Back to Bom

We've been back in Delhi for a few weeks after a great trip down south over the holidays. It was nice to get out of Delhi for a few days, as it tends to get rather drab at this time of year, with grey skies and chilly winds. We hit Mumbai and Kerala, two marvelous destinations that provided the right jolt of colour and variety to make us forget the sometimes dreary capital city we live in.

With countless friends and relatives in Mumbai, five days were not enough to soak up all the nostalgia I felt visiting the city of my birth (then Bombay) after eight years. The city remains familiar, and on previous trips I had regarded many of Bombay's sites as locals tend to do - with an indifference bred by familiarity. On this occasion, for whatever reason, everything caught my eye: the city's spectacular British-built buildings and playful beaches, the red double-decker buses and black and yellow taxis, the wide sidewalks and soaring new high rises. It seemed cleaner than I remembered, with a more pleasant climate.

It has changed in recent years, beginning with a shiny new airport. It has been carved out of the surrounding slums that crowd around the runway, only a concrete wall preventing the tin-roofed shacks from encroaching on the planes landing and departing. The aforementioned high rises are impressive, boasting views of the sea and respite from the noisy streets below. But it is the old that remains eye-catching in Bombay. The 19th century architecture is simply spectacular, with the sprawling Victoria Terminus leading the way.

Also, for whatever reason, the ancient taxis remain fascinating; Bombay icons so decrepit, they're cool. They're based on a 1950s or 60s Fiat model and indeed, every single one looks and drives like it's half a century old. Most drivers personalize their vehicles with any one of a variety of quirky designer items - Krishna dashboard stickers and designer mud flaps, steering wheel beads or fresh flowers hung from the rear view mirror. The interior is cramped and uncomfortable, and the drivers universally unsmiling, looking like they would rather be doing anything than driving their beat up antiques through the streets of the city. But the taxis remain a great way to get around; much less intimidating than the double-decker buses that barrel through the streets, and a good deal more comfortable than the overflowing commuter trains, claustrophobic nightmares on rails. The taxis are still incredibly cheap, and, most importantly, they use their meters. Taking a taxi or auto-rickshaw in Delhi or - anywhere else in India - almost always involves haggling hassles. In Delhi, even when a meter is used, cab drivers tend to cover it up with a filthy cloth in an unapologetically blatant attempt to prevent one from knowing the actual fare. Each journey, therefore, becomes a chore, with each driver seemingly worse than the previous one, some complaining bitterly of the "unfair" cost of the negotiated price, requesting more at the end of the journey or getting lost along the way. The metered taxis of Mumbai - as battered and dilapitated as they are - represent a far superior means of getting around town.

Kierahn loved Bombay as well, starting with our hosts, very old and dear friends of my parents whom he took to immediately, along with the numerous fans in their home. (Kierahn has an unusual obsession with ceiling fans.) Like his dad, he enjoyed the taxi rides, and was fascinated by the double-decker buses - a small toy model I bought him at the local market remains one of his favorite playthings. We managed to find a few playgrounds for him, but, unfortunately, they were almost all absurdly dangerous: sky-high climbing gyms with toddler-sized holes in the platform at the top, slides with razor sharp edges at the bottom, and everywhere signs of rusty neglect. The local parents and children were unperturbed, while we kept an eye on Kierahn like a hawk, lest he tumble, slice or maim himself.

Children's play areas aside, Bombay is a safe city. Many local women told me repeatedly that they can safely take a cab home alone at night, something they correctly pointed out is not possible in Delhi. (The hostility Bombay residents have for Delhi is of a Montreal-Toronto nature - visceral and intense). Unfortunately, however, this reputation for safety has been undermined by the fact that Bombay has been a repeated target for horrendous terrorist attacks, including the shocking ones that took place in November the very heart of the city. Almost by accident, we ended up visiting three of the sites which were struck by the terrorists: the Taj hotel (where we saw a moving memorial), Leopold's Cafe (for a quick lime soda) and the Victoria Terminus train station. Bullet holes remain in the mirrors on Leopold's walls, mere inches from diner's heads. Nonetheless, the many times we walked by there it was never less than packed. For the remorseless attackers armed with grenades and automatic weapons - as well as the advanced commando training required to use them effectively - this amounted to a fish-in-a-barrel scenario, and I honestly do not know how anyone survived their savage attack. Similarly, the Terminus was as bustling and chaotic as one would expect of a building that sees about 2 million visitors a day. Seeking as they did to cause maximum loss of life, clearly the terrorists chose well.

In the wake of these latest attacks there has been lots of talk in India of the "spirit of Bombay" and its citizens' ability to bounce back from any and all setbacks. Indeed, the hotels have re-opened, Leopold's was packed and the train station bustled. The reality, though, is that Bombay is a city beset by many everyday problems that make living there a challenge on any normal day for all but the most privileged. Venal and incompetent politicians have neglected the city's infrastructure and extreme poverty while pandering to ethnic chauvinists and zealots. The city has an impressive commuter rail system, but no metro and no ring roads or highways. It also has one of the largest slums in the world. Scores die each year in monsoon floods. So while the terrorists failed in their bid to crush the city's spirit, the reality is that many, perhaps most of the city's inhabitants did not have the luxury of being diverted from the challenges of surviving everyday life in Bombay to pay attention to the deeper meaning of the attacks on Bombay's landmarks; they remain unbowed and unafraid - their spirit unbroken - because in order to endure, they have no other choice.