Chapter 5: Bombay (Mumbai)

Bombay, we’ve heard a lot about this place (Slumdog, Shantaram). Expecting to be hustled, spending more money than we would have to, but also great partying, good shopping and being happy travelers! Btw, all the Indians call it Bombay, not Mumbai so this is how it is referred and thus is what we call it (the same goes for Calcutta vs. Kolkata).

A city of 18 million, Bombay is the biggest city in India and not nearly as peaceful as Goa, let alone Hampi. It’s a crazy, crazy city full of everything you can imagine- one that you could love just as easily as you could hate, and that includes the people too. In retrospect, both of us agree that after Bombay, we can say that we have seen (and experienced) POVERTY; not the pretty; but the ugly. But we’ll get into that…

For starters, upon arrival the least we would’ve expected was to meet the Frenchies from back in Hampi. But, ‘lo and behold- the first people we see getting out of our cab? Clint spots Hawk right away, and visa versa. There he is, drinking a beer in the famous, age-old Café Leopold (since the 1800’s). Now, we were tired as fuck, coming from a long-ass bus ride and all we could do is embrace our old partners-in-crime from Hampi, and join them for yet another beer. Words can’t convey the expression on Hawks face, or probably that of our own as we saw each other. What a happy reunion! <3

The Frenchies brought us to their hotel, and we quickly learned that this wasn’t Hampi- man, we went from 100 Ghandis (50 each) per night to a 1,000 (and that’s good for Bombay!). Fuck! As we’ve said, not a cheap city (and we were worried about money).

Okay, so within the first 20 minutes we were approached by Bollywood scouts to serve as extras in (supposedly) THE BIGGEST BOLLYWOOD MOVIE OF ALL TIME (bullshit?). The movie is a biography called ‘My name is Khan’ starring &^!#$%% Sharut Khan)}, known as ‘The King of Bollywood.’ We agree to be paid the amount of 500 Ghandis each and be fed for a day whilst serving as ‘Caucasian Muslim Terrorist’ extras! Which, btw two other American’s were offended by the idea and left upon arrival after learning of this (strong Christians?). We didn’t care. What we did care about was sitting around for 10 hours and never being used in a scene and (though offered to return again the next day, which we didn’t). We never saw Mr. ‘King of Bollywood’ though some did. All we heard was the occasional ‘SILENCE PLEASE!!!’ when taping. It was interesting, but wholly un-fulfilling. And thus would conclude our short span of fame. Glad we didn’t call our managers (mothers). Nevertheless, it was interesting to be on an actual movie-set and see that movie-making is not so-pretty as it seems. We’ll never be B(H)ollywood stars! ‘nuff said!

After ‘The Bollywood incident,’ we visited Elephant Island, which wasn’t much but some ruins (that pale in-comparison to Hampi) and crazy monkeys. Where are the elephants? It was fun, though over-priced.

Sorry, this blog entry feels like it’s running a little long but our Bombay experience was pretty hefty. So, a moment on Indians (from an outsider’s perspective) and our own experience confronting poverty- obviously, it ain’t pretty. But, it’s a two-way street. We both agree that in the tourist areas: they see the worst of us whilst we see the worst of them. We are approached by beggars at every step, but we can’t fix the problem any more than we can represent any great solution. But, we can say that we were interested in taking a tour of the slums, and, inadvertently one morning entered them on our own. So, we did our own tour of the slums of the shores of Bombay. Our Indian experience was suddenly very different from what we’d known thus far. No one paid any attention to us but, rather, resented our presence. They didn’t want anything to do with us, didn’t even acknowledge us, which was completely contradictory from any of the Indians we’d known thus far. We were the aliens; the invaders, the unwanted. It must be stressed: they didn’t want anything- and for us, that in its own way was refreshing compared to being assaulted every step along the streets of Colaba.

Lastly, we met a guy on the day of our supposed departure, who told us that we couldn’t book our train because it was a holiday (which was probably bullshit). He was well-spoken, intelligent and pretty street-savvy. Needless to say, he talked us into taking his own guided-tour of Bombay, which we abandoned halfway through. We did see some sites, got some good pictures, but weren’t impressed enough to continue with the other half the next day- where his attitude suddenly changed. He became an asshole and we learned a valuable lesson. No more sweet-talkin’!

Okay, enough. Too much on Bombay, read more on Clint’s umbilical cord (clintdoeseurope.blogspot.com) and look for the next chapter, simply-based on our train to Calcutta. Coming soon, ‘til then… we just can’t be bothered. Fuck off~

Actually, btw- how come none of you motherfuckers ever comment on our shit?! We go out of our way to tell our tale, hit you up on Facebook, put this shit down on record (it takes a lot of time and effort), and yet we’re gettin’ no feedback? Not even in Swedish… Kom igen för fan, det är inte så svårt...! Wtf? Create an ID if you must, otherwise, shame on you…