the trees. That’s what I love most about any place and definitely what I love about Bandra. I also have a lot of history in that part of town. My dad grew up there and I spent quite a bit of time in his family’s home. My 2nd set of godparents live in Bandra, I received my first holy communion at Saint Peter’s Church which is also where my grandfather was buried and also where my uncle and aunt got married and made me their 7 year old flower girl. I’m excited to go back, to share with Jonathan and even more excited to check out this festival.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Monday, September 14, 2009
early musings: Greetings from Mumbai
Monday September 14th
It has been about a week since Jonathan and I have arrived in Mumbai. We have spent the week desperately trying to overcome our jet lag while Jon has additionally had to deal with his first bout of being sick. Needless to say we haven’t been out much.
We are staying in a flat of our own which has been so generously lent to us, in a fairly large and well off compound. We’re in Malad West for those familiar with the city, a walkable distance from my godparents. In a city where privacy is almost unheard of (unless you have the money to buy it, which the vast majority of Mumbai’s population does not), it has been great to have our own place. It’s a nice way to ease the transition not only from Canada to India but also as we transition from one stage of our life (finishing our undergrads, tree-planting, wedding planning) into our next stage with whatever lies ahead here.
Being a city of around 18 million, Mumbai is a concrete jungle. There are very few homes as most people reside in the multitude of apartment buildings. The few houses that lie dispersed within the city are remnants of a different life with a much smaller population. As Jon previously explained, apartment buildings here are often arranged into micro compounds called societies. They have their own grounds, boundaries, committees that take care of the upkeep and politics -mini neighbourhoods so to speak climbing upwards instead of outwards. While many societies tend towards attracting people of a certain faith, as far as I know, most take inhabitants of all.
This particular compound has a pool which our living room window looks out onto and which we are subsequently teased with daily. Apparently you have to be a member to use it and as we don’t actually live here and aren’t part of the society, we don’t have access to membership.
Our neighbours listen to amazing traditional tabla (an Indian hand drum) music every morning. I’m excited to take lessons once we settle down.
We have two small neighbourhood mandirs (Hindu temples) nearby which begin and end our day as they fill the air with the sounds of bells and horns during the various puja (prayer) offerings.
I’m glad to be back in Mumbai. Glad to have escaped the incoming cold months back home and eager to learn more about the culture here I love. I’m warmed to see familiar sights I’ve forgotten about and admire such as the communal lunch break the shop keepers and employees take as they sit on the floor in the meager floor space as they all share their food.
There are still many things to get used to once again. I’m slowly getting my bearings for figuring out how to cross the street again amidst the maniacal traffic. Totally almost got run over by a bus yesterday. Turns out, those things do not slow down. The smallest hesitation or misjudgement here could viably get you killed just crossing the street.
I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to being stared at as an element so evidently foreign and out of place to the locale. I buzzed my hair again before I left which is a dead giveaway. When I was here in January I very quickly learned the Hindi word for “baldy” as children would run out into the street and yell at me before they ran away and hid. Long luscious hair is a sign of feminine beauty in many cultures and in India this standard holds true much more extremely than in Canada, though western culture has its fair share of idolizing this feminine characteristic as well –think about how many times we’re fed the image of a biker or warrior whose female identity is revealed as she whips off her helmet and shakes her golden locks. Needless to say, unlike the ‘west’, it’s far less acceptable to have short hair here. When people meet me they quickly ask me about my hair. I’m often told that I should grow my hair because I’ll look much better. I’ve been asked ‘what happened?’ as if the short length of my hair must be an indication of an unfortunate illness. I’m slowly being worn down by the constant disapproval and have begun to wonder if I should grow it out. Thus far I’ve been keeping it short to avoid the hassle of taking care of it, of having to give shit about things like bed-hair. But perhaps the trouble I’d save by growing it out would outweigh having to take care of it. On the other hand, the rebellious side of me says fuck it. If it isn’t my hair, I’m sure there will be other things that the Indian culture will find to disapprove of whether it be that I moved to Canada and have grown up western, the way I walk, my piercing or my white, Canadian husband. Looks like I’m just going to have to get used to being on the outside here as I’m faced with people openly both resenting me and admiring me for everything that I represent whether I want to or not.
Oh India, you challenge me like no other.
It has been about a week since Jonathan and I have arrived in Mumbai. We have spent the week desperately trying to overcome our jet lag while Jon has additionally had to deal with his first bout of being sick. Needless to say we haven’t been out much.
We are staying in a flat of our own which has been so generously lent to us, in a fairly large and well off compound. We’re in Malad West for those familiar with the city, a walkable distance from my godparents. In a city where privacy is almost unheard of (unless you have the money to buy it, which the vast majority of Mumbai’s population does not), it has been great to have our own place. It’s a nice way to ease the transition not only from Canada to India but also as we transition from one stage of our life (finishing our undergrads, tree-planting, wedding planning) into our next stage with whatever lies ahead here.
Being a city of around 18 million, Mumbai is a concrete jungle. There are very few homes as most people reside in the multitude of apartment buildings. The few houses that lie dispersed within the city are remnants of a different life with a much smaller population. As Jon previously explained, apartment buildings here are often arranged into micro compounds called societies. They have their own grounds, boundaries, committees that take care of the upkeep and politics -mini neighbourhoods so to speak climbing upwards instead of outwards. While many societies tend towards attracting people of a certain faith, as far as I know, most take inhabitants of all.
This particular compound has a pool which our living room window looks out onto and which we are subsequently teased with daily. Apparently you have to be a member to use it and as we don’t actually live here and aren’t part of the society, we don’t have access to membership.
Our neighbours listen to amazing traditional tabla (an Indian hand drum) music every morning. I’m excited to take lessons once we settle down.
We have two small neighbourhood mandirs (Hindu temples) nearby which begin and end our day as they fill the air with the sounds of bells and horns during the various puja (prayer) offerings.
I’m glad to be back in Mumbai. Glad to have escaped the incoming cold months back home and eager to learn more about the culture here I love. I’m warmed to see familiar sights I’ve forgotten about and admire such as the communal lunch break the shop keepers and employees take as they sit on the floor in the meager floor space as they all share their food.
There are still many things to get used to once again. I’m slowly getting my bearings for figuring out how to cross the street again amidst the maniacal traffic. Totally almost got run over by a bus yesterday. Turns out, those things do not slow down. The smallest hesitation or misjudgement here could viably get you killed just crossing the street.
I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to being stared at as an element so evidently foreign and out of place to the locale. I buzzed my hair again before I left which is a dead giveaway. When I was here in January I very quickly learned the Hindi word for “baldy” as children would run out into the street and yell at me before they ran away and hid. Long luscious hair is a sign of feminine beauty in many cultures and in India this standard holds true much more extremely than in Canada, though western culture has its fair share of idolizing this feminine characteristic as well –think about how many times we’re fed the image of a biker or warrior whose female identity is revealed as she whips off her helmet and shakes her golden locks. Needless to say, unlike the ‘west’, it’s far less acceptable to have short hair here. When people meet me they quickly ask me about my hair. I’m often told that I should grow my hair because I’ll look much better. I’ve been asked ‘what happened?’ as if the short length of my hair must be an indication of an unfortunate illness. I’m slowly being worn down by the constant disapproval and have begun to wonder if I should grow it out. Thus far I’ve been keeping it short to avoid the hassle of taking care of it, of having to give shit about things like bed-hair. But perhaps the trouble I’d save by growing it out would outweigh having to take care of it. On the other hand, the rebellious side of me says fuck it. If it isn’t my hair, I’m sure there will be other things that the Indian culture will find to disapprove of whether it be that I moved to Canada and have grown up western, the way I walk, my piercing or my white, Canadian husband. Looks like I’m just going to have to get used to being on the outside here as I’m faced with people openly both resenting me and admiring me for everything that I represent whether I want to or not.
Oh India, you challenge me like no other.
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