As Nick and Ben plunged into the warm, fetid waters of lake pichola, I was reminded of the opening scene from slumdog mlllionaire when a young boy, locked by his friend in a Mumbai outhouse, plugs his nose and drops into the sewage laden muck below.
India is a land of contrasts. As I look out upon the beauty of lake pichola, surrounded by mountains and opulent palaces turned hotels, I see a loveliness fractured at the edges, where tell tale blooms of algae rise from tepid waters like the arms of some deformed Frankensteinian creation to grab plastic bottles, empty bags of chips, toilet paper and other spices and stir them into man's special stew.
If lake pichola, a relatively clean and quaint tourist town, is fractured around the edges, mumbai is broken down the middle. The train from here to there has a bathroom with a hole in the floor opening directly to the tracks below. Looking out the window, a sea of trash creates an umbilical cord to the third world which has not yet been severed.
Mumbai's waterfront has a promenade stretching for miles and miles serving as a respite for millions of people to escape chaos and concrete. The serenity that I typically feel when gazing out upon the open waters of the ocean was thwarted in Mumbai by my sense of smell and the ubiquitous stench of raw sewage that became strongest near the rivers and the estuaries, where once clear waters, blue like teardrops, have been transformed into some form of monstrous excrement, like Godzilla's diarrhea.
The contrast of people in Mumbai is as evident as the landscape. Many sleep in the streets and many more in the slums. As far as the eye can see, ten by ten rooms have been built using cinderblocks and rocks for walls, and tin and tarps for roofs. These adjoining Swiss army homes stretch into the horizon providing shelter for thousands and thousands of families, servicing as bathrooms, bedrooms, kitchens, and living rooms. Next to the slums are decaying apartment buildings, arcing their backs to the heavens like some primordial amphibian crawling onto land for the first time. Further down the evolutionary block, are apartment buildings under construction, holding promise for the human species. And among a skyline where miles and miles of skyscrapers cast shadows on the slums below, one super structure symbolizes both gloom and hope, and serves as a living testament to the ambition and inequity of man, a 570 foot behemoth with 27 floors. 11 elevators, 3 helicopter landing pads and 400,000 square feet of living space. This is what $2 billion dollars can buy one family. It seems as if this home, named 'antilla' should be 2 billion miles from the slums upon which it casts a shadow, but India is a land of contrasts.
In a land of kings and serfs, for my fortieth birthday, I chose to live like a king. We are staying in a palatial suite with beds that have ornate carved wood frames and a ceiling inlaid with tile. A daybed in the corner is surrounded on three sides by windows overlooking the lake with enchanting views as far as the eye can see. We dined on the rooftop of our hotel and were served as sultans while lying on a king sized daybed with views of the sun bleeding into the horizon. For $80 per night, the cost of this hotel is in stark contrast to the United States.
As I think of home and the memories I will take back with me, the gut wrenching feeling of looking at the dirty face of child after child living in abject poverty with no chance for education or advancement will remind me how lucky I am to have grown up in a land and environment of opportunity.
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