Bombay

Well I survived my visit to India without ever having to use one of those unbelievable hole-in-the-ground, wipe-your-arse-with-your-hand toilets. Actually, had a rogue curry descended to explode out of my anus on the 1-2 hour journey to the office I would have been "shit out of luck". There are no toilets on the streets of Bombay, except in as much as the whole place is a toilet. Nor were there any trees you could shit behind. The whole place was a succession of hovel-like constructions lining the streets, with thousands of people everywhere, some of them washing in the gutter. You could theoretically have shit in the road - I'm sure no-one would have taken exception - but death would almost certainly have been swift, at the hands (or wheels) of the battered vehicles that choke the roads, veering left and right and sounding their horns continuously.

(Out of town you might have been tempted to wander into a field but cobras are there to keep you in line. The image of one of those hooded bastards rearing up to attack your scrotum would be too much to overcome save in the most dire of emergencies.)

There was one sign, at a major manufacturing plant, that really brought home the difference between India and the US. It was above the main elevator in the foyer of the main office. It was a fire notice - you know, one of those "In Case Of Fire..." things that usually directs you to an alarm, or an exit, or an emergency phone number. This one, though, was different. It read, word for word, including punctuation:

"In Case of Fire, Shout Fire! Fire!! Fire!!!"

Well fuck me! Really? That one never occurred to me. They might as well have put up a sign saying "In case of fire, run around screaming and piss in your pants" for all the good it would do. Things are definitely different over there. One of the places we might have gone to visit, on the Sunday after our arrival, was the Towers of Silence. This is where the local Parsi community lay out their dead on the tops of towers so they can be eaten by vultures. Unfortunately, what with all the pollution, urbanization and all that, vultures are not as common as they used to be. The Towers of Silence are therefore not a place you'd want to be on a hot day, so we passed.

The exception to the general architectural benightedness of the place was, of course, all the stuff the Brits built before leaving. Say what you like about the Empire but they could build a fucking nice museum/hotel/church/university. Judging by the state of the building that houses the Indian atomic energy program I'm surprised that they can make a cup of tea, let alone a reactor. Fucking miracle if they don't blow themselves sky high, if you ask me...

Anyway, the food in India was absolutely outstanding - spicy meat and vegetable dishes complemented by wonderful breads and rice, and the ubiquitous Kingfisher beer. No beef though - the cow is a sacred animal, revered by the local populace. You can see them in the streets and even the battered taxis avoid hitting them. Of course this might be less a matter of reverence and more to do with the ferocious pointed horns that they sport, which would open up an Indian taxi like a sardine can and kebab the occupants in a second. I think the meat was goat, which should be safe enough, but in a country where pre-natal scans are routinely used to sex-select for boys, the humble goat is the nearest thing to a wife that some of these poor bastards is ever going to get. Something I considered when I saw a man in the back of a three-wheeled vehicle clutching a goat - maybe this wasn't a farmer with a new purchase. It was a date. Still, he looked happy enough. After all, it could have been worse. He could have ended up with an ugly one...


Copyright 2007 Edward Bison