Tuesday 30^th October

Re-reading my Indian saga has been very interesting and nostalgic for me.  I hadn’t actually forgotten anything much, but it brought it all back – the smells, the noise, the incredible variety and difference. 

We have such comfortable lives, in Tasmania.  Yes people sometimes do end up sleeping on the street, and very weary and uncomfortable they are, I know.  But…most people have a warm and comfy bed, and those who sleep on the streets do have the possibility of a better life, with a bit of luck and a fair wind. 

The other day I looked idly around our office, which is just a bit too big for just four workers.  There are quite a few empty offices, and in fact empty floors, in this particular ten-storey building.  Why can’t we house some homeless people here?  Or maybe I could bring my toiletries and camp out in the spare office, the one where we keep the kettle, and the grog supply for the Christmas party?  Such are the random thoughts which pass through my brain at times when I really should be filing things, or typing things, or improving my knowledge of industrial matters…

And in fact, back in the dim mists of time, I worked for a most dynamic and clever person called Lisa, who was a total iconoclast.  She was the CEO of our organisation and therefore earned more $$$ than everyone else.  But it slowly dawned on us that…she was camping out in our office building, a large and rambling old house in North Hobart.  We found the odd toothbrush, the odd pillow, the odd bowl of encrusted weetbix… At first we thought we had been invaded by squatters and our social-workerly hearts leapt at the opportunity to Do Good.  But no, it was Lisa, with her large teenage children, saving money by living in our not very warm and cosy workplace.

India #5

Pete told us there was a very nice café in Colaba (the Paris end of Mumbai…), not far from the Strand Hotel: the Mondegar.  He led us enthusiastically towards it – just around this corner, on that corner, here it is, oh no it’s gone!!  He looked quite crushed; it had turned into a sort of warehouse for shabby old shirts.  So we kept along the street, and there, on a very similar corner, was the Mondegar, exactly the same as he had left it four years ago, with its elderly identical twin owners taking turns sitting supervising near the door.  He was very happy; so were we, it became our place of refuge in Mumbai.  Lots of non-Indian people do go there, and it is always humming and buzzing, but it is also still very Indian, a great meeting place for everyone.  It is decorated inside with enormous cartoon murals, not soothing to the eye, but full of energy.  Outside the door, which faces diagonally onto the corner, the very busy heart of Mumbai is swirling past.  We drank fruit juices and took stock, very happily, enjoying the drama of Mumbai.  There was always music playing at the Mondegar; lots of Bollywood hit songs but also, strangely, REM – Everybody Hurts, and Madonna – Holiday. 

On our way along the esplanade to find Pete’s café we called in to the Taj Hotel.  This was built at the beginning of the last century and is absolutely BEAUTIFUL.  Not a sign of Mumbai Mould!  It is an extremely expensive place to stay.  For example, transfers from the airport to the Taj cost 2,500 rupees; our taxi fare was about 400…. But there was nothing to stop us going in and gazing at the beauty and the luxury!  Mary and I went to the toilets and this was a very fabulous experience.  Each of us had our own personal attendant, a beautiful silent young thing in a sari, whisking in and out of a hidden alcove to wipe down the sink before and after our use, and to give us darling little white hand towels.  It’s a shame really that we didn’t do this later in our travels and our toilet experiences; we possibly would have wept with joy.  As it was we just smiled gratefully and shelled out a few rupees into their delicate little hands, without really appreciating the contrast to come….