Bagels and Lakhs

Landing back in Mumbai, after a blizzard took over the American Northeast, I thought I would have another round of culture shock. Surely after two weeks in the comforts of home India would seem once again like a strange foreign land.

But after hours of delays I blearily stepped out into warm weather and felt right as though I had never left. Instead of being shocked by India, I was mostly shocked at how much this place could feel like home mere hours after feeling at ease in the comforts of my real home. And I liked the feeling that both places could somehow simultaneously be normal for me.

This of course only lasted until I had visitors, who were given the ‘Indian experience’ in full force before they’d even left New York. K and M had been planning for months to join me in Bombay for New Years before a trip to South  India. I’d been jealous of their simple direct flight straight from New York into Mumbai.  I should have known that for their initiation they’d need to feel frustration, Indian style.

When they arrived at the Air India counter (a full four hours before their flight) they were told that their seats had been nonsensically given away to passengers who’d previously been stranded by the blizzard, despite having confirmed reservations. After a lot of haggling and cajoling they finally convinced the agents to put them on a flight to London, with a connection to Mumbai. But they missed the connection and instead had to re-route to Delhi. On arrival in Delhi they were told their bags were lost- and so more haggling led to missing their flight to Mumbai. They would have to pick their bags up later whenever they were found.

A full 17 hours later than they were supposed to, and 31 hours after they’d left their homes I finally was able to give them a hug at the arrivals gate in Mumbai’s domestic terminal. Welcome to India.

I often write about the frustrations that can come hand-in-hand with the joys and amazing experiences that happen when you live here. But to experience it so soon seemed a little cruel. I looked at my friends, who after showering and napping were now fully decked out in my and Daniel’s clothes, and wished that they’d been allotted an easier introduction.

It wasn’t going to get easier – every time we called Air India’s baggage center either no one would answer the phone or the line would be busy. And after a late-afternoon trip to the domestic airport terminal we learned that to go through international customs the bags would have to be transferred to the international terminal. No one was getting clothes that day. The next morning we arrived and tried to argue our way in. No one at baggage claim was answering the phone and we needed the bags. M and K both braved talking to the Air India representative who told them that all the baggage personnel were ‘too busy, and they’d have to wait 30 minutes.’ I’d lived here long enough to know that 30 minutes means never, so I began an argument Indian style – I knew I’d need to make it a personal affront to my honor. After accusing the representative of insulting my guests and having a long back and forth about Indian standards of hospitality, the man relented and got a baggage claim representative to take us to the bags. There they sat, in a pile of hundreds of lost bags. I looked over and noticed that only one woman was answering a single phone, a small help in a sea of lost personal items.

But with bags in hand and a sunny day to explore the city, India once again gave more than she took. Standing at the Gateway of India and watching women selling fans made of peacock feathers and Indian tourists snapping pictures it was easy to get caught back up in my love for this place. A woman tied a bracelet to my wrist intertwined with jasmine, and despite my protests I really admired her persistance to just tie it in a knot and then just hoped I would pay her something. Driving through South Mumbai I found myself still staring in awe at the grand colonial buildings that I’ve now seen dozens of times. And eating lunch in my favorite Parsi restaurant, chatting to the dotty 90 year old owner made me giggle while I stuffed myself with berry pulav. It’s these moments and not the moments of frustration that make me happy to be back, despite having enjoyed the brief respite of home.

Tomorrow we’re off to Tamil Nadu to explore even more – and thankfully, we won’t be flying Air India!