Meet Auri...

She's an old friend I made on a message board I used to post on when I was around 17. Bet none of you guys knew that, right?

Anyway, she's from Bombay, but studies in Canada and recently came back for a holiday. She took me to an awesome restaurant and bar the other night. It's nice having people on the 'inside'.

She likes the Beatles, cricketers, good food, books and music. Pretty cool.

The picture is totally stolen from Facebook.

And no my little cousins, I'm not marrying her.

Half sister

Go to second page.

Happy Birthday James

Tomorrow is my not-so-little cousin James' 14th birthday. Well done, James!

So, what's Alex been up to?

Well, various things. Time for a photo-dump and an update.

Sitting in an internet cafe I met an Australian named Bruce (easy to remember).


He's doing an oral history research project in Mumbai. Cause I'm starting to get a sense of things, I asked if it was about the Parsis. Bingo. Well, actually the Irani's, who came more recently from started up cafes, bars etc with a little help from the Parsis.

Bruce met a lovely guy named Pheroze who runs a bar, who offered him his spare apartment while he was staying. Since he was leaving the next day, he invited me around for a drink with Pheroze and his bawa-ji friend, Dara. Sure enough, I'm offered the apartment for as long as I want. And Dara knows Hoshan and his wife.

Dara:


A seedy looking Pheroze in an amazingly empty, modern and clean tunnel complex near his apartment:


Secret Parsi ritual taking place in the temple next door. Shhh, you're not allowed in!


Unfortunately, after a few days the building manager complained and I had to skip the place to let things cool down. Oh well, a few days rent free courtesy of the kindness of strangers.

Hmm what else? Today I went to an audition for a daily tv show here, all about the independence movement circa 1942. I was to play the Lieutenant General's son, ie: evil Britisher. The pay would've be great even by Australian standards. Anyway, I got to the moment before the audition before I remembered that I CAN'T ACT AND IN FACT ACTING TERRIFIES ME. I bombed badly and left in disgrace. Production company, if you're reading this, I'm sorry (and female producer, give me a call).

Depending on a few factors, I could possibly get a follow-up story in the Mumbai Mirror, this time written by myself and for actual money!

I got some 'visiting cards' as they're called here printed up cheaply, took the pic in Goa:


TV news is eplilepsy-inducing, any actual footage competes with at least three news-bars:


I had my first real India train experience - I was kind of dissapointed at not being crushed at first, but sure enough, being on this train meant I overshot my destination by three stations, it was just impossible to get out.


For contrast:


I hurt my foot playing cricket, here's a pic of me in my hotel room in one of those shirts my mum wanted me to get, plus a boomerang necklace (to remind me to go home), and a stick. It's as touristy as I get.


How did I hurt my foot? By making the mistake of mentioning I was Australian in the street. Instant cricket game, good spirited but everyone wanting to get me out. The log we were using as the stumps fell on my toe. Everyone plays or is obsessed with cricket here, here are some street kids playing with a shuttlecock. Normal begging was suspended while I joined in, as soon as the game was over it resumed.


It took me a minute to work out what was going on here. That bike wasn't going anywhere!


Pretty flower.


I chased down a group called the Siddis, Africans who have been in west India for ages and still have similar drumming rituals. Either everyday is party day for the Siddis, or I got there for some festival. One of about 20 drumming troupes that came by the mosque:


Crazy African/Indian drums:


Mmm festival food:


That's it for now, tomorrow an old friend arrives to show me round.

The next episode of Indian Idol will be the last, cancelled due to lack of interest. It will be replaced by a series I call "people carrying things on their heads".

Sorry guys...

But I've been busier than BAS week.

I'm getting callous...

Bombay Bingo

Shoe Cleaning	Massage	Bed Bugs	Tripping Tourist
What’s your name, what country?	First customer of the day	Postcards	Bird Poop
Taxi?	Want to be in Bollywood?	Person missing limb asks for money/food	Drums
Smoke? Coffeeshop? Grass?	Carpets? Shawls? Pashmina?	Something in your ear	Hello? Hello? Kids ask for food/water

Rules:

Just walk around Colaba until you get a complete bingo (four

horizontal or vertical squares). For extra difficulty, a bingo

may not be complete without an offer to change money.

The winner must yell “Bombay Bingo!”

Remember, this game can only be played in Colaba. If you don’t

want these hassles, go out and see some of the rest of the city!

Alex

on the case.

Edit: This was a link to a news story that's been taken down, maybe one day I'll upload a PDF of it here.

Happy Mothers Day to my mum

and to all mums out there. Which one are you?

Dhobi Ghat

Where all Mumbai's washing gets done. By hand.

For my birthday...

My mum kindly put me up in the Taj. It's the biggest hotel in..., well I blogged about it here so you can read the link.

The Salvation Army is right next door, the cheapest and the most expensive place to stay next to each other. You can look out from the broken windows in the shower in the Salvo's and see people moving in air conditioned luxury in the Taj.

Today*, I was one of them.

Of course, I couldn't celebrate alone, so I had some friends over.


Here's a before shot of the room.


I should have taken an after shot as it was a mess. It was truly a pleasure rolling around that bed, giving them all our fleas and bed bugs, before going down to wash our scabs and bites in their pool.


There was a pretty good view too.


Because it was my birthday, the hotel sent up a chocolate cake and a bunch of roses, how nice. It was a wierd experience sleeping and having to open the balcony door to let some heat in.

Unfortunately being May Day and also Maharashtra Day, the state was dry. No alcohol anywhere, even the guys selling drugs on the street looked offended when we asked. So, we ended up drinking in a bar at the Taj. Expensive, but nice. Could someone remind me to stock up if I'm here next year?

Of course we stripped the room bare, so now people from the Salvo's are swanning into the Taj in their fluffy white dressing gown and slippers, like a low-rent Hugh Hefner, trying to get free access to the pool.

The next day was a nice reality check though, the Salvo's is kind of like the Winter Palace in mood and theme. Here's what I woke up to:


Thanks for all the birthday wishes, it was a good one.



*Honesty note: 'Today' might not actually be 'today'.

Cat Post

Most people here would know I like cats. I'm not a dog person. Here's the first in a series of cat posts.

From the Jehangir Art Gallery:

From a nice leafy area in Colaba. Joanna, I think I found the tigers eyes burning bright!

Indian Idol, episode 2

Tonight we have four contestants, so lets get straight into them. First up, a random idol from I don't know where:


Pretty nice huh? Next, we have an extended shrine from the CST train station in down town Mumbai:


In the financial district, a nice little idol on a tree. Notice the guy noticing the idol for the first time. "Why would he take a photo of that?"


Last up, a nice little idol from next to a barbershop. Don't forget to vote for your favourite now!

Meet Mr. Jhabvala...

On a lark, I looked up Jhabvala in the Bombay phone book. I thought there would be a few, but there were only two numbers, one with a different spelling. So after a while I got the mobile phone number of one Mr. Hoshan Jhabvala.

"Hello?" he said in an accent disturbingly like my father's.

"Hi, I'm an Australian travelling in India at the moment, I'm in Bombay and I'm a Jhabvala too. I was wondering if you'd like to meet?"

"You're a Jhabvala?"

"Yes. I saw your number in the phone book."

"Of course. How long are you in Bombay for?"

"I'm not sure, no plans."

"What is your father's name?"

"Cyrus."

"Ok, I'm busy right now, but let me call you back in an hour and you can come to my house tomorrow if you like."

"Sure, bye."

So the next day I'm on the train up to Bandra, a classier area of town. It turns out that Hoshan is my cousin (not sure to what degree, our great grandfathers were brothers. Mum, you can work that out). Also, that anywhere in the world you find a Jhabvala we're going to be related. The name comes from a family who were land-owners in the village of Jhab, in Gujarat. Yes, there is a place called Jhab. He showed me photos of the house, where there's still a Jhabvala living. It's 6 hours drive away but I might pay a visit to the ancestral home.

I got a family tree and some history and a culture and religious lesson from Hoshan and his wife, it was all very strange and interesting. They have a 19 year old boy who I didn't meet.

Incidentally, Hoshan has an impeccable collection of 400 or so blues, jazz and soul cd's, arranged in an arcane system known only to him, housed in a large bookshelf type thing. Sound familiar?

Here's a pic of their door-plate:


Here's me and Hoshan (sorry Gran, Hoshan and I). We've got some facial hair going on:


Also, it's pronounced Jhabwala.

View from the gardens above Chowpatty Beach

Chowpatty Beach is like an every-night circus, with rides, food etc. Just don't go for a swim.

Today I went to a Jewish cemetary,

just because I could. The Jews have been here for over 2,000 years (give or take some exaggeration). The other night I ended up celebrating Pesach (Passover) in a synagogue. I tried to take my Mumbai skull-cap with me as a souvenir, but no go. The Brooklyn Jew who brought me along (the Israeli army type Jew as opposed to my Woody Allen type Jew) explained that the whole religion was based on the same thing as Jewish mothers - never letting you forget what happened 3,000 years ago. But hey, I'm happy they're not Egyptian slaves any more (or Babylonian ones, thanks to the Parsis).

On the way into the cemetary was an Indian guy who, unexpectedly, asked if I was Jewish in a you-can't-get-in-here-if-you're-not tone. Sure I was. After a while enjoying the serenity he came up to me with a book of all the people buried there, and asked me who I was there to see. Thinking quick, I said my grandfather. He died in 1975 (a safe bet, some of the graves looked pretty new). We went through the book and I found Menach Mordechai, d. 1975. After a while we found his grave and I looked suitably sad and wistful, while hoping Mordechai appreciated the humour of the situation. Then he offered to clean the grave for 500 rupees.

Obligatory black and white cemetary shot:

Menach Mordechai, may he rest in peace:

Complete update on my foot.

So here's the gruesome spectacle of bed bug bites getting infected, thanks Salvation Army! I was kind of a local celebrity for a while there. I ended up going to a hospital to get it drained (with a needle, not leeches), they're doing tests. No pain though.


Here's after they drained it: