Comfortable in Mumbai.

I’m finding it extremely easy to be content in this city.  The old buildings–a combination of old Indian and British Colonial architecture–mixed in with the shade of tree-lined streets–trees that look like they’ve sucked up too much petrol fumes–and the crowds of people milling about make me feel more relaxed. 

The walkways are covered with the archways of old buildings leading into shops, and outside street vendors say, ”Good day, madam!”  Very friendly. 

It’s too bad the pollution and lack of interest (and money) is allowing these lovely areas to decay, but I can picture what it was once like, thanks to my Anne-of-Green-Gables imagination.

It’s also very easy to purchase items, both Eastern and Western, for reasonable prices.  Ladies: dress shoes and handbags.  That’s all I need to say.  The chemists are well-stocked, electronic shops have the right battery chargers, SIM cards are available for mobile phones so one pays local charges and if you require a map of the world or India, there are street vendors who sell those, as well.  This is all a good thing, because it’s Day 5 and there is still no trace of my packpack.

(Pause.)

However, Pantene shampoo, purchased at a good pharmacy near my hotel, works really well as laundry soap as well as a complete shampoo and conditioner in one bottle (wait, that’s an old at for Pert Plus, isn’t it?).

Here’s another amazing thing: Western Cafes are popular with middle to upper class Indians here.  The cafes are always filled with locals.  I could not believe that the quality of the baked goods or coffee could be any good, so I decided to try two different cafes in the past two days because I was getting upset about my missing bag, which resulted in a loss of sleep and I had a hard time motivating myself to do anything in the mornings and was especially angry that the clerks at South African Airways have system shut downs and they cannot find out if my lost baggage file has been updated but they do know for sure that another flight from Johanessburg came into Mumbai and someone else at my hotel got their bag but there was no record of my bag being on the flight and I have spent a lot of time calling and e-mailing the airline rather than fully enjoying Mumbai: excellent coffee. 

Seriously.

I hate coffee, as most of you know.  But when the sign in the cafe says they properly brew imported Italian coffee, they mean it.  It’s really good.  Made just like in Italy.  But it’s made by hard-working Indians, so why would anyone expect less?

A man at the cafe heard of my baggage plight this morning, and told me of a shop that sells all kinds of items that I can wear/use in both India and back home in Canada, so I will venture there in a bit…and send the bill to my friends at South African Airways.

Moving on.

Being an extra in a film sucks.  Holy crap, what a long day doing nothing.  There were two films being shot at once.  Myself and another man played a nurse and doctor, respectively, in a film called Phhir (which, I believe means, ‘to return’) while the others played London (UK) police officers in a film titled Purple Lake.  Typical Bollywood dramas.  Beautifully done up ladies in tight clothes seducing the leading man with cheesy music in the background.  The head police officer, a woman, was in a tight police uniform, while the women extras had “male” uniforms (read: baggy) on.  You understand.  Me and the German guy were in one scene where we literally walked down a corridor of a hospital.  You could see us in the shot for 2 seconds as we walked by the door of the doctor’s office. 

That’s it.

Everytime we were called back to shoot, we weren’t required in the scene.  So we spent the rest of the day waiting, and waiting, and waiting around.  We were gone from 8 am until 9.30 pm.  Long day.

The “officers” walked around in their scenes, too.  But they shot all day.  At least they had something to do.  We all got paid the same anyway, but when I was asked to come back the next day for a shoot, I said, No.

Flat out, no.

There are ex-pats who do this everyday for cash.  They work their way up to speaking lines, get paid more, and are asked to be around the next day, almost everyday, in case they’re needed.  What a life.

Some of us from the ‘cast’ went to Elephantine Island yesterday.  I think the most interesting part were not the caves on the island (and BTW there are more vendors on the island than caves devoted to the Hindu goddess, Shiva), but the ferry we were on coming back.  (Thinks.)  How are boats like this legal to use?  For example, one guy sat on a seat, and the whole bench came crashing down. 

WTF?

The locals thought it was funny.  I said, “Ha ha.  I’m glad you found that funny.’

They just smiled back, thinking I was laughing with them.  

Hmmmm.

Some other notes of interest:

1.  Beer bottles are 850 mL large. 

2.  Signs that indicate ‘STD’ mean ’Standard Trunk Dialling.’  This is the old British term for ’overseas (long-distance) phone calls.’   You can make a call almost anywhere, it seems: internet points, street kiosks.  Very convienient because they’re everywhere.  So are computers with reliable, affordable internet!  (Yes!)

3.  A bit of a tip, goes a long way.

4.  The man at the “Tourist Reservation Desk” upstairs at the Victoria Terminal railway station booking office is AWESOME.  (That’s Australian for: funny, helpful and full of energy.)

I’m not in the mood for uploading photos, and I haven’t taken many since I arrived.  Maybe in a week or so.  Patience.

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Oh, (cousin) Matthew, you may join me on this mad adventure at any time.  If my bag is routed back to Canada, you will be required to bring that with you, along with your own bag.  However, if you want to come to India, you cannot unless Sara goes with you or she will be VERY, very angry.