Saris and Elephants

Moving to what I was told was the ‘armpit of India’, I was prepared for the noise, the smells, the overwhelming number of people and the general chaos that is Mumbai. However, when I arrived I found that there was also a lot to love about this city and the things that really get to me are not at all what I expected.

I was surprised by the level of corruption, that you can’t go to the police if you have a problem (I learnt that the hard way after a friend of mine only got her stolen mobile back Rs 20,000 and two court cases later!) and by the amount of paperwork needed for everything. I am still surprised that in an island city there is nowhere where I would want to paddle in the sea and nowhere to go for a beach-side meal, unless you count pani puri on Chowpatty! I still find the contrast between the rich and poor hard to accept, especially as everyday the rich seem to get richer and the poor poorer. Yet I’ve found that I’ve grown so used to the sounds, smells and chaos that I was prepared not to like, that I no longer notice them.

The one thing that really irks me about Mumbai are those expats who think that they have now made it, that they are a class above the rest. Although most of them have an ego that is mostly to blame, the Indian attitude to foreigners doesn’t help.
There have been a number of embarrassing episodes in the company of fellow expats; one girl, in a popular bar in Colaba, ordered a glass of wine and then threw it back at the waiter telling him that in her country they serve a ‘real’ glass of wine and this glass was too small (despite being measured up to the 175ml line on the glass as in most European countries!). Another sat in a restaurant clicking his fingers and talking to the staff as if they were something he had just stepped in, not hotel school graduates serving him dinner. Another, being the only expat in his office, is angry when asked to clock in with the other employees. Yet another started shouting at a taxi driver, first for not driving fast enough and then for coughing in his taxi! I know we have all had an argument or two, or a hundred, with taxi drivers and had the seemingly unending frustration of the- ‘Do you know where XYZ is?’ ‘Yes madam!’ (Head wobble)-conversation, only to still be driving in circles an hour later; but the attitude seems unnecessary.
I’ve had some great taxi drivers since I’ve been living here, for example ‘George’, who, since my first week here, has insisted on driving me whenever possible, often trying to not let me pay. Which brings me onto my next point, had I been an Indian, would George have proffered his phone number quite so eagerly and offered to wait while I did my shopping? I doubt it. And it is this attitude of showing so much attention to foreigners in shops, restaurants, on the street, that feeds the ego of a certain type of person and creates the ‘I’m-it-Expat’.

This attitude to foreigners seems to be born from a national pride in hospitality and a desire to make people feel welcome here. And I do feel welcome here, the little things like being recognised in the restaurant down the road, or being wished ‘Happy Birthday’ by a familiar taxi driver all make Mumbai feel like home in a way that no other city could.