The land of the haves

After two days and nights living on a station and a train, I find myself in Mumbai. In the end the train travelling so slowly that it was imperceptible we had stopped and the journey complete. 

As I was gathering my belongings the lovely young woman who had been sleeping above me gave me a note to say good luck with my journey. She’s studying medicine and in her last year and will start practicing soon. We exchanged insta tags and said our good byes. 

I do find it very touching and reassuring, the amount of kindness I encounter. I really don’t think that someone from India all alone on a train thousands of miles from home would be shown the same in Europe.  There’s plenty the west can learn from India. 

Over the two days I have met many people and these encounters are consistent. 

My berth my constant, in a sea of people coming and going, over the course of my fifteen hundred mile journey. Some young, some old. On occasion I would fall asleep, only to wake with a new travel companion or the bed opposite empty only to be refilled at the next stop. With many I share a few simple things. Sometimes it’s more. 

On and on, the train moves through the landscape. Over time the crops change reflecting the climate outside. For the most part the land flat and uninteresting. Occasionally we pass through an area that has the odd ripple and maybe even a decent hill. The sky changes through out the day and outside the temperature rises and falls with the sun. Inside my berth the AC ensures a constant temperature. 

Released from my cocoon in Mumbai’s Bandra station a swarm of auto rickshaws waits patiently to pounce. I take the easy option and use Uber to book one. Very soon speeding away from the squalor around the station towards Bandra West. Posh. Very posh. A stark contrast from the last couple of weeks. Home to Bollywood stars. The breakfast prices sting, but I’m very happy to have an espresso and eggs and avocado on sourdough. In fact my happiness leads me to a second cafe and breakfast and another sharp sting. 

As I eat my second breakfast a woman from Melbourne sits next to me. When I apologise for my grubby panniers being in the way we start a conversation. She isn’t worried and then. She had a stroke a few years ago and she’s very happy to be alive. Her husband’s family had an apartment in the next street that they sold recently. I’m happy to listen and talk. It’s my first fluent conversation in person for more than two weeks. She tells me they are multi millionaires. 

The stark difference of the haves and have nots in India laid bare in those few words. I’m now in the land of the haves. It’s small and secluded and full of high rise apartments.  Lush green trees and fancy cars fill the streets. There are pavements and european looking cafes and restaurants. 

Bandra heavily influenced by Jesuit missionaries. Many of the streets names after catholic saints and the iconic St Andrews church now somewhat incongruous as the traffic speed around the walls of the cemetery. On the headstones D’Souza, Fernandez and Fonseca common names. 

Later on in a bar a young Indian aged 25 comes over and we talk. He works trading sticks and as our conversation unfolds I ask him about his dreams and he tells me he wants to make enough money to be about to slow down by the time he’s 40/45. Evidently from what he tells me he feels the pressure of living in Maximum City and he wants to please his parents. I can see he’s struggling with it all and I reassure him that his parents will love him what ever. 

I’m enjoying my time in Bandra West, but I know that soon I will be reunited with Frankenfox III and that means on the road once more. I will have to let go of the comfort blanket that is the familiarity of the haves.