INDIA pt.I

BOMBAY BEAUTY

J A N U A R Y 1 1 , 2 0 2 1

We arrived at Mumbai’s Chatrapati Shivaji airport at 12:15 am on Christmas day. Through a mild jet lag-induced stupor, I took in the whimsical paisley carpet and chandeliers shaped like hanging lotus flowers in various stages of bloom. I walked through hallways lined with statues and towering palm trees, high ceilings supported by palatial geometric columns, and even a tropical water feature. I managed to wake myself up enough to realize that Mumbai’s airport is one of the nicest and most welcoming airports I’d ever been in (which is saying a lot, because I’ve been to some beautiful Scandinavian airports). Getting through customs was extremely quick and easy, and aside from having to wait in a long line to have our bags scanned again after we picked them up, the whole process was relatively quick and painless.

As soon as you step out of the airport doors, you’re greeted by a living wall. Hundreds of human bodies, pressed close to each other in the 2 am heat, jostle and maneuver their way up to the barrier to greet loved ones and potential cab customers. It’s a small first glimpse into the sheer number of people who live in Mumbai, that so many of them are waiting at the airport at any given time of day or night. And for the record, that’s 13M in the city proper, or 23M if you include the entire metropolitan region.

Note: You cannot just hail a cab at the airport & good luck trying to get an Uber.

My impression is that cab drivers are pretty respectful of each other; no cutting in front of another driver who was there first to snatch their fare (NYC cab drivers, much?). They also seem to band together and defend their ‘territory’ within the city, from what I can tell. But not to worry, you simply need to pre-pay for a cab inside the airport. They give you a little slip with a cab number, then send you out into the parking area to find your driver. Having to hunt for your cab is a little confusing, but the drivers will help you find your way, and you will be politely deferred to the taxiwala with the most seniority.

HOTELS, TAXIWALAS & TEMPLES (OH MY)

Sleepy, yet exhilarated, we made our way to the front desk of the JW Marriot in Juhu, around 2:30 in the morning. Luckily, the staff were kind enough to carry our bags to our room, unfortunately, we had to drag our half-dead carcasses up ourselves.

After some 3 am room service, we finally managed to pass out. Let me just take a moment to note that India has a five-and-a-half-hour time difference from the UK. You read that right, they threw in an extra half hour for good measure. No matter where you’re traveling from, it’s a weird one, and I can’t for the life of me figure that shit out.

* Slightly embarrassing and (not-so) humble brag alert - my partner is an award-winning British chef, amongst many other interesting things. He may look like a Viking – biker – dirtbag (which he is), but he’s also extremely knowledgeable about all things food – a trait which you may or may not reap the benefits from on this platform. All this is to say – I will henceforth be referring to him simply as Chef (he’s got enough stalkers, thanks).

Chef and I spent Christmas day in the hotel recuperating from the previous day’s journey. One of the reasons we traveled to India exactly when we did is because Chef is a bit of a Grinch, and likes to avoid the western world’s consumer frenzy with an annual escape to the east. I won’t say too much about this hotel, especially since we only stayed two nights and because I’ve dedicated an entire post to our next hotel (SoHo House Mumbai). However, I will say it had the largest and craziest buffet I’ve ever experienced (replete with live band and water served straight from the coconut at the table) and probably the nicest hotel spa I’ve ever experienced (brace yourself for some mesh undies though).

The day after Christmas, Chef and I went off in search of Pannalal. Chef has been to India a few times, and on his last visit to India two years before, he met a taxi driver near his hotel. He became not only Chef’s driver but tour guide, companion, and de facto bodyguard for the entirety of his stay in Mumbai (Chef tends to attract hordes of people in India who want to take selfies with his tall, blonde, bearded, Viking-esque self).

I had previously received selfies of the two of them visiting tourist sites, and even having Christmas dinner together one year. Chef managed to misplace Pannalal’s contact info, but he knew that his ‘territory’ was right outside of his old hotel. Luckily for us, this hadn’t changed in two years, and their reunion was pretty adorable. I’ll always remember Pannalal jogging back to his car, hot chai in hand and smile on his face, to greet us after one of the other Taxiwalas called to tell him Chef was looking for him. A small, fatherly type figure, Mr.P has a smile that warms your heart, and a heart to match it. He was also very funny, sometimes, and maybe even especially, without meaning to be. He would sing prayers while he drove but would insist on doing them over if Chef started filming them. He loves talking to us about Mumbai, but also about his wife and sons (both doctors - but sorry ladies, they're taken), often showing us photos and telling us about family gatherings. He was very excited to learn that it was my first time in India, and was very enthusiastic with Chef about planning all the places they were going to take me in Mumbai. If only he’d stop insisting that next time we come to India I have a baby with me (insert eye roll), he’d be darn near perfect.

We went first to Chef’s preferred ISKCON temple, the Sri Sri Radha Rasabihari ji Temple, in Juhu, near where we were staying. ISKCON, or the International Society for Krishna Consciousness, is better known in the west as the Hare Krishna Movement. Chef had been here before, and we respectfully walked, sans-shoes, along the marble corridors and open temple grounds observing the tableaus and statues of the three presiding deities. Some worshipers sat cross-legged in prayer or meditation, while others lay prostrate on the cool checkered floor, palms pressed together above their heads. Meanwhile, Pannalal, a devout Hindu, was in a bit of a tither. He accepted that, from a tourist standpoint, we might want to visit the temple, but the entire time we were there he was doing his utmost to hurry us along and onto our next stop. It was just a little bit funny watching him get flustered if I’m honest (Sorry Mr. P). I thought he was going to pop a vein however when Chef got into a conversation with a Hare Krishna as we were exiting the temple and walking around the complex. Chef loves to talk to people, especially about spiritual subjects, so I basically had to run interference with Pannalal, who kept insisting that Chef shouldn’t talk with any of them because they would mess with his head, all while trying to push us toward the exit (and his Hindu temple down the road). Again, just a little bit comical. After a very kind and genuine conversation, and some free books gifted to Chef, we eventually went in search of our shoes and the exit (to Pannalal’s great relief).

I suspect Pannalal was pleased to take us to our next stop, as much to cleanse us from Hare Krishna vibes as for reasons of spiritual enlightenment. So off we went to the Shree Mukteshwar Devalaya, a 400-year-old, bright yellow temple to Lord Shiva. There was a newer seven-story building behind the yellow one, with each floor dedicated to a different form of the god. We paid a donation to take a small lift to the top floor, then made a small spiraling pilgrimage from top to bottom. In between prayers, Pannalal explained which incarnations of Shiva were represented by the hundreds of statues, lit incense, and blessed our foreheads with ash.

When I was growing up, I was fascinated with India, and I remember it was the first place I ever really wanted to visit as a child. I used to read all about their many gods and mythologies, engrossed in a world of color, and magic, and wonder so unlike anything I’d experienced in my western, mildly Christian, upbringing. A few decades later, my knowledge of Indian gods drastically faded, and any affinity to organized religion long since shed, it was still impossible not to feel reverential in these historical holy places. I was surprised to find that, when Pannalal blessed our foreheads, I actually felt blessed. Even if only in a small way, I was honored to be part of something sacred, an ancient spiritual tradition that goes back thousands of years.

On another day, we ventured over the Bandra-Worli bridge to south Mumbai. Here we saw Antilia, the most expensive private residence in the world after Buckingham Palace, a stark contrast to some of Mumbai’s worst slums just a stone’s throw away. I mean, it has a room that makes its own snow for fucks sake (insert another eye roll). We glimpsed the 15th-century island mosque of Haji Ali Dargah, containing the mausoleum of a Muslim saint, 500 yards off the coast in the Arabian Sea. The highlight of this day’s excursion was a visit to Mani Bhavan, Gandhi’s Bombay residence and headquarters turned museum, not far from the famous Chowpatty beach. On a quiet, residential road, lined with large overarching trees and turn-of-the-century houses, sits the one-time home of Gandhi. Though crowded with tourists (a tour bus unloaded exactly as we arrived, of course), the modest two-story house still managed to have a holy feel about it, almost on par with a temple. Visitors were respectful and generally subdued, and it was possible to take in the relevance of the place, and a sense of peacefulness cultivated by minimalism, prayer, and a bit of civil disobedience. Heads up though, the bathrooms are borderline terrifying with no toilet paper to speak of. You’ve been warned.

A close second to Gandhi’s house was our lunch stop at Britannia & Company, a landmark Mumbai restaurant known for its Parsi and Iranian food in the Fort area of Mumbai. This historic restaurant was opened by Rashid Kohinoor, a Zoroastrian immigrant from Iran, in 1923, and taken over by his son Boman when he was only 20 years old.

Chef explained that, in the 17th-century, Zoroastrians fled persecution in Persia (Iran), traveling down from the north, seeking refuge, and settling in the western regions of India. With them, they brought their cuisine, combining Persian dishes with Indian ingredients and influence. Not well known outside of Mumbai, Parsi cafés like Britannia and Leopold’s became vastly popular within the city. Modern Parsi food even has some British influence, as the cafés and cuisine were greatly shaped during the time of the British Raj. Hence, Britannia & Co.

As the name implies, the restaurant is a genuine relic of the Raj, and it would be easy to believe that the restaurant hasn’t changed much since it first opened its doors almost a hundred years ago. I was sad to learn that the owner, Boman Kohinoor, had passed away just three months earlier. The 97-year-old restaurateur, who Chef had seen on previous visits, never stopped working in his café, and I’m told, loved to walk around and chat with the guests, sharing stories and urging them to try his wife’s berry pulav or a bit of desert. The self-proclaimed “India’s biggest fan of the Royal Family”, Mr. Kohinoor greatly cherished the letter he received from Queen Elizabeth II, and even got to meet the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge in 2016. I was very sad not to have had a chance to meet this endearing legendary figure – from the photos I’ve seen, I would have loved nothing more than to be on the receiving end of one of Mr. Kohinoor’s smiles.

We sampled dishes like the berry pulav (of course), some biryanis, and Chef particularly enjoyed the sali boti (which I sadly had to pass on due to the mutton). The atmosphere and the food were everything I could have hoped for. I hesitate to use the word perfection, but if the shoe fits… Hands down, Britannia & Co. is my favorite place to eat in Mumbai.

Sadly, according to Chef, the Parsi cafés of Mumbai are disappearing, much like the Victorian pie & mash shops of east London. So, if you’re visiting Mumbai, get it while it’s hot.

After and extremely satisfying lunch and an incredible few days, we made our way by cab to the Gateway of India. But given the crowds, the parking, and our food comas, we decided we could admire it just fine from the car.