In the following days we went further afield, past Chowpatty Beach to the Hanging Gardens near the up-market suburb of Malabar Hills, and through the winding alleyways of Kotachiwadi and nearby huge Crawford Market. At one point along the way we stopped for samosas and lime sodas and chatted with a young man on his way to work as a diamond cutter and polisher.
We took trains out to the northern suburbs of Dadar and Bandra, passing a Small Claims Court apparently just adjourned for lunch. An argument of lawyers in their court finery milled nearby and some spruiked for new business. One approached us and asked if we had any legal enquiries. Actually we did have an enquiry to address to a lawyer but not one of a legal nature. Lawyers and Lunch – two words as natural bedfellows as horse and carriage, or duck and water. We asked the lawyer where we might find a nice restaurant and he pointed the way to go. It was sound advice. Several of his colleagues were already ensconced there enjoying the excellent food, as we too soon were.
Mumbai harbour contains several islands – we took a boat ride about an hour offshore to Elephanta Island containing World Heritage listed 500 AD rock-cut cave temples. One six metre high, triple-headed Hindu sculpture was very impressive. The rest of the site was distinctly underwhelming, leaving us doubting whether it justified its place on the Register.
The dhobi ghat (clothes washing place) at Mahalaxmi is Mumbai’s biggest with over 1,000 washing and rinsing troughs. Thousands of kilograms of soiled clothing and linen are brought here every day from across the city for hand washing and open air drying. If you’ve stayed in Mumbai and used your hotel’s laundry service, it’s very likely your clothes have been out to Dhobi Ghat while you were sleeping or enjoying the sights elsewhere. But Dhobi Ghat is quite a sight in itself, with long wooden trolleys loaded with bulging clothes and linen bags being hauled about, soaked workers around and in the troughs pounding and swinging the wet items, and giant open air clothes lines. We strolled through the adjacent dirt alleyways, stopping at a stall for a drink. The shopkeeper was a young man who told us about the place, ending by exclaiming “This place is a slum!” He said this in a factual, not pejorative tone, and all I could think of in reply was “And a very nice one too.” And it was too, in its own way. Of course it would be much better if there were no slums, but I have to say that we have never met such friendly and outwardly happy children as those we met that morning.
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