Moment. BUMM. Situation. BUMM. That was full on. I was in the middle. I was involved. I was the trigger. That was full on. I went outside of the main building. For a smoke. A silent place. In the shade. Where I can smoke and observe the busy gathering at the railway station. Using time. Becoming the observer. Observation. Being the observer.
Wasn't suppose to happen. There is anyway no such place at the whole Mumbai railway station. EVERYWHERE people. EVERYWHERE live. EVERYWHERE is something or somebody going on. On my search for such a place – still believing that it might exist … more ... not even thinking about the possibility of it's NON-existence – my walk leads me more and more towards the shabbier parts of the station. I sat down. With all my massive belongings. I was packed at that stage. Seriously. Uncomfortable. Heavy. … and of course … with Pablo*. It seemed that my chicks haven't even touched the stair I wanted to sit on, that I became the unexpected middle of an unexpected event. One of the poorest of the poor, I suppose even with a bit of a mental disfunction, tried to come close to me. His attempt, still meters away from me, alarmed all other surrounding standing men. The poor fellow came closer, the men kicked and punched towards him to make him go. Out of the sudden. That happened in a blink of an eye. In a second. They all just attacked him. Violently. Straight away. All together. There was obviously something not quite right with him and for sure he wanted to get close to me and my stuff. That was obvious too. But the rigorousness of the bulk of people was as scary as the possible attack. BUMM. Moment in Mumbai. BUMM.
I saw this special fellow more often. He became part of the picture. He belonged there. At Mumbai's railway station. Disorientated. Out of balance. Walking. Running. Around. Just there. No destiny. No goal. Disorientated. One time even beaten to the ground. For others he was like air. Non existing. In the way. There to be pushed around. With each push out of the way, he changed his direction, until the next push and the next and the next. Like a ball pushed and punched and kicked around. Disturbing. No one was caring … just pushing. BUMM. Moment in Mumbai. BUMM.
Mumbai. Again. A place where you realize you get what you send out. I just give the universal flow a bit of an energy. That was enough for me. I still sweat. Oh my god, this Mumbai. How is Mumbai? How is my Mumbai? - A city of sins. Colourful, dressed black women in the middle of dirty, dusty, plain, grey inhabited shells of cement and concrete square boxes called houses. The most beautiful cut, decorated and tastiest coconut I had in whole Asia. Police observations, escorts and personal bodyguards, an angel on the beach, way too much attention … and again a place to learn how to trust and to go with the flow … or stop the flow for your own personal well-being.
I kind of like Mumbai. Old Bombay. In it's own way. Like it is it's own anyway. So much help. Needed. There. So much help. Received. Me. Irritating Mumbai. Disturbing Mumbai. A paradox. Coming into a mega million city, a buzzing hub of thousands and thousands of people. Hopping into my favourite role as observer … and being observed. Being the object of worry and care. Carrying protection 24hours+++. Carrying an giving. Brutal and pure. Mumbai – a city with million faces.
I could catch a couple.
* Not even ten minutes after arrival Pablo was the king of the station, well-known, loved and respected from all Rickshaw Drivers, who made it by the way to their personal duty to keep an eye on us for our whole stay. I was never unsafe. The whole time at the station I had at least three pairs of observing caring eyes resting on me. With each single step I did. Those Rickshaw drivers – there was the group of 1) the white dressed Indian Arabs, 2) the 'otto-normalo' daddies, 3) the young motivated ones … and so much more … pretty interesting politics between all of them and their rickshaw job – were seriously carrying. They didn't really liked it seeing me running around there as a single woman. They were worried. They didn't want that something happened. No. It wasn't good this white young woman here running around. Too dangerous this area. I was 'allowed' to explore, with them as my shadows, the area and the surroundings. An other magic thing about Mumbai.