I'm Daman

Only a few hours north of Bombay are the union territories of Daman and Dadra & Nagar Haveli. They are accessible via Gujarat, where the nearest rail head of Vapi is situated. I grabbed a rickshaw to Daman. The driver asked me which Daman I wanted to go to. I looked at him blankly and told him to take me to the one that had hotels. It turned out the main town is called Moti Daman (Fat Daman) while the secluded beach side resort community is called Nani Daman (Small Daman). I found a hotel fitting my meager budget in Nani Daman, ate lunch by the rocky beach, and negotiated a tour of the surroundings with a rickshaw driver.

We ventured to the two Portuguese forts in the region, one in Moti Daman and one across the Damanganga River in Nani Daman. I climbed to the top of a lighthouse to admire the view, the rickety spiral staircase shaking as violently as the disturbed man who had sat beside me on the train. The four hundred year old Church of Bom Jesus was my next stop, before capping of the day at Jampore Beach. Gujarat is a dry state, so its borders are demarcated by a string of boozeries rather than barbed wire fencing. I imbibed at one of Jampore's many beachfront watering holes with my driver. The next morning, I found myself having breakfast at his home.

After sobering up, the driver had taken me home to meet his wife. The rest of his family would be visiting the next day, so he invited me over for breakfast then. Despite being in his early forties, he was already a grandfather. They fed me chapatis, eggs, and sauce. Post breakfast, I said goodbye to Daman and headed to Silvassa, the capital of Dadra & Nagar Haveli. While Daman is to the east of Vapi, Silvassa is to the west. I walked around the sleepy town for several hours, checking out the tribal museum and local gardens before catching a shared rickshaw back to Vapi. My bus back to Bombay was scheduled to leave after midnight, so I asked to be dropped at a local movie theater where I could pass the time.

Vapi is the fourth most polluted city in the world. The rest of the cities on the list pretty much map to the ones I visited in China. It was fitting that in this dirty city I would watch a movie called Dirty Picture. The film was about a voluptuous siren's rapid rise to fame in the Indian movie industry, and subsequent fall from grace. There were no females in the audience. Every time the lead actress displayed an ounce of flesh, the local men started baying like a pack of hyenas, cheering, whistling, and yelling obscenities that would have offended my delicate sensibilities had I been able to understand them.

*****

"Bootiful?" - Rickshaw driver, after examining the photo he had clicked of me on my camera

Battle of Pratapgad

The man in Maharashtra is Chatrapati Shivaji Maharaj. The warrior king from the 17th century established a Maratha empire through his courage and guile. Anyone who has had the luxury of growing up in the state has heard about his heroics from childhood. He is so popular in Bombay that it is possible to land at Chatrapati Shivaji International Airport, catch a train to Chatrapati Shivaji Terminus, and stroll down to the Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj Vastu Sangrahalaya  museum in the same day.

 
Some of Shivaji's defining moments took place at Pratapgad, a stronghold as impenetrable as the bedroom of a traditional Indian girl who lives with her parents. I visited the fort here, which is located near the hill station of Mahabaleshwar. Set a thousand meters above sea level amidst unforgiving steep terrain on all sides, Pratapgad Fort is a demotivating site for enemies.

The Adilshahi forces of Afzal Khan clashed against the Maratha might of Shivaji at the base of the fort. With his troops outnumbered 3:1, Shivaji still came out on top. He met Afzal Khan in person to discuss a peace treaty. The negotiations came to an amicable end courtesy of an Afzal Khan disembowelment by Shivaji's previously concealed tiger claw. His troops then went on to route the Adilshahi troops, marking Shivaji's first significant victory on the way to establishing a Maratha kingdom.

*****

“Shivaji possessed every quality requisite for success in the disturbed age in which he lived: cautious and wily in council, he was fierce and daring in action; he possessed an endurance that made him remarkable even amongst his hardy subjects, and an energy and decision that would in any age raised him to distinction." ~  Sir E. Sullivan

Mr. Tea

Strolling through the dark alleys of the Fort district of Mumbai towards my flat, I deftly sidestepped a taxi, two scooters, a man balancing a marble slab on his head, and several slow walkers before stopping at a mobile phone stall to top up my prepaid account. Suddenly, I felt a strange splotch on my neck. Not again! I thought, recalling my prior experiences in the turd world.

I took a sample of the ooze slowly tracing itself down my spine with my fingers. I was surprised to find out it was not poo, and a little worried that it might be something even more nefarious than bird droppings. The grime turned out to be the harmless contents of a tea cup that someone had emptied from the window of his or her second or third floor apartment. After my roommate studied the stains, he confirmed my findings and all was well on Modi Street once more.

****

"Tea, though ridiculed by those who are naturally coarse in their nervous sensibilities will always be the favorite beverage of the intellectual." ~ Thomas de Quincey

MTR

Fans of Mass Transit Railways, Marginal Tax Rates, and Methionine Synthase Reductase may be dissapointed, but anyone who enjoys eating food will not be after enjoying a hearty lunch at Mavali Tiffin Room (MTR). My flatmate Shyam and I decided to go to Bangalore's favourite restaurant. The fare was vegeterian but delicious nonetheless. Not too spicy and not too pricy, what the landmark lacked in visual appearance it more than made up for in taste.

The service was extraordinary, not because I could distinguish the waiters from the clientele, but because how quickly empty plates were filled up within moments of the eater licking them clean. After the main course, ice cream was even served. I was encouraged to taste everything by the waiter who once noticed my hesitation at the appearance of some strange looking dishes. With our hunger satiated and our bellies expanded, we left our table satisfied. .0237 seconds later our seats were occupied by the next batch of eager diners.

*****

"Food is our common ground, a universal experience." - James Beard

Nightmare on Modi Street

I have moved into a flat in the Fort area of Mumbai. It is a short walk from Victoria Terminus, the main train station in town. Up three stories of rickety stairs is my claustrophobic domicile. The stairwell is so dark that a flashlight is required even in the daytime to see the steps clearly. There are no windows in some rooms, although there is air conditioning.

Since the cost of the electricity consumed by the AC is included in the rent, which is apparently a rarity in Bombay, the tenants take full advantage of it. The average temperature inside is more akin to Canada than India. While I lay curled up and shivering at night, that is not what keeps me awake. Perhaps it is the bedbugs or perhaps it is the landlord, his brothers, and other lackeys who stay up all night watching TV at maximum volume. Tamil movies and the Indian version of "Who Wants To Be a Millionaire" garner the highest ratings.

The apartment has two bathrooms, one of which has a shower and one a sink without a faucet. Unluckily, I share it with 13 other men. There is another sink outside, which is used for washing vegetables and brushing teeth. One guy uses so much Axe body spray that it burns my eyes. Another gripes continuously about a long list of problems that life has thrown at him in a thick accent. His roommates listen on silently, either because they are captivated by the minutiae of his life or because they can sleep with their eyes open. I later realized he was talking on the phone to his girlfriend or fiance, whom he may or may not have met in real life.

So far I have stayed in three rooms. I was shuttled from one room to another, when the guy whose bed I had been sleeping in initially arrived back at the apartment at dawn one day. He had gone back home to visit his family. I was relocated to the bed of another resident who was away on a business trip. Upon his return, I shifted to the room of the only guy who cooks in the apartment. Since there are no tables in the flat, he eats on his bed. He cannot eat out since he is recovering from jaundice.

*****

Me: They also smoke, fart, and ball scratch.

Friend: Looks like you've found your tribe...well done!