A city is a large community where people are lonesome together. ~Herbert ProchnowBig cities are loud. They combine the cacophony of life in all of its most radiant and defiant forms and mix it up and spit it out with a roar we define always in the present as living. Some cities, particularly the most urbane, are even louder than loud. Cairo, for instance, in Egypt, was identified by The New York Times last spring as being the loudest city in the world.
I would make the bold statement that many cities in India would rival that noise on a given day. In most underdeveloped and developing nations, one will find a great deal of vehicle honking from cars, trucks, motorcycles and rickshaws. Throw in the sound of construction, vendors and the incessant sound of people speaking on their mobiles as well as any other activity going on and we have quite a din. This is true of Mumbai as well.
However, I was thoroughly pleased and as equally grateful to find many moments of calm, quiet and peace in this uber-populated city. I did not intentionally seek them out, I just happened upon them. This may have been the result of many or none of the following: a) there has been an acute drop of tourism since the 26/11 attacks b) there is so much to see and do in Mumbai that not every visitor on any given weekday is at all the same places at the same time, or c) I picked a “good time” to go to the great places I went.
The places I happened to drop in on while out touring the city alone were indeed my favorite. Because I look as though I come from some unidentifiable location, I could just as easily be a local in many countries, and I tend to blend in, (for the most part, other than the camera and my hair); therefore, far less people bother me to give them money or to buy their wares than they do when I am with someone else. Also, because of my anti-tourist attitude, I do my best to make myself as “small” as possible. But there was something far more valuable about these spaces than the fact that I was not affected by the noise of the city – which I unabashedly love - and that is the feeling of light and serenity these locations emit.
I found solitude at Banganga Tank with its winding alleyways and its tucked-away-temples and shrines. It had a meditative vibe, and although right outside of the region were the thriving byways and highways of the city – I could not hear a bit of it. The Hanging Gardens were surprisingly silent as well. There were a few, small groups of tourists, but for the most part it was occupied by pairs of couples sharing their own private world of laughter and whispered words.
I would make the bold statement that many cities in India would rival that noise on a given day. In most underdeveloped and developing nations, one will find a great deal of vehicle honking from cars, trucks, motorcycles and rickshaws. Throw in the sound of construction, vendors and the incessant sound of people speaking on their mobiles as well as any other activity going on and we have quite a din. This is true of Mumbai as well.
However, I was thoroughly pleased and as equally grateful to find many moments of calm, quiet and peace in this uber-populated city. I did not intentionally seek them out, I just happened upon them. This may have been the result of many or none of the following: a) there has been an acute drop of tourism since the 26/11 attacks b) there is so much to see and do in Mumbai that not every visitor on any given weekday is at all the same places at the same time, or c) I picked a “good time” to go to the great places I went.
The places I happened to drop in on while out touring the city alone were indeed my favorite. Because I look as though I come from some unidentifiable location, I could just as easily be a local in many countries, and I tend to blend in, (for the most part, other than the camera and my hair); therefore, far less people bother me to give them money or to buy their wares than they do when I am with someone else. Also, because of my anti-tourist attitude, I do my best to make myself as “small” as possible. But there was something far more valuable about these spaces than the fact that I was not affected by the noise of the city – which I unabashedly love - and that is the feeling of light and serenity these locations emit.
I found solitude at Banganga Tank with its winding alleyways and its tucked-away-temples and shrines. It had a meditative vibe, and although right outside of the region were the thriving byways and highways of the city – I could not hear a bit of it. The Hanging Gardens were surprisingly silent as well. There were a few, small groups of tourists, but for the most part it was occupied by pairs of couples sharing their own private world of laughter and whispered words.
Above - The Quit India scene in the Gandhi museum. The museum included a lengthy display of these dioramas complete with captions. They were delightful. Below: The room where Gandhi lived and worked when he was in Mumbai.
Mani Bhavan – the house where Mohandas Gandhi lived and worked when he was in Mumbai – was by far a space that offered up the feeling of Satyagraha - of love and non-violent resistance - which he preached and lived by. The home, on a small, sparsely populated road, lined with trees and speckled by sunlight in the city, was difficult to find, whether I asked a taxi cab driver (three) or travelers by foot (too many to count). While the feeling this small museum – filled with information- emit is so moving it is difficult to explain in words, I felt as though it made my whole trip worthwhile.
The second full day of my stay in Mumbai I hit the Kala Ghoda area, which I thought would prove to be a heady mixture of both culture and solid architecture, met my expectations for the most part, despite the fact I had to omit one locale that had been on my list. I tried to avoid the obvious hot spots, but after being denied entrance to the Keneseth Eliyahoo Synagogue and the Army and Navy Building, I decided to go ahead and hand over my rupees to the museums. After all, they were there and so was I. The National Museum of Modern Art brought me surprising delight. Overhead, music played softly. The space was simple, airy and functional. There may have three other people viewing the art at the same time I did and my heart was filled with joy during my entire visit. There were no art connoisseur wannabes standing right in front of the plaques so I couldn't see them. There were no disagreements between husband and wife about the symbolism of the dog or the basket of fruit. There were no dogs or baskets of fruits. The art was refreshingly raw, original, vibrant and quite simply- amazing.
My heart continued to sing for the remainder of the day. It sang each time to sidled up to the corner and bought a fresh juice from a stand - strawberry, banana, another strawberry and another banana. I navigated my way around the Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj Vastu Sangrahalaya Museum (formerly The Prince of Wales Museum of Western India) and my day continued on in this way until I met up with Matt again. I gallivanted around Kala Ghoda from my juice men on the corner back to the museums. I scoured the local art outside Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj Vastu Sangrahalaya and Jehangir gallery and found an inexpensive way to buy local art - that I like - to buy and eventually frame to hang in my home one day. I carried the joy I tapped into that morning - and each time I found serenity in the midst of the madness - for the remainder of my trip sin company and sans company.
Posts
0 comments:
Post a Comment