Feeling Underdressed and Happily Overwhelmed in India

In recent years, I’ve spent a lot of time in Southeast Asia. Much of the surface culture – street food, traditional clothing, celebrations, etc. – is familiar. But here in Mumbai (aka Bombay … you say tomAHto…), it’s all brand new.

I can’t stop staring at the stunning women with their long thick braids trailing down their backs. Expecting to see more T-shirts and jeans, I was pleasantly surprised at the number of ladies decked out in traditional clothing in colors that popped out of the dusty city landscapes. Mumbai is considered one of India’s fashion capitals, and even in the suburbs it quickly became evident that my minimalist make-up, frizzy unkempt hair and casual ensemble were out of place.

Some of the Indian ladies in our PYP workshop explained the most common clothing to me:
Churidar – slim-fitting pants that gather at the ankles
Kurta – loose-fitting top that can be long or short with sleeves or sleeveless
Dupatta – a long scarf that often drapes across the chest with the ends hanging down the back
Sari – a piece of cotton or silk fabric (up to 9 meters/almost 10 yards!) that is draped around the body with no pins or clasps

One girl told of visiting the U.S. and being amazed at how blah our clothing was. So true. Another girl said the younger generation is more inclined to dress Western, but even they accessorize with multiple spangly bangles, bright pashminas, flashy heels, voluminous hairstyles, and bling, bling, bling. What a wonderful place to play dress-up!

After the workshop on Saturday, I joined two other teachers – Je and Maricor, both from the Philippines – for an outing to the chic western suburb of Bandra. After about 40 minutes in the rickshaw, we found a handicraft exhibition set up in a reclamation area.
Entering the bazaar.
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I had hoped to purchase some local handicrafts, but just like the first time I visited Istanbul’s Grand Bazaar or Yuyuan in Shanghai or any other city’s sprawling market, I found myself overwhelmed. Instead, I just gawked. Colors and patterns exploded from the displays. At one booth, I felt drawn to some bright orange fabric trimmed in green and gold. It must have been about six yards of cloth, gathered and clipped to a rope so it hung like a very full skirt. I asked an Indian woman if the fabric was for making a sari, and she said, “It IS a sari!” I couldn’t imagine how you would manipulate that much fabric into something wearable.
A booth of sparkly skirts and tops.
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These shoppers were checking out “magic eye” pictures. Ha!
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A saleswoman displays a silk bedspread.
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After we left the bazaar, we stopped at a shop called Cottons. This was my dream store! Again, I could barely take my eyes off the displays. The cotton fabrics were all block printed by hand and stitched into gorgeous modern-style skirts, tops and dresses, as well as traditional kurtas and churidars. Unfortunately, the shop was closing just when we arrived, so we only got a glimpse of the collection.

We stopped for dinner at a trendy pub recommended by one of the Indian teachers at our workshop. In retrospect, I would have rather experienced something more local, but it was fun to see where the hip young crowd hangs out. (Obviously, I didn’t fit in there…) The other two ladies were ready to head back to the hotel by the time we finished eating, so we hopped in another “rick” and called it a night.
Je, me and Maricor at the pub.
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Ridin’ in the “Rick”

I know them as tuk-tuks, but the locals here in Mumbai refer to these 3-wheeled taxis as “rickshaws” or just “ricks.”

Ricks can take you anywhere in a fraction of the time it would take in a cab because the drivers seem to have no fear of death. They seek out slivers of space between vehicles on the road and then wedge themselves in. You must keep all limbs in the rick at all times or risk losing them.

When we walked to a coffee shop during a break at the PYP workshop, these guys were cleaning up their ricks and getting ready for the day.
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After the workshop on Saturday, two other teachers and I hailed a rick for a ride in to the Mumbai suburb of Bandra. Imagine the twirling teacup ride at Disneyworld, and then put your pedal to the metal. I couldn’t believe we didn’t see any rick wrecks.
Our death-defying driver.
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This was the street outside our hotel.
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I bravely reached out of the rick to take this shot.
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After visiting a handicraft market (which I’ll describe in a separate post), we hopped in another rick. I didn’t record video during the most hectic part of the ride; I was focusing on breathing. Once the traffic thinned a bit, I thought to pull out my camera.

2 Things I Love: Weddings and Food

After beachcombing, I returned to the hotel to brush my teeth and swipe on another layer of deodorant before heading out to dinner. Mid-brushing, I heard some serious drumming outside the hotel. I danced around the room a bit and then went down to the lobby to meet Helene and Je. While I waited, another workshop attendee, Melinda, showed up. She and her retired husband live in Aleppo, Syria. I invited them to join us for dinner.

When we walked outside, the drumming was still going gangbusters. Melinda said it was a wedding procession. They had just picked up the bride and were on their way to the wedding. Unable to resist, I led the gang on a quick detour in the direction of the drums.

We came upon an ornate silver chariot pulled by two gold-bedecked horses. The bride, groom and two other young women sat in the carriage. Crowds of revelers proceeded them, drumming and cheering. Fantastic! (I’m actually only awake at this moment because the wedding festivities are continuing in to the night. Fireworks. Music. Lots of car horns. It was fun while it lasted, people. Time to get on with the honeymoon.)
The spotlights made it hard to get a good photo.
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Here’s a quick video. Stupid spotlight.

After we ogled the wedding procession, we made our own procession to find a restaurant recommended by several locals. Walking at night on dark streets in Mumbai is dangerous business. Rickshaws and cars whip around the dogs, pedestrians and each other; chunks of concrete dot the path; gaping holes appear out of nowhere; who knows what you might step in? We finally got to Mahesh Lunch Home and ordered way too much food. Everything was delicious, and Melinda gave our doggy bag to a beggar on the way back to the hotel. (That’s Al and Melinda, who live in Syria, on the left. On the right, Je, a teacher in the Philippines; Helene, a French teacher at my school; and me.)
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After dinner, the waiters brought this selection of breath-freshening treats, including little “jimmies” that tasted like Good-N-Plenty candy. Some of you may be impressed at how I was able to make my usual goofy expression without forehead wrinkles. Thanks God for the iPhoto editing tool!
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