Observations of Mumbai

India is a country of extremes--of poverty and unimaginable wealth, of 21st century innovations and generations old practices, of astounding, vibrant colors and of depressingly brown, grey, and lifeless perils. Mumbai is a city that packs all of these extremes into 60km of unending chaos. Corrugated tin, plastic sheeting, and bamboo polls strewn together create acres and acres of slums towered over by sheek, glitsy million dollar flats. Piles of nausea inducing waste is picked over by women in beautiful crimson, blue, and gold saris, emaciated dogs, and shoeless, filthy children. Mercedes congested streets stretch into the dirty, heat hazed sunsets amidst the beggars, trendy teens, and the next generation of billionaires. Loud processions of drums, dancing, fire, and water make their way through neighborhoods paying homage to a god, a deity, or some other religious symbol. Cows wander aimlessly and dogs sleep soundly, unfazed by the unrelenting rickshaws swerving narrowly to miss the unassuming creatures of the street. Exotic languages tumble from the lips of men embraced in friendship and commrodarie. White-toothed smiles of women and the endearing waves of fine limbed children greet me on the bulging trains, the grocery store aisles, and everywhere in between. It's beautiful, it's ugly, its hot, sticky, and filthy. It's tortured and celebrated by a long, rich, and captivating culture. It's sprinting towards modernization and stuck in the past. It's full of mind numbing excess and depressing leanness. It's a city that ceases to amaze me and has forever changed me. It's Indian's greatest city, it's Mumbai.