I’m visiting Mumbai for a week while Kiki attends a conference about queer women in India. The conference organizers paid for Kiki’s flight from Chennai to Mumbai, so we traveled here separately. I left two days ago on a twenty-six hour train ride, which was about ten times cheaper than Kiki’s two hour flight. I rode sleeper class with a mother and daughter and an elderly husband and wife. The other three people in our compartment changed every few stations. Survived intact except my computer keyboard is no longer working. The backspace key is stuck in the on position, so even writing this short paragraph has taken half an hour.
Before I go, I will say that Mumbai is a relief after Chennai. Boys and girls mix more freely, there are more people of different races visible on the streets (not to mention different religions) so I don’t stick out as much, and the infrastructure is in better repair—in the good neighborhoods, the streets have sidewalks and the electrical wiring isn’t exposed, and the facades of the buildings are trim with new coats of paint. Women wear jeans and by the Marina, they can be seen walking alone with designer dogs. The auto-rickshaws aren’t owned by the mob so their meters work and they don’t try to rip me off. The men on the streets don’t shout “halo, Madam, where are you from?” whenever I pass. And beggars don’t follow me for blocks, touching their lips with two fingers as a sign of hunger. I feel free here and I have to keep reminding myself that the only reason the quality of life is so high here is because people have become wealthy off foreign money. The power of the dollar is not to be underestimated. But more on this later, after I get my computer fixed.
