The Motorcycle Diaries

Although they are probably not on their way to trek across South America, motorcycles are EVERYWHERE in Mumbai. Lined in rows on the street or weaving among traffic, these motorbikes carry every type of person around the city. Every day I see men in business suits, women in jeans or saaris, and families with toddlers all whizzing by! I thought I would chronicle some motorcycle moments that I snapped from taxi windows:

Coexistence

This week we have been immersed in learning Hindi and Indian culture! We visited an Ashram – a Hindu-oriented boarding school, and learned about the basics of Hinduism. I loved thinking and discussing the similarities and differences in spirituality, history, and morals between Hinduism and Judaism.

India’s relationship with Jews is special. Through the various waves of immigration that Jews have made to India throughout centuries, they have been accepted. Along the coast of Southern India, Jews maintained their customs for years before moving upward to Mumbai. It makes sense when considering the tendency to embrace difference and variety in Hindusim, working in harmony rather than conflict – intriguing!

 

Speaking of coexistence, it is time I introduce the lovely ladies I am sharing this experience with. We have so far made a great team and laugh constantly. Basya, Debra, and Elana – I’m stoked to live with and learn from you!  

The postings on this site are my own and do not necessarily represent the positions, strategies or opinions of the American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee 

On a lighter note...

I know my last two posts have been heavy, but I am having the BEST time so far in Mumbai. Yes, I am seeing and feeling many conflicting things, but it is all good - all part of this exhilarating, complex trip that is just beginning!

I went to Limmud India in the hills above Mumbai, where I met so many warm people, had my first yoga class in India, and had countless meaningful discussions. Back in Mumbai, I explored tourist spots, including the Gandhi Museum and the Gateway to India.

Here are some picture highlights:

Chalk drawing on the floor for Diwali

Chowpatty Beach

Chowpatty Beach

Outside a Jain temple in South Mumbai

Outside a Jain temple in South Mumbai

At Hanging Gardens Mumbai - the kids know the "little old lady" rhyme!

The postings on this site are my own and do not necessarily represent the positions, strategies or opinions of the American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee 

Chabad Mumbai

I stood there, looking at the bullet holes. The place where a well-loved soul was murdered. The place where his wife came downstairs, in innocence and confusion, to be held as a hostage, tortured, and murdered. The place where thousands of travelers had sat in peace and shared a Shabbat meal because of this couple, singing the same songs and eating the same food I had done hours before. I gazed at the bullet holes and thought of my family. I thought of my future family. I thought of the families I spend Shabbat with. I felt my breath restrict and face contort, staring, thinking of what happened to this family.

It was in the Chabad house in Mumbai, one of the 8 places terrorists targeted in South Mumbai during the 2008 attacks. The terrorists took over the Chabad house. Rabbi Gavriel Holtzberg and his wife Rivka Holtzberg, who was six months pregnant, were murdered with four other hostages inside the house by the attackers.

It was chilling. Chilling to be in the place where the hearts of those who brought the light and connection of Shabbat to so many had stopped, surrounded by bloodshed, grenades, and terror. Despite the empty feeling of their unknowable pain, I smiled. I thought of the Chabad couple I had just met, living in Mumbai and still hosting Shabbat meals in the building I stood. I thought of the renovations and the beauty of the new dining room, only reflecting the beauty of the couple’s hospitality and their two bubbly kids. I turned and walked out, my heart heavy, but my lips smiling.

Read more about the attack here.

The postings on this site are my own and do not necessarily represent the positions, strategies or opinions of the American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee 

Contrast

I’m sitting now overlooking the courtyard of my guest house. Just across the way are apartments. I can see a girl in a lit-up room. She’s rubbing her hands together, maybe cooking something. In the apartment next to her, I see another woman with steam rising in front of her, also cooking. I hear coughing, talking, babies crying, tools clinking, laughing, dishes clanging.

People are everywhere in the city. You cannot escape from others. To live here is such an acceptance of everyone else’s existence in Mumbai – of fellow humans living their lives under your nose. You hear living sounds just as much as car sounds. People work and sleep, drive and walk almost on top of eachother, squeezed in to the cramped reality of millions in one peninsula that is Mumbai. I got it wrong before, the actual population is closer to 20 million, when you include the unofficial numbers of slum-dwellers.

Sometimes though, you walk inside buildings and it is suddenly quiet. Today we went into Starbucks. It could have been any Starbucks in the world, (minus the metal detector at the entranceway). There were little displays with coffee beans explaining where they came from, a display case of pastries and paninis each with cream-colored labels, and the chalked specials specific to the season. There was even a lulling soundtrack playing familiar indie pop in the background. The green-aproned woman behind the counter asked my name and spelled it out on my soon-to-be tall soy cappuccino. It was quite the transportation, given that footsteps away was the gritty, smoggy, honks of the Mumbai streets.

Photo cred to Elana Winchester

There on the streets, there are no flavor shots or free wifi to distance coffee-goers from the reality of the city. They share the road with the hagglers, homeless beggars, stray dogs, and pet goats. (Yes, goats are pets here). On the streets, everyone is left to their own devices to share the sidewalk or brave the roadway. The cars, busses, and motorbikes whiz inches away from people as they cross the street, beggars and tourists alike, honking angrily to announce their presence.

The honking can be ironic. Even if there are no other cars on the street and pedestrian crossing, cars will honk, as if it is as essential as the gas pedal.

One of the main motorways lines the ocean in a district called Colaba. Across this motorway from the water is the Taj Hotel. The Taj Hotel is brilliant. The lobby is extravagantly beautiful, with ornate designs, waterfalls, flower arrangements, and a majestic, carpeted staircase leading up to ballrooms and guest rooms. On the ground floor, there is a Louis Vuitton store. Just on the other side of that glass are people who have no home, sleeping against the wall that holds up the display case for designer handbags – people depending on the unforgiving stone of the street and the shy money of crowds.

In Mumbai, the contrasts continue beyond what you see with your eye. Corruption meets charity, abundant prostitution meets conservative society, and essential commerce meets abounding unemployment. “Contrast” was one of the most common words I came across to describe India before I came. It is mesmerizing how the description holds. As I discover the city, "contrast" remains a constant buzzword running through my head.

Dhobi Ghat, a well-known open air laundromat 

Buildings in Colaba, a district with many British-style buildings 

The postings on this site are my own and do not necessarily represent the positions, strategies or opinions of the American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee