Mumbai, West India

"Chai, coffee, chai, chai, chai, coffee" yelled a man walking through our carriage who had probably just jumped on at the last stop. 

Mumbai Central Train Station

We waved at him from our third story bunk, where our shoulders touched the roof when we turned and our breath left condensation above us. 
He poured two piping hot plastic cups of sweet tea and moved on. 

It was still early, probably around 5am. The sky outside was a grey blue and the light rain which had started several hours ago had already seeped through the roof onto the dirty floor. 
It's was muggy and the hair at the back of our heads stuck to our damp necks. Our eyes were heavy but opening them meant looking at the people who seemed to always be staring at us. The train was whistling, we were already at Mumbai, old Bombay, and the most populous city in India. With more than 21million people crowded in the harbour city, it looked like they were living on top of each other. Disoriented we clambered onto the concrete platform barely missing the odd shaped legs of the homeless beggars. 

Off into the rain

Hunger was our strongest motivation, but it was early and not much was open. We put aside the pangs of emptiness and sought out the ticket office; we needed to keep moving. We knew looking out of the train window at the people defecating on the train tracks, Mumbai wasn't for us. 

With late afternoon tickets to Udaipur secured in our money belt we scavenged for something to eat. In the main terminal was a small cafe, and since it was the only thing open we thought that it would do. As we ate our breakfast we realised, just across from us, a family were eating off a cardboard casket. Grandad was probably in there, god knows how they were going to get him in the train, probably lean him up against something. Nice, there went our appetite, which had already been wavering. 

Central Train Station

Walking the main streets

It was still drizzling down but it wasn't cold, so we decided to have a walk around the city for a few hours (with of course our one huge umbrella). Outside it was busy with morning commuters, racing across the roads forcing the cars to swerve around them, honking in annoyance. The rain had pushed rubbish around, leaving it behind in the gutters causing the dirty water to cover half the road and splash on pedestrians, stray cows or the sides of buildings as the ongoing slaughter of traffic sped by every which way.

All modes of transport

Animals scurrying about

A goods carrier

According to latest figures from the World Bank more than half of Mumbai's population live in slums, while thirty percent of those have no shanty house and live on footpaths. It's estimated that 100-300 new families come to Mumbai every day and with little housing options they join the growing 10.5million living already in slums. Having seen hundreds of kilometres of them along the railway line we decided rather to explore the city centre, sticking to the main roads.

The Coastline looking towards the CBD

From the Mumbai Central Railway station we ventured west towards the Muslim pilgrimage site of Haji Ali Dargah, which is one the most popular religious places in Mumbai. On the way we were forced to stop for morning tea, hiding from a thunderous burst of torrential downpour. After waiting it out we continued on, waving our temperamental GPS around trying to figure out where we were going. There didn't seem to be any street signs, just that awful smell of sewage following us everywhere. We passed some beautiful buildings surrounded by oak trees and large fences built by the Portuguese and French. 

Path to Haji Ali Dargah

Alongside them, under more thinning trees were corrugated iron awnings where the small faces of grubby children peered out. Their eyes already reflecting loss and hardship. Some shanties built two or three stories high, surrounded by flood water and accessible only by waddling through a small mosquito invested swamp.

The Haji Ali Dargah was surprisingly a couple of hundred meters off the filthy uninhabitable coastline set away some distance on moldy green rocks, accessible by a long curving concrete path. 

The smell of the seaside was atrocious, something worse than a horror film and had us gagging. The large dirty-white mosque, is also the tomb of a wealthy Muslim merchant who gave up all his worldly possessions before making a pilgrimage to Mecca. The mosque was built in 1431AD in memory of Muslim Saint Pir Haji Ali Shah Bukhari. It's said 10,000-15,000 people visit daily to receive blessings from the legendary Saint, but thankfully the low grey sky and rain had made the white coloured structure almost empty of visitors when we arrived. Aware that maybe their sales weren't prospering as much hawkers and salesmen hounded us as we got closer, racing away from the stench. Walking through the entrance each took a turn to thrust their Chinese-bought wares in front of us and calling out for our immediate attention.

We didn't stay long, the rain had started up again and we were very exposed out on the streets so we stopped in at a mall. The security looked us up and down. Our soggy clothes clinging to us, our jandaled feet a strange brown colour darkened from the monsoonal streets and our large backpacks waving like a turtle shell behind us. But our white skin spoke money and they let us in. 

Taking a rest stop

Inside the mall

Dinner at the Train Station

Locals waiting for trains

By the time we returned to the train station we were exhausted, so dirty and smelly and our shoulders ached from carrying our bags around all day. It was a relief to get on the train and have a lie down.

Tot siens,

John and Kara