The wild streets of India's big 3 -
Mumbai, Delhi, Kolkata
Mumbai - Roaming through the crazy streets of a megacity
My alarm goes off at 2:30 am. Eating a huge dinner and going to sleep right away was not a wise decision. I haven’t had stomach issues in India until now, but the cramps have got me. At least it’s not the sort of stomach problem that forces you to plan in toilet stops every half hour. My flight reaches Mumbai at 6. In the 1-hour taxi ride, the skylines and slums alike zoom by.
In the morning sunlight I’m trying to find some nice pictures at the gate, but I’m already tired. I aimlessly walk around, and then head towards the famous train station. The light and environment is beautiful, but like so often I simply have no motivation or energy to do the work that births great pictures. All the architecture features British colonialism left in decay, with Indian plants covering the buildings and the typical small shops sprawling through the streets.
After a thirty minute walk, I desperately need water, and although my stomach doesn’t feel like it, I know I should eat if I am to get through this day. McDonald’s it is.
Further walking through the streets distracts me from my stomach, although the 30°C sap away a lot of energy. My plan is to go to Chor Bazaar, which translates to thief’s market. I found it in a blog post that described where to find the real street Mumbai. With every kilometer the streets become dirtier and busier. Before getting there I tell myself I should stop and rest, but finding a quiet place here is hopeless, so I just sit down on the sidewalk. I haven’t evened opened my water bottle yet, when two sketchy women come and sit next to me. For all the shyness that Indian women have with initiating contact, these two are the opposite. It turns out the spot I have chosen to relax is next to a brothel... I’ve learned how to say a vehement ‘no’ to all the people trying to sell me something, but these two are more adamant than a hoard of desperate taxi drivers. Like so often, the only solution is to walk away.
By now I’ve reached the street that borders the bazaar, and according to the map I should go through one of the shady side alleys to enter. So I take a deep breath and go in. It’s dark, dirty and the stares that I always get are different here, not the welcoming astonishment of seeing white skin but an unsympathetic “wtf are you doing here”. Since it’s also a one-way street I hurriedly try the next alley, which is wider and friendlier. At the other end I emerge back into the open road. I didn’t find the bazaar, but I definitely don’t feel the need to go back and look for it.
After more walking and a taxi ride I’ve reached the train station where I will meet my guide for the slum tour. With some time to kill and my logic telling me I should be hungry by now, I type in sandwich on google maps and a Subway pops up around the corner. Desperate times call for familiar food. I never even gone to subway in the Netherlands, but in this quiet and AC-cooled restaurant I can recharge my phone, and myself.
Now I’m ready for next part: Dharavi Slum Tour
After the tour it’s time to do what I came here for, and deliver a package. I’m guessing I can continue by train since I also took one in the afternoon. Sarah calls me and assures me I won’t. After witnessing even the mild form of train craziness on the overcrowded platforms I have to agree, Ola is much better. I have a wonderful dinner, and some good conversations. With a midnight flight I finally plunge into the pillows at 3 am. These past 24 hours were extremely tiring and interesting. If my India stay was a video game, today boosted my experience points so much I upgraded by several levels.
Delhi & Agra - 60 cigarettes a day and a crowded Taj Mahal
When I get off the train I have the first sensation of being cold in India. It’s dark, not very busy, and thick fog hangs in the hair. A one hour taxi ride brings me to the center I’m supposed to stay at, but I have neither contact number nor name. After some time, Abisheik, comes to pick me up and we go for dinner. He is a youth leader and has come do Delhi for a youth training. I’m here to join them and then stay an extra 3 days to give my third communication training.
The smog in Delhi is even worse than usual. It is hard to believe that the pollution is so strong it actually impairs your sight. A friend tells me it is like smoking 60 cigarettes a day, and walking around does leave you with a cough and burning eyes. I buy a mask, which turns out to be neon-green, as if I haven’t stood out enough already (a shopkeeper gave me free drink for my blue eyes).
rld famous Taj Mahal. Unfortunately it’s not in Delhi, but in Agra, which is 1,5 hours by train and 4-5 hours by car. Unfortunately we’re going by car. On our journey along the foggy highways we see a lot of half-finished houses and dirty markets. It feels a little weird to see all this while going to place flush with tourist money.
Of course we have to buy a foreigner ticket of 1000 rupees, compared to national price of 40. But this foreigner ticket brings certain privileges (as if we don’t have enough already). But I can’t say I mind skipping the immense queues at both the general entrance and door to the tomb. Altogether we must have saved at least one hour, maybe more.
First you have to enter through the side gates to access the huge land of the Taj Mahal. Next you walk through a main gate, which is itself worth of a lot of pictures. The Taj Mahal is way too crowded to be enjoyable or take the kind of pictures that you would see somewhere. There is no water in the basin in front, and therefore no ‘reflection picture’. When we enter the actual tomb we are being pushed forward by the massed in the hot room, where the smell of sweat seems to have replaced oxygen. It is tempting to get it over with as fast as possible.
But all that said, the Taj Mahal lives up to its reputation. A structure this big isn’t supposed to be this beautifully decorated. The whole building is covered with insane marble carvings with intricate details. Some of the stones literally glow in the sun- and even moonlight. It is an absolutely spectacular building that dazzles from both up close and far way, constantly leaving you confused about its scale. The price paid for this architectural wonder is complete bankruptcy of the kingdom...
The next morning I finally get to experience my first Indian Nazarene church service. Afterwards I have one afternoon to explore Delhi, so I take the metro to the centre.
Getting to Jama Masjid, India’s biggest mosque, requires to pass through a market that brings overcrowded, crazy, and smelly to a new level. The colours of the magnificent mosque are much more faded than they should be, due to the smog. Another annoyance are the selfies people want to take. I want to be nice about it, but it can be difficult when every 10 meters you’re stopped with “sir, one selfie please?”, and of course it’s never just one.
After two days of the training it’s time to see the world famous Taj Mahal. Unfortunately it’s not in Delhi, but in Agra, which is 1,5 hours by train and 4-5 hours by car. Unfortunately we’re going by car. On our journey along the foggy highways we see a lot of half-finished houses and dirty markets. It feels a little weird to see all this while going to place flush with tourist money.
Of course we have to buy a foreigner ticket of 1000 rupees, compared to national price of 40. But this foreigner ticket brings certain privileges (as if we don’t have enough already). But I can’t say I mind skipping the immense queues at both the general entrance and door to the tomb. Altogether we must have saved at least one hour, maybe more.
First you have to enter through the side gates to access the huge land of the Taj Mahal. Next you walk through a main gate, which is itself worth of a lot of pictures. The Taj Mahal is way too crowded to be enjoyable or take the kind of pictures that you would see somewhere. There is no water in the basin in front, and therefore no ‘reflection picture’. When we enter the actual tomb we are being pushed forward by the massed in the hot room, where the smell of sweat seems to have replaced oxygen. It is tempting to get it over with as fast as possible.
But all that said, the Taj Mahal lives up to its reputation. A structure this big isn’t supposed to be this beautifully decorated. The whole building is covered with insane marble carvings with intricate details. Some of the stones literally glow in the sun- and even moonlight. It is an absolutely spectacular building that dazzles from both up close and far way, constantly leaving you confused about its scale. The price paid for this architectural wonder is complete bankruptcy of the kingdom...
The next morning I finally get to experience my first Indian Nazarene church service. Afterwards I have one afternoon to explore Delhi, so I take the metro to the centre.
Getting to Jama Masjid, India’s biggest mosque, requires to pass through a market that brings overcrowded, crazy, and smelly to a new level. The colours of the magnificent mosque are much more faded than they should be, due to the smog. Another annoyance are the selfies people want to take. I want to be nice about it, but it can be difficult when every 10 meters you’re stopped with “sir, one selfie please?”, and of course it’s never just one.
Kolkata - British architecture filled with Indian life
The first 3 days I’m sheltered in the bubble of the event center where I give the communication training. Once the last day is over I just rest, and research where to go in Kolkata. The next morning I attend my second Nazarene church service, which is a great experience. Afterwards, I once again assure them that I won’t need a guide and head towards the city.
My first stop is the Victoria memorial, a posh British building in the middle of a green park. Especially its inside first seems plain and boring, but then the paintings stir something in me. They show the British colonialism in the mystical jungles and majestic mountains. Of course colonialism was horrible in every way, but the paintings somehow trigger my imagination and thirst for adventure. Outside the sun is setting with a warm glow and I am reminded of home. Maybe it’s the way the sun sets, maybe it’s the European architecture and layout of the garden. It feels calm and serene, and I’m starting to miss my European home.
I continue walking to the chic Park street and still further to the stadium. I want to see the riverside, but the closer I get to the water, the darker and dirtier it gets, until I arrive and there is a fenced off park without access to the waterfront. Not what I expected. There’s a small railway crossing for a ferry and after exploring that I take taxi back.
I go to to bed with the intention to take pictures at sunrise, but I wake up still exhausted, so no that’s not happening. Since I have gotten into photography, every beautiful light situation almost makes me feel guilty if I don’t capture it, call it the photographer’s FOMO (fear-of-missing-out).
Without any plan of where to go I walk around old town. Everywhere there are street shops of (mostly) men frying and broiling stuff, all of it asking to be photographed. There are people are frying vegetables, skinning chicken, cutting fish, baking chapattis, boiling tea, shaving beards, washing bodies, cleaning shoes, and playing cards. But taking a picture is uncomfortable because you have to get up close, and it feels a bit like a privacy intrusion (especially if someone is just standing there in their underwear). I pass too many of the cooking stalls until I finally get over my awkwardness and start taking some video and pictures. After a few more kilometers of simply strolling through the streets, the feeling of exhaustion and ‘Lustlosigkeit’ creeps up on me, but a friendly group of guys asks me to take their picture and unknowingly gives me a real energy boost.
At College street, I pass by a cafe so picturesque it could have been a movie set. The friendly gentlemen with skinny and featured face stops reading his newspaper to ask me a few questions while I sip my chai. I continue to the Mother house - and there’s not much there, but reading the history and seeing some of Mothere Teresa’s life is moving nonetheless. Especially her quote about the problem of homelessness. I couldn’t take a picture of it, but it talks about the tragegy of homelessness, which is not being without home, but without any humanity and smile form other people. They have forgotten what it feels like to have a human, friendly interaction. It touches me because that’s exactly what I do when I ignore the beggars on the street.
Since there is traffic jam everywhere, I decide to walk to Arsalan, a top-rated restaurant. When I say ‘top-rated’, I don’t mean fancy. I almost overlooked it, but the butter chicken was amazing. It’s only noon now, but it feels like I’ve had a full day. So I go back to the house, and resume my time-numbing habit of editing pictures and finally also a nap.
In the evening, I check out a hotel for Sarah, who is organising the stay for some people. Back outside, an old man asks me what I’m looking for and offers me to guides me to Punjab restaurant. I think to myself I have nothing to lose. The meal I get there is just average, and it turns out he knows the owner and wants me to give him some money for a beer. Fine, let him have it.
Next morning I’m up early to catch morning light at the Howrah bridge, an engineering masterpiece because it has no pillars in the river. A big spoiler are the policemen pointing me to the sign that says ‘no pictures allowed’. This definitely goes onto the list most ridiculous rules. I continue and demotivated and tired I’m about to give up my plan to go to the potter’s quarter. But then I take some pictures of a taxi chauffeur and his iconic yellow cab, and he invites me to some street Chai. Again, that’s enough to keep me going the next 2 hours (emotionally and physically since I haven’t eaten breakfast yet).
When I take a left into the potter quarter, everything quiets down. In this calm and old-grown street without cars, people are washing themselves or getting ready for the day. There is something magical about the 300 year British houses overgrown by plants, and withered by monsoons. What it reminds me of is , the pirate city of ‘Pirates of the Caribbean’. Would have fit right in there. Down the road there is the neighbourhood railway crossing again. A man is brushing his teeth while crossing the tracks in his lunghi; it’s the ultimate capture of the Kolkata street mood.