Bollywood Bound Part I

I had some left over cash from an internship I scored in Hong Kong and three weeks to spare before heading back to the States for my sister’s wedding. This extra time and bit of money presented me with a few options to choose from:

A-    I could do something financially mature and save it for once.

B-    Gamble a bit in Macau and test my luck.

C-    Buy my sister and brother-in-law a lovely dining set.

D-    Travel somewhere exotic filled with beautiful women and delicious food.

TajMahalSun.jpg

Unfortunately for my sister the answer was all too obvious. I would escape the frigid dampness of Honkeytown in February by using this cash to travel. I was contemplating either Australia or India – seeing as both Miranda Kerr and Lamb Vindaloo could be traced back to these holy lands. I weighed the pros and cons of each for a few minutes and ultimately came to a conclusion over where I would venture.

030.jpg

Sounds strange, but I slightly missed the putrid smell of burning street trash and the slap of adrenaline that comes from the death defying act of weaving in and out of congested Asian traffic on the back of a motorbike taxi. Plus in my eyes Australia is the same thing as the U.S, except with more dangerous animals and a lame form of football.

098.jpg

With that in mind India was a no brainer. After booking my flight into Mumbai I would be left with about $1000 to tear through once on the ground. My buddy Nick was intrigued by my proposed quest and made plans to meet me in Delhi for the second leg of my three week journey.

$1000 doesn’t sound like much for three weeks of traveling, but considering the average gross salary in India is about $1,400 a year, I figured I could make it work.

IMG_2587.jpg

Over the years I’ve cultivated a list of traveling techniques that can really stretch a dollar – the most indispensable amongst them is having the ability to stomach staying in guesthouses that resemble the sets of B grade horror films. I’m talking peeling paint, squatter toilets with no running water, no AC, stained mattresses – the whole shabang. I learned to facilitate this disgusting talent while traveling SE Asia with my best friend Kyle, who’s well known to pride himself on seeing how long he can resist bathing. I think his record stands at 12 days (What a champ). However, as much as sleeping in these dumps doesn’t bother me, it’s often the other humans that reside in these landfills that give me the chills.

The guy I was forced to room with in Mumbai is the perfect example. After arriving at my guest house located in a dark alley on a back street of Mumbai, I gave myself a moment to take in the mystique of the place. It looked like a colonial prison built about 100 years ago. The windows had metal bars on them and ravaged street dogs were scratching their flees as they lurked around a four foot concrete wall surrounding the perimeter of the structure. Cozy to say the least. The walls and flooring on the inside looked extremely flammable, like the heat off of a cigarette ash would be enough to burn this sucker to the ground. It reeked of incents and every stair I climbed bent inwards, shrieking like prisoners of the past, as if an extra ounce of pressure from my boot would snap the step in two. I was lead to my room by a small, hunchbacked Indian man with blood shot eyes, foul looking yellow stained teeth and the stench of cheap rum. He blended in perfectly with the decor of this decrepit building.

The door of my room opened to reveal a balding oaf of a man wearing Tivas, cargo shorts and a grease stained tank-top excitedly emptying a backpack full of pill bottles onto his bed. His face looked like John Carroll Lynch from Shutter Island. The door closes behind me.

john_carroll_lynch_big-face.jpg

I walked in quietly without this guy looking up from his activities or acknowledging my presence. I was actually grateful for this because I was in no mood for chit-chatting at 2 A.M and 10 hours in transit. I laid down on my bed fully clothed and shut my eyes.

Less than a minute later I open my eyes to see this troll breathing heavily about a foot away from my face. I shot up instantly and quickly scanned the room for potential weapons I could use to beat him down with should he make any hasty movements in my direction. I wanted to be prepared in case this guy tried to go Silence of the Lambs on me.

A couple of tense seconds go by and without any warning this strange man shoots into an epic rant. He started by recounting his escape over the border of Pakistan through the bribery of border guards, which then blended into a love story about his passion for discounted Indian tea and prescription medicine. His accent gave away that he was Canadian, making this scene all the creepier. I barely got a word in to ask why he needed to escape from Pakistan when this guy says to me, “I’m heading out now, don’t mind me if I make a mess of this place when I get back, I’m getting lit tonight!”

I put on my boots, strapped my bag to my back and quickly exited this hotel prison. I couldn’t allow myself to get murdered in Mumbai by a psychopathic, tea loving Canadian who somehow escaped a man hunt in Pakistan. Those news headlines did not read out pleasantly in my mind.

It was apparent from my first night in Mumbai that India was actually the twilight zone. I was really torn about whether I made the right decision of choosing to come here. That thought disappeared as I watched a wild boar cut across a busy intersection with a monkey on its back. I definitely made the right choice.

monkey-riding-boar.jpg

Welcome to India.

I made my way south from Mumbai to Goa, a groovy coastal region on the western shores of India and rented a little wooden shack right smack on the beach for $6 a night. Life consisted of watching the sun come up and later go down, listening to wave’s crash and observing callous Russian couples yell at poor Indian servers. At night I would drink beers and chat with an Indian server Amil. Our conversations had a pretty standard formula - we discussed women, his crappy job, his family, my family and his favorite subject of all – The United States of America. The United States still represented a dream for Amil and our conversation about the U.S reminded me of this scene from Dumb & Dumber.

Everywhere you go in India you’re surrounded by some form of extreme poverty. You can’t escape it. The small children holding even smaller children, begging for a couple of Rupees to survive the day. Sweat dripping off the brow of old, weathered looking women who latch onto your arms, pleading with you to buy some type of garment from them. It’s shocking when you can actually see and feel this type of deprived life, especially when you come from a place like Hong Kong that’s fueled by high-end retail.

148.jpg

I don’t believe there’s anything wrong with spending your hard earned cash on whatever you want. However, I do think consumerism is poisonous when a compulsion to purchase comes at the cost of ignoring the destitutions of the rest of society i.e Mukesh Ambani.

Mr. Ambani is a Mumbai billionaire who has built the world’s most expensive home (1 billion USD) and rightfully positioned it overlooking Dharavi, one of the poorest slums in the world. To add even more insult to injury, no one actually lives in this grand palace full time. Maybe it’s beyond me, but couldn’t this dude have just built a $900 million dollar home and started a school or meal kitchen for the people starving outside his window?

Capitalism and earning a great living is sweet, just don’t be a dick, Mr. Ambani.

From Goa I bounced to Fort Kochi in the southern state of Kerala. Not only did this place make a magical fish curry, but it’s also where my dream to become an International rapper came true. I had stumbled across a couple of dudes shooting a music video in town and sat down to watch their production. I introduced myself to one of the group members and was immediately surrounded by the rest of the crew. They kept slapping my arms debating with each other in their language, Malayalam about something they obviously didn’t want me to understand.  

At first all this man grabbing and ranting made me a bit uncomfortable, like maybe they thought I had a ripe kidney to sell or something even worse. But it turned out they were discussing if perhaps the reason for my long hair and muscular arms was because I was a wrestler for the WWE. Strangely enough another little kid later on in the day asked me the same thing. I guess Vince McMahon really carved out a niche in the Indian market.

I regrettably had to break their hearts and tell them no, but that I loved rap music and was curious to watch them shoot their video. They had a better idea to stick me in the video. 1:53 is my cameo.

MV5BOTk4ODZlNjEtNDBkMS00NDVlLWJhZjgtY2MxOTM3ZDllMTYxXkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyMTExMTc3NzU5._V1_UY1200_CR77,0,630,1200_AL_.jpg
104.jpg

On my last day in Fort Kochi I ended up riding my bike around searching for a bar that was open mid-day. India is full of different religions where boozing is a no-no, so as you can imagine day drinking isn’t exactly a national past time. As I rode through the town a group of elementary aged kids pulled their bikes up to ride next to me. A young boy with a big grin asked me where I was from. He asked if I would ride to his house to introduce me to his family who had never met someone from the United States before. I had nothing better and figured maybe they could supply me with a couple of cold ones.

His home wasn’t much more than 200 sq feet of concrete with a tin roof and a small blue door. To my surprise the entire family quickly came out to greet me as if I was a diplomat from another planet. Mom, Dad, Grandma, baby sister, little sister and all of the neighborhood kids surrounded me asking questions about Justin Bieber and Barack Obama while we took pictures.

It made me feel incredibly proud to be an American. It made me appreciate the dream of what the U.S stands for to so many people across the world and how even just meeting an American can represent some form of a blessing.

As I left, the boy asked me if I had a pen - he told American pens are good luck. I gave him every pen I had in my back pack.

050.jpg
048.jpg
045.jpg
051.jpg

From Fort Kochi I met up with my buddy Nick Doyle and his friend Brent in Delhi. We journeyed together from there to the desert city of Jaipur. This city was hot as hell and quite filthy as well. It kind of resembled Tatooine from Star Wars, except with Sikhs and goats.

The combination of heat and trash seemed to create a chemical compound similar to the pheromone released when you’re attracted to another person. Or at least that’s what I concluded after the 100th Indian man came running up to us, grabbing our arms and asking to take pictures. This is probably what it felt like for the Beatles when they first came to the states, only we replaced the American babes with grown Indian men screaming for us.

172.jpg
123.jpg
125.jpg

Jaipur took us to Agra, where the goat pies flowed like the Salmon of Capistrano. We toured the Taj Mahal and the surrounding areas of this ancient city. As we cabbed back to the train station from our day long schlep we began to hit afternoon traffic. The cabbie made me roll up my window just in time to prevent a herd of cows crossing the road from splashing us down like it was Slime Time Live as they released their inner demons.

161.jpg
TajMahalBrent.jpg
142.jpg

India certainly opened my eyes up to a lot of unpleasantries that come with a developing country. Despite the absurdities I came across, it was clear that the people, architecture, landscapes and cultures of India were vibrant and beautiful. India is a brilliant blend of rapid modernization coupled with rich historical & religious precedents that have left half the country in the dark and the other half emerging from the shadows at a ferocious pace.  The paradox presented within India is actually similar to the enigma we all face as a species; as the rest of the world develops and our technology and ability to communicate rapidly advances we become a more connected world. The question is how do we use this connectivity to help change the course of pain and suffering by other humans that’s right in front of our faces at any given moment. I don’t have the answers or even know where to start. It’s fascinating and haunting to think about.

If you do decide to venture to India in the near future, keep a sense of humor about you, stay humble and be grateful for your modern life. Also bring a Z-Pak.

Next
Next

The Importance of Swine