The Return of the Prodigal

Coming in to land in Mumbai (forget it, I will still call it Bombay) for me these days produces feelings somewhere in between the teenage excitement of getting a girl of your dreams to come to a movie with just you and a pilgrimage.. .For the last three months I have been dreaming of this journey, trying to contain my excitement telling myself that a good Vipassana meditator should not be attached to such things...However, I am beginning to realize that I am not a good Vipassana meditator and took the easy way out by choosing to just observe the excitement.

Left snow bound Toronto on Thursday afternoon having braved myself to make the trip to the airport without my heavy duty parka and snow shoes. Told myself that it was only a brief run from the drop off point to the warmth of the heated Terminal I. Realized that it was not that short a run...Flight left on time and we were on the dot at every point, and, then spent an hour circling Mumbai as there was a stack up of planes coming in to land...

As I tried to focus on the lights below as the plane circled I could not make out much...At one stage I caught sight of a train snaking its way up the Western Railway line, and, I think I could identify one or two towers of South Bombay...and then, the thud of the landing gear lowering and we were into final approach...skimmed over the shanty town at the edge of the airport runway and landed firmly on the ground...everytime I have landed I have wondered at the skill of the pilots who are able to miss the shanty town that rings the airport runway...

Chatrapati Shivaji Airport (Sahar airport if the name is unfamiliar to you) is a much different place from the last time I was here...it looks cleaner and sleeker...there is much evidence of remodelling gone on...and I was out within 20 minutes, baggage, customs and all cleared...I remembered once during my early return trips to India from the Gulf waiting almost two hours...

Paid Rs230 for the pre-paid, non air-conditioned taxi from the airport to home in Sion and as I did so remembered the time when the minimum fare on the Bombay taxi was .55Paise (yes, sir, fifty five Paise). I used to spend this luxurious amount on the trip from my house to Sion station on the days I was late going to work. I guess in those days the cab fare must have been Rs15 or 20 to the airport from Sion.

Bombay, like New York or London never goes to sleep. And, so at midnight as my taxi whizzed past in a typical Bombay style, there was evidence of life all around. People coming out of 'Maya' Restaurant and Bar near the Andheri flyover, the late night activity at Dharavi and the traffic lights blinking red with no one caring to stop in any case...India is finally growing at an un Hindu rate of growth and no one can wait to stop for traffic lights...

And, so I am here, all excited and revved up unable to sleep because for my body it is 6.30pm in the evening when it is just nearing 5am here...the mind is racing as I get ready to once again experience that great city full of life and spice about which the Sami sisters sang

Come to Bombay, Come to Bombay
Bombay Meri Hai
The ladies are nice
The girls are full of spice

Come to Bombay, Come to Bombay
Bombay Meri Hai...