Be the change you want to see in the world

Mumbai is a recipe for sensory overload - grand assault of sights, sounds and smells. Oh the smells... Where to begin. First an analogy. New York City is to Mumbai what Washington D.C. is to Delhi. The city feels so much larger, denser and vibrant than Delhi, but even more chaotic and congested if that's even possible. Landing at mumbai's domestic airport, while looking out the window you could see miles and miles of blue tarps that comprised people's rooftops. The city is known for being an economic powerhouse but also home to some of India's largest slums. Let me also preface this blog entry by promising to update with relevant pictures in near future. Geoff flew to Mumbai over for the weekend from Hyderabad which was great for many reasons. It was good to catch up and see him. He's spent a little more than a month over there already. It also worked out well that I could have a foreigner-in-crime as we explored the city. We went to Gateway of India, which is just a large stone archway.

Not to be confused with India Gate in New Delhi which is also a large stone archway. From Gateway of India you can take a boat to Elephanta Island where there are these stone carvings and other sights to see, but after my night time manta ray excursion in Hawaii, I have become exceptionally afraid of boats that fit less than 100 people. We roamed around the area looking at the Victorian era buildings (Mumbai High Court, Bombay University, Victoria Terminus), but other than the train station we kind of had no idea which building was which.


Stopped in a bookstore for intense carbohydrate consumption (they laced my iced coffee with chocolate syrup which I thought was a little bit unnecessary since it wasn't a mocha...so I sent it back and felt bad). Then it was off to Crawford market where we saw a record number of papayas wrapped in newspaper, watermelon, produce, etc. It is mainly a fruit and veg market, but there is also an animal market. My heart was ripped out of my chest. They sold puppies. They sold little puppies who probably should have been with their mother in these cages that had nothing. No water. No toys. Just many other little puppies. I was appalled and disgusted. Maybe it makes me a bad person that I didn't feel the same way for the chickens, birds, rats and other animals. Then we walked through the slaughterhouse that thankfully was packed up for the day. It still stank though. I tried not to breathe. That nastiness is probably still residing in my alveoli.

Today is Gandhi's birthday.

You get kind of jaded as a tourist in India pretty quickly unless you fight it. Everybody wants your money and there are lots of ways they try to get it. They jack up prices for you at markets. I was buying a leather belt that the young vendor offered at 250 rupees. That wasn't so bad considering it was his starting price. I probably could have gotten it for 50 rupees, but I offered 200 rupees ($5). As I was paying him, a friend of his came up to him and asked what he was selling it to me for (I'm guessing that's what he said). The guy told him and then this friend started to giggle. Then the vendor hit him playfully probably to say "Cut it out! You're going to blow my cover!" I wanted to tell him "Listen boys, I let you swindle me..." This way of transferring wealth is least uncomfortable for me, probably because it's somewhat formalized. It's capitalistic. I have more issues with little kids sing "jingle bells" by your car window. Or when they gesture toward their mouth. Rap rap rap at your window. At Haji Ali (mosque you get to by walking out on a long pier), beggars sit in a row, each with a metal bowl by their feet. A little girl walked up to me, gestured at my water bottle, and then proceeded to try to wrestle it from my grip. She was pretty strong for a little girl, but I didn't let it go. I don't know why. I'm all for alms in kind and would have happily given it to her eventually, but I didn't want to give it up because she snatched it from me. Then there was the circle men of missing legs, feet, arms lying end to end in a on the ground and chant "ya-la-ya-la" while shaking the stumps where their limbs should in rhythm. I normally don't give money here because that is just asking for more trouble, but I was moved enough to throw some rupee coins inside the circle they made with their bodies. Then to my surprise (or not), a few hundred feet farther there was another circle of similar men.

From conversations with a few Indian colleagues, it seems many of them are quite familiar with diabetes. It affects their parents and grandparents. It almost seems like its an accepted fate since they're not likely to cut back on the amount of naan, roti, puri or rice that they eat. Also sounds like they pay for most medicines and services out of pocket. During this conversation, I kept thinking how screwed I would be if I had diabetes in a developing country or a situation without health insurance. How does a pancreas just decide to stop working? More specifically, I'd like to know why my pancreas stopped working.