Eats

Capping off the Bombay posts, this one is about food.

Like Toronto's barbecued hot dogs, Bombay's Vada Paos are going down in the history of to-die-for street food. These guys are made of three perfect parts: the main part being a deep-fried ball of curry-soaked crushed potato and herb mixture, which is clasped between two heavenly halves of the softest round white bun (which I saw being made in the bakery in Dharavi), topped off with some very pungent chili and cilantro chutney for dipping/spreading. I tried about 4 of these from different vendors throughout the city and this one, across the street from Dwijen's university, was the best.

This was a close 2nd place vada pao by my hotel, which came with extra dippings.

Dosas, which are record-sized super thin pancakes stuffed with whatever you want, are another notable example of Bombay's street eats.

We had a cheese and veg masala one. This stand was an obvious favourite and the staff were working at lightning speed from both sides of the hotplate.

One night, we all went to Amar.

The wealthy owner of this establishment is very well connected and managed to get the permission to seat his customers on the sidewalk next to his stand. We had amazing bhelpuri and those light as air buns, glistening with clarified butter. I forgot to document it, I was too busy wolfing.

This was also amazing. The Swastic sandwich: make with so much butter, three layers of milky white bread, loaded with a veg salad consisting mostly of mayonnaise. This sandwich was made for me.

Finally, the seafood! After all the fish markets and fishing towns I had visited, I was obligated have some. And okay, this was like, super fresh, right out of the sea, covered with spices, and deep fried! Sorry if my blabbering doesn't make sense. It's just indescribably good.

Anyway, Indian eats have so far proven to be everything I love in my food. I don't even miss beef because there's an abundance of other tasty things to keep me happy. The chai has a ton of sugar and milk in it, the breads are a plenty, everything is thoroughly oiled, seasoned and spiced (no more bland mozzarella, tomato and basil bullshit), endless sauces, chutneys and add-ons for dipping and smothering, and of course, the butter!

As my uncle Will always said everytime he was shoving beautiful, delicious food into his mouth, “life is good, life is gooooooood.”

I heart ...

...the kids at Dharavi who were very foreigner-saavy.

... Juhu Beach at sunset sprinkled with offerings and trash.

... chillin' by the Arabian Sea at night.

... the cricket players at Oval Maidan.

... these two kids playing on a mound of dirt at a road construction site.

... giant-balloon-wallas.

... Colaba arcades.

... this smile.

... Chinese tour groups with umbrellas.

... this sweet restaurant with Michael Jackson memorabilia plastered everywhere, videos playing by the ordering counter and discography playing all night. The owner had bought a hill in the suburbs of the city and and turned it into this giant terracing restaurant. Awesome, huge, and adorable complimentary mini pastries (about the size of a loonie).

... nice, (relatively) roomy streets on Mondays.

... suggested shortcuts through 1m wide commercial alleys.

... bikes.

... lazy afternoons at Sassoon Dock.

... wooden boats.

... riding on one of these on my way back from Ura.

... the Captain who let us ladies sit in his cabin, away from cold splashes from the polluted water and a roudy card game on deck.

... the fishermen returning at dusk.

...private dance performance (and a quick dance lesson) by the ladies in Saily's family. They will be performing March 8th for International Women's Day.

... ridin' the train and catching a break from the heat by slightly sticking myself out the door openings.

From City to Sea

Soon after I arrived in Bombay, I realized how inefficient the roads were; it would take forever to reach very short distances. This was due to the lack of major streets running north-south along this Manhattan-shaped city, not to mention the patches of dense neighborhoods (Dharavi being one example) which would be impossible to pass through.

This is why it took us a good 30 minutes to drive from Dharavi to a seaside joint in Juhu Beach, which would have only been 2 rail stops' distance away but took way longer during rush-hour. In that time, I was getting real thirsty for a drink. It had actually been a month since I've had any alcohol (there isn't a big drinking culture in Bhopal, and definitely not for the women; this wasn't true in Bombay though)!

Finally, we got there, just in time for sunset too.

Drinks were cheap, and fries were on the menu. I was pumped. But as soon as I pointed to the picture of the glistening half-litre bottle of Carlsburg on the menu, the waiter mumbled something back to me about a dry-day. Dammit, it's Gandhi's birthday and no alcohol was to be served anywhere in the country! I let my shock and disappointment settle for a few minutes and settled for a coke with my fries.

The beach didn't disappoint though, it was packed full of people, and the pink light from the sunset somehow concealed all the garbage that was sprinkled across the sand.

We had some coconut juice and continued to the next popular spot along the water.

This is the Queen's Necklace, a footpath along Marine drive, where many locals and tourist hang throughout the day. We walked all the way to the end and climbed out over the giant barriers and waited for some more friends to join us.

You could see so much more of the cityscape at night than during the day when the air was so thick with pollution and heat that you could barely see one kilometer ahead. We sat here until we got hungry.

By then, the roads were emptied to the optimal condition for cruising. We flew on the highways all the while blasting Radiohead and Ustad Amjad Ali Khan (such an awesome vocalist, have to find that one song...). The rest of the night was a whirlwind of stops at multiple streetfood stands and wandering through the claustrophobic streets of the Muslim bazaar area (in search of the restaurant which had the best chapatis I have ever tasted).

The next day, I was on my own and headed downtown. The thing was, I only had my crappy Rough Guide map of the city and after asking a few people for directions, I realized that no one really uses, or understands a map there. The most reliable navigational aid was the collective knowledge of the people who lived here. The locals, especially the street vendors, knew every corner of the city from experience. I learned to simply ask around to find the quickest way to get anywhere.

First task of the day was to use the train to get downtown, I probably had to ask a dozen people for help before finding the station. Then more to purchase a ticket, find the right platform, find the ladies compartment and finally throw myself in. The whole experience was a rush! I wondered if I would have successfully made it into one of the general compartments...

...because I thought the train ride was going to be like this ^

, but it was actually more like this ^

And the Ladies' compartment was even better ^

When the train approached, I just ran towards the one door opening that was overflowing with colourful saris, and I was on my way to town.

Half an hour later, I reached the Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminus, formerly the Victoria Terminus (another example of the city-wide name changing). The city train system and the greater rail infrastructure ran along the same tracks in Bomaby and this station was where out-of-town trains depart and arrive.

The station is a a big example of the heavy European influence in Bombay. In fact, the old city streets were lined with Victorian architecture that almost made me forget where I was.

Wide roads, honks, sweating soooo much.

From the station, I walked northward toward Crawford Market, which was just the beginning of a much larger expanse of markets and bazaars. The windy narrow streets lead me through the residential area for the commercial zone, where children played while their parents were away at work.

From there, I followed a pungent fish smell to this giant warehouse. The floor was flowing with sea-juice and I was dodging prawn shells and fish guts left and right.

As I continued into the more Muslim area, I tried to get into some mosques. But it was too hot to bring my scarf and I was rejected from all of them because I my hair was exposed. Unfortunate.

Oh well, I decided to head back south from there and passed Oval Maidan on the way, where formal and informal cricket games went on everyday! The University of Mumbai historic buildings overlooked the park.

Then I made a visit to the Prince of Wales Museum, which also underwent a name change but I can't recall the new one. The museum galleries revolved around a bright central atrium where tired tourists lounged and gulped cola. I was pretty exhausted too, especially after a walk through all of lower Bombay, but I decided to quickly go through the art before dinner hour hit. I didn't care so much about the fragmented sculptures and pottery, I guess I've just had enough of ruins. But the colourful 2D-ish paintings were awesome and the ancient coin collection was pretty enough to wear as earrings.

I left the museum after just an hour to meet with Dwijen and Suril for a second session of good eats and drinks. That night, I also got to see the bustling city from the back of a motorbike. Whizzing through the Bombay traffic and snaking through crowds of people was both relaxing and terrifying. I imagined biking through India's rural roads would be amazing though.

The next day, I headed further south towards the very tip of the island of Bombay, where there were significantly more foreigners. And at the Gate of India, was where they all flocked to for that postcard photo.

Right behind the Gate, is the Taj Hotel, where the 2008 attacks happened. It was barred off around the perimeter where I found this stealthy tank SUV thing.

The Taj tower.

The area South of the Taj, Colaba, was infested with hippy foreigners and scammy salesmen, I sped through as fast as I could to get to this fishermen's shantytown where most of the workers in the local fishing industry lived.

Further south from there, I came to Sassoon Docks, where hundreds of these fishermen bring their daily catch every morning to get cleaned and sorted and shipped off into the city. I got there late in the afternoon as the day was finishing up.

Photography was strictly restricted (because of its proximity to a navy base) but I snuck a few.

As I was getting ready to head back uptown for a cooking lesson with Suril. A boat pulled in next to the dock and a bunch of people began to jump in. I noticed a young couple my age boarding and asked where it was going.

"Ura!" They called back to me.

"Is it nice?"

"Yes!"

The fare was only 20 rupees (as opposed to the rps 500 ferries leaving from the Gate of India to Elephanta island, which wasn't too appealing). So I jumped on.

View of industrial east shore from the sea.

The island of Ura in the distance, a small fishing town, and home to an enormous ONGC (Oil and Natural Gas Corp.) plant.

By the time the boat docked, I had gotten to know the young couple a bit. They lived in Ura and commuted to their college in the city everyday. They were in a secret relationship. The girl, Saily, sweetly invited me to visit her parents' house and offered to show me around town on her motorbike.

We ate at the house.

Then rode to the beach and had local fresh fish and prawns.

Biked around the beach some more until my boat back to the city was due to arrive.

I headed back for Sassoon Docks at sunset and knew that this place was going to be one of my favourites, I wanted to return the next day before dawn to see the morning action, but another late night eating/drinking fest kept me in bed til 10am.