I love downtown Mumbai. The city is touched with splendor and greatness, it’s filled with celebrities, and it throbs with excitement. Maybe I’m just biased; I can’t help but love big cities, and I particularly love Mumbai because, unlike the suburbs, it actually feels more open and less congested. Usually the opposite is the case with big cities. Mumbai is very connected to its British past, but it “Indianizes” its British colonial history.
For example, the Gateway of India, a triumphal arch built to commemorate the visit of King George V, is now used by tourists as a starting point on their journey through the city (“Mumbai”).
Victoria Train Station, or VT Station, as it is affectionately referred as by locals, is the train station that led us into the hubbub of Mumbai. As we wandered into the city, we passed The Taj, the famous imperial hotel built 21 years before the Gateway of India (“Taj Hotels Resorts and Palaces”).
All of these landmarks come of a British history, but they are all now distinctly Indian in their style and presentation.
Conspicuously missing from the scenes downtown is poverty. There isn’t necessarily a gate keeping the poor out like there is in my cousins’ apartment complex; rather, the downtown portion of the city is far too expensive and well-maintained to allow the poor any room to stake a spot as their own. This part of Mumbai is the hub of the richest, the crème de la crème of Indian society. Walking around with my aunt, I heard the constant refrain of “Oh, the governor lives here,” and “This is where Lata Mangeshkar (a widely renowned Indian singer) lives.” The homes my aunt pointed out looked nice to me, but paled in comparison to the grandeur of celebrity homes in America. People really pay millions of dollars to live here? I wondered as I looked at the homes. I felt uncomfortably guilty then, as I thought back to the plight of millions of urban Mumbai poor who lived in slums just miles away from where I stood. I guess I can’t quite reconcile the two sides of India in my head. We spent the rest of the day walking around the extremely touristy sites of Mumbai. We strolled through Priyadarshani Park, where I bemusedly watched rich Indians of all ages speed-walking in Juicy, Guess, and Ralph Lauren-branded sportswear. To quench my thirst while I entertained myself this way, I bought a 10-rupee coconut water from a small vendor at the edge of the sidewalk (a treat the brand-wearing Indians in the park would be hard-pressed to find in America).
I watched with interest as the vendor sliced the coconut open with swift cuts of his lathi (curved blade). He swiftly cut through the meat to get to the refreshing water inside, stuck a straw in the coconut, and handed it to me. He worked well and efficiently, but he took no sense of pride in his work like the bureaucrats and high-ranking workers I had met throughout my stay. In India, hierarchies still play an important role in society. The caste system has been officially abolished by the government, but caste and occupation continue to influence everyday interactions in Indian society. The upper classes (and castes) generally view their position in society with a distinct sense of entitlement and belonging. The lower classes, whether in the formal or informal sector, seem resigned to their situation and lot in life. They seem to me rather downtrodden and unable to seek out new opportunities…all very sad to me. But how, how can things change?
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