When I told my friends and family that I was planning on
going to India for the summer, many reminded me that with the monsoon-like
climate, Mumbai will reach “unbearable temperatures.” I was duly relieved when
I landed, I feared I would melt upon exit, but was duly relieved to be in the mild 87 degrees, with humidity. If
someone were to ask me what the daily forecast feels like, I would say, “ya
know, like going swimming through a jacuzzi.” At this point, I’m getting used
to being sweaty all day
As I exited the airport, many tried getting me to take a
taxi with them, but our program had already sent a driver for me. At first I
pondered, “what if they forgot? What if he left because my bags took too long?
After a few short moments of surveying the many drivers with signs, I spotted
my name written in big green letters, and…we were off!
After a thirty-five minute drive, we arrived at the E.E.E
Sassoon Compound located in Byculla, Mumbai. Despite the fact that he was a the
treasurer Baghdad, due to persecution and economic interests, Sassoon
established an entire community in Bombay (Mumbai). The Sassoon Compound is a
fenced in square-quarter mile of dirt road that is guarded by the Indian police
at all times. At the entrance lay the 153-year-old Magen David Synagogue,
standing nearly 5 stories high with a sky-blue exterior. Behind the synagogue
is an open courtyard, E.E.E Sassoon High School and, where I live with my
fellow GPM-JDC Fellows, the Sassoon House.
Following brief introductions with the other members of the
cohort, the guys, myself included, decided to go to the Krawfur Food Market.
Flagging down a taxi was the easy part, what was more difficult was finding the
lines separating each lane, to then learn that there aren’t any! The streets
bottle-necked with taxis and cars, motor-cycles being driven by women in burqas,
the immense heat, and the curious native as they scan the taxi filled with
Caucasians could be observed in the controlled-chaotic environment of the
city’s infrastructure. Undoubtedly, Mumbai traffic makes one believe that NYC
traffic is like riding a bike with training wheels—its quite remarkable.
The fruit market was filled with all different types of
shops that one can get mango, tomatoes, watermelon, papaya, peaches, apricots,
pomegranate, nuts, spices and others.
A man came over to help us bargain and get the best deals—I
guess we unintentionally hired a middleman, for all of our shopping needs. This
man spent two hours taking us from food store to ATM to clothing store to
bathrooms, and at the end, we gave him what would be considered double a days
pay, 100 rupees/$1.35. It didn’t quite register until that moment how cheap
things are. I couldn’t help but feel guilty for being born into a world so
different that it allotted me different circumstances of greater potential,
while also feeling empowered and grateful for my socioeconomic status.
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