Horn OK Please!

This is the cryptic text on the back of every truck we see on Indian roads. We still don't know whether it means sound the horn when you pass please, or if I sound the horn you can pass, or just sound the horn to say hello. Indians simply use the horn all the time. Horn OK Please is also the name of a hit song by Yo Yo Honey Singh. The song is featured in the new (non Bollywood-style) movie we saw in Mumbai called Dedh Isqiya 1 1/2. Yeh, it's half a sequel. Since this post is about Mumbai and travelling on the (rail)road I thought it would be fitting to add this strange, yet dangerously catchy song. Just wait for the chorus to kick in and you`ll be hooked!

We left Hampi on Thursday after getting a guided tour of the nearby temples in a rickshaw. We wanted to catch a bus to Hospet, from where our train was leaving, but a cab driver swore there would be no buses this day because of the festival. We were skeptical but wanted to reach the train in time. Of course, several buses passed our rickshaw back and forth on the 12 kilometer stretch between Hampi and Hospet. People lie like that constantly!

Peaceful for the time being at Hospet junction.

At the station we got ready to merge with the crowd in hopes of getting a decent seat. Luckily Thriveni, a friendly woman we met on the station, pushed us onto the sleeper carriage, which was far less crowded than the bursting-at-the-seams unreserved carriages we were planning to board. Thus began our first train ride in India and stop number one was Guntakal Junction. From this outpost way off the tourist track we were to catch the night train to Mumbai, but when we got there total confusion ensued. There was no information about our train, and the electronic timetables were updated only once every couple of hours, incorrectly for every train we saw. The confused foreigners (us) became the main attraction at the station, but people were eager to help, even though they had no clue. The hours went by and the supposed departure time of our train came and passed. Thomas went to check the inquiry office one last time and came running back saying: ''Our train is arriving at platform no. 6 right now!'' Unbelieving but full of joy we ran to the platform, and there stood our train. We boarded it three hours after supposed departure, without any information about a delay. Indian time never ceases to catch us off guard!

Our three-tiered home on the rails.

A train journey in India is really a unique experience. Vendors holler hot food and snacks from outside and inside the train at the stations, transvestites collect donations for good luck, but mainly it's one of the best ways to experience India and its people first hand. After dancing Gangnam style with a group of Mumbaikar brothers, and seeing some spectacular views from the open door of the train, we arrived in Mumbai 7 (!) hours late (which noone seemed to find strange or annoying).

Don't worry mom, the train was practically standing still.

We got to the deceivingly named Delight Guest house in the afternoon, and Thomas, who had caught a cold and was feverish, decided to stay in. Mumbai is the LA of India, so I went to see the first screening of the Bollywood college flick Yaarian. It was in Hindi, but the plot obviously wasn't complicated and my friendly cinema neighbour Ali was more than happy to translate for me. The dances and catchy songs compensated well for plot gaps and cliché moments.

Saturday arrived and Thomas was feeling better, so we decided to check out the sights! We took a ferry from the Gateway of India to Elephanta Island, where old temples and caves are carved out from the mountainside. A fascinating place, and we were awestruck by the huge Hindu statues and stone pillars.

Not sure if euphemism or just bad grammar.

While walking through the city afterwards we were approached by an overly friendly fellow wanting to show us around. He said he wanted to improve his English. We were hesitant at first, but decided to join him, and he was kind enough to show us a delicious local restaurant, Colaba market and fishermen by the Harbor cleaning their nets. He kept saying we should visit a certain travel agency, but since we have our trip planned we didn't really feel the need for that. A nice fellow, although we are still not sure whether he had an agenda or not...

We spent the evening strolling around the city and visited a posh shopping center to see a night screening of the aforementioned Dedh Isqiya. This was a totally different experience than mine last night. The center had nearly Norwegian prices and food stalls everywhere, though some constants like the National Anthem and ''ooh''-ing when beautiful women enter the screen, and tounge-in-cheek humour still apply even in the poshest cinemas and most serious looking movies.

On our last day in Mumbai we wanted to go on a (socially responsible) slum tour of the famous Dhavari slums, featured in the movie Slumdog Millionaire. We read in the guide book that Reality Tours had a good tour which also gave money back to the slum through its charitable organization. We went to the supposed spot, but before we knew it we were hurriedly ushered ("Slum Tour? Reality? Come!") into a completely different office and spent an hour getting out of there. Losing our appetite for slum tours we decided to check out the Prince of Wales museum, which housed fascinating Hindu statues, exhibitions about ancient civilizations, and even a separate Natural History Wing which helped us learn the distinction between snakes and vipers, and toads and frogs (although I'm sure Thomas knew most of this stuff already).

After seeing Mumbai's beautiful beachwalks and hamlets it was time for us to board our train to Ahmedabad. Mumbai has swallowed us whole and spat us out again. Although we enjoyed our stay here it will be good to get to Rajasthan, which hopefully will be less scam-frequent and more hassle free.

Obligatory pose in front of India's Arc de Triomphe.