Touchdown

14 Jan 2011, what i write mistakenly as the 13th in the immigration form at arrival at Chatrapati Shivaji International airport, Mumbai. I see a zigzagging line of a few hundred people - a mix of migrant laborers, well off expats, young students and tourists. I look at the boards marking out queues for Indians, Foreigners, women with young children, diplomats and so on. I ask my German friends to stay in the foreigners line and i stood in the indian line, only to see that both lines converged and they were 30 people ahead of me! At my turn at the counter, I wish the man 'Good Morning' which he doesnt acknowledge to hear. Anyways, was happy to leave the queue and then on negotiating with the taxi service, realise that I have to polish my negotiating skills.

It was still dark and I could see welders working on this superstructure of the upcoming Mumbai International Airport. The taxi weaved through the early morning traffic of garbage trucks and buses and dropped me at the Tata Memorial Hospital, a couple of hundred metres from my friends home. As i pulled out my rucksack, my trolley bag and my camera case holding my 6000€ Photo equipment and looked at the street wondering how i can move things without getting dirty, i stared into the eyes of the old man just waking up on the footpath, barely covered with a torn sheet. I look away to see something more 'comfortingly exotic', there was a looong line of thin, dark, dirty, sick looking people who had waited out the night to get the free treatment for poor at the hospital. I pulled my trolley and weaved my way, holding my breath looking through the crowd. I gingerly asked a tea stall guy the direction, but he answered me indifferently. Avik greeted me with his usual warmth and smile. I stepped into his office/house, with macbook pros, imacs and high-tech office chairs feeling the presence of the people I left behind on the street, barely 10 meters out of these four walls.

As his house maid took my bags and I walked into my spacious, well appointed room, i kept telling myself, this is Mumbai and I should accept things the way they are. I stepped into the hot shower to wash away the dust and the freshly registered images of deprivation.