in mumbai

got into mumbai last night.

only 45 minutes into mumbai, at night in the taxi ride from the airport to the hotel, and i saw a man die. right in front of me. many don't wear helmets here. motorcycles crashed. golden sparks. the bikes wobbled, like the instant before something falls and it appears as if weightless. but then gravity overtook. an old man thrown from the bike onto the asphalt. legs together, knees bent in towards himself, arms together, elbows bent in towards himeslf. i could see something glistening under the yellow light of the street lamp. my taxi slowed, manuvered around the body...
we approached, his eyes open, a shimmery black streak of blood down his forhead... a pool of blood collecting under his head.
maybe i shouldn't get in to this detail. perhaps its disrespectful. but that's what i saw. 45 minutes into mumbai. sometimes i get naucious thinking about it, so maybe i shouldn't.
but who was he? to whom did he belong? will he be creamated in the coming days, along the ganges...? who loved him? passerbyes on the street rushed to him.. the first of which was a woman, in sari, from the sidewalk...
but my taxi just kept driving. we manuvered around them, the driver excused it by saying "alcohol, and motor cycle, no good"
he only spoke hindi.
soon he was talking about bollywood.
conversation:
"amitabh bhachchan?"
"ahh, yes yes, amir khan?"
"uh-hu, umm aishwarya rai and abishek?"
"shaadi"

this is a country of contrast.
the rich and the poor.
the shops and the slums.
death and life.

i'm doing well.
i was nervous last night. because all i saw was the night. the people in the slums. cooking over fires they made on the sidewalk. stretches of people sitting on the side of the road. many looked happy, they were just living life. i couldn't tell if they were just enjoying an evening outside on the sidewalk or if that was their home.

amidst all of this. the stimulation. the honking. conversation and joking with the taxi driver. death. poverty. people driving by in motorcycles and staring....

... it all felt pretty normal.

perhaps its because its because of all the stories i've heared, or perhaps its simply because conversation with the taxi driver was enough to dissociate me from the reality of the street.

one thing's for sure. i was looking at the people, but not into their eyes. perhaps its because i was scared they'd be looking into mine.

so i slept at the hotel last night. trying to control my emotions. trying to decide whether my fear of the outside was rational or irrational. trying to decide what the best emotion was to feel.

i woke up, took my half-bucket shower, opted for a more traditional outfit (shalwar kameez) to blend in and subdue some of the fear of being foreign, braced myself and headed outside.

walked down the streets. brisk pace. pretending like i have a destination, a mission. my only mission is to acclamate myself. kept stepping on my shalwar. pulled the pant legs up with both hands and proceeded.

im at an internet cafe.

wha i think now.

rational fear: mumbai alone at night.
irrational fear: mumbai alone, but in crowded streets, in day.