Bombay calling

I land in Delhi and am immediately disoriented. The airport is spiffy white, clean and pristine. For a minute I wonder if I am still grounded in KL, or have I perhaps been re-routed to another airport; another city. I walk outside and am hit by the memories of India. I turn and see an area of white taxis, all guaranteeing the use of metered taxis. I am even more disoriented. This is not the India I remember.

(Delhi's new airport)

Perhaps it is only Delhi, I remind myself. Maybe the beautiful memories I had of Bombay's chaos still reigns. But no. I land in Bombay a day later to muted sounds, muted colors. Nary the hordes of people I remember being on the streets. Standing. Sitting. Idle. Instead, the city moves (faster than Jakarta too I might add). There are no longer cows standing in the middle of the street munching random things as random people walk around giving them a pat for good luck and the crowds of cars maneuvering around them.

The cars still carry with them the crazy colorful signs - honk please. Begging for the sounds of the streets to carry the conversations home

(Honk OK Please)

*honk* = Hello!

*honk* = get out of my way

*honk* = I see you

*honk* = hey! I see you too!

*honk* = isnt it a good day today?

*honk* = its time for lunch!

But some things remain the same. India's brutal honest truth in your face. Never covering up who they are, never pretending to be something they're not. They wear their whole lives on their sleeves or on their streets. Every cliche you have heard of India true, all your senses will be overloaded by the smell, the sounds. Your eyes flooded with the sights of people sleeping by the side of the roads. Random children coming up and tapping your windows, touching you, holding you, begging for something. For everything.

                               
                                              (Old Ambassadors still being used)