(My apologies for back-to-back posts…)

Within my first few hours in Mumbai I had the overwhelming feeling that I wanted to leave immediately and stay forever. And as tired as a Mumbai-New York comparison is at this historical moment, New York is the only other place I remember experiencing that so strongly.

I arrived at 5:50 in the morning, 24 hours after I left my little room in Hampi and went by foot, by boat, by foot, by rickshaw, by train, by foot, and again by train all the way to Mumbai. Along the way I had to jump on to a moving train, twice, which was much less dramatic than it sounds but exactly as fun. On the first ride, I met a group of 20-ish guys who were going to take their Microsoft programming proficiency exams in Hubli; if they pass they recieve a letter and certificate from good ol’ Bill Gates. On the second I mostly spilled food on the floor, drank too much chai–have I mentioned how satisfying it is to buy a tiny cup of steaming masala chai for five rupees from the endless string of boys and men walking through the train yelling “COFF-EE COFF-EE CHAICHAI, COFFEECHAI”?–and listened to the incredible chorus of snoring old men as I tried to avoid hitting my head on the roof every time I sat up in my upper berth.

Just taking in the sounds of the train–the chaiwallahs and the other vendors selling everything from deep-fried potatoes and samosas to omelets to toy helicopters, the families laughing and chatting in multiple languages, the mobile phones and music, the uptight but usually friendly conductors meticulously checking tickets, beggars asking for change, kids moving from car to car and back again–is worth a trip to India.  And on the trains I’ve definitely been reminded of some of the limits of the national focus of this incredible fellowship I’m on: I’m supposed to visit at least eight countries but in just a little over a month in India I feel I’ve visited more than half that number.  I’m excited to know how I’ll feel after nearly as long in Vietnam or Argentina or elsewhere.

Thankfully, my friend Sachin, whom I met in Kodaikanal, met me at the station in Mumbai after a sleepless night. After much negotiation with the swarm of drivers outside the station, we took a long cab ride to his apartment, north of Bandra, and slept for a few hours. Within an hour of waking up Sachin was at work at the production studio and I was riding (illegally) in the women’s car on the impossibly over-crowded metro train and being escorted around Colaba by Sachin’s law student/model/actress roommate and friend Nidhi, who at just under 21 has probably read more novels than I have and–like many early-20s Indians I’ve met on this trip–seems intellectually in a whole different world that people her age in the U.S. We met up with her friend Jordi, a Spanish guy (also a model, apparently) who’s now living in Mumbai, and ate and wandered around until we ended up at the Gateway of India. Since it just so happened to be Republic Day the Times of India was putting on a massive concert at the Gateway, and since I just so happened to be with people who know what they’re doing we somehow got into to the passes-only reserved seats section when there were no tickets available. So, I got to spend the one month anniversary of my trip sitting a few meters from the Gateway of India listening to some of the country’s most famous musicians playing everything from Bengali folk to famous Bollywood hits to traditional Rajasthani music to contemporary fusion.  And, despite the crowd being rather subdued and some well-taken critiques from Nidhi–who knows far more about the music that I do–I loved it all.

The next day we went with a large group to another of the islands that make up the city. The narrow streets leading to the ferry were the picture of urban squalor, complete with enormous piles of trash being simultaneously picked through by dogs, rats, crows, and entire families. (Piles of trash, of course, are common everywhere I’ve been in the country. What else are you going to do with the ubiquitous plastic products when there isn’t anywhere near enough public waste disposal? It’s basically just like the U.S. and everywhere else; we just hide our waste in poor neighborhoods and around Native American Reservations.  It is tough, though, to see trash everywhere in some of the most beautiful landscapes, but I’ve also seen campaigns in various places working to change that.) After the short ferry ride, we ended up in the shaded back yard of a house, listening to a full DJ setup under party lights, drinking cocktails, and talking to young TV and music-industry people at a pre-wedding party for one of Sachin’s friends. I don’t know how I keep finding myself in these situations, but I admit I didn’t complain.

I met all sorts of people my age who work as graphic designers for TV networks, directors of entertainment companies working to bring acts like M.I.A. to play Mumbai, IT folks who’ve lived in Britain, etc.  A rare crowd.  And, thankfully, no one objected to the random white guy at the food table; a few people even gave me things, including a gorgeous headscarf from the Muslim market in the city.

By the time we paid the ferry drivers to take us back across after hours, took a long rickshaw ride home, and all went to sleep on Sachin’s floor, I was really sorry I’d booked a flight out of Mumbai so soon.