'Ohhh We're Going to Ibiza'

I’ll forgive you for thinking that this is an old holiday snap of me at a trendy beach bar in San Antonio, Ibiza, but it is not! This is a new beach café, aptly named ‘Café on the Beach’, located on Chowpatty-bloody-beach, Mumbai and I'll have you know it's awesome! The speakers were playing chilled out funky house, the food on offer consisted of tasty sandwiches, wraps and salads and with the cosy cabanas I honestly felt like I was on my summer holidays...until I asked for their wine menu. ''Sorry Maam, we do not sell alcohol''… They always have to ruin it don’t they?

Ramesh Schumacher!

Ramesh( I know awful shirt!)

When my Kingfisher flight landed with an ear deafening screech, narrowingly missing the slum situated on the runway, my first thought was ‘Here we go again’ and dreaded the next 2 hours (which is normally the amount of time it takes to exit Mumbai airport.) I pushed myself to the front of the aeroplane and was first off so rushed to immigration. Now videsigirlinmumbai followers will know that me and Indian immigration are not the best of friends and I have had issues in the past, but to my surprise with a smile (yes a smile) and a stamp, I was at the luggage carousel within a short 5 minutes, and only two power outages later I was walking away with my luggage, I was then ushered past the hour long scanning machine queue straight outside where Ramesh and of course Mr Hanley were waiting to take me home. Before I could give Paul a Yuletide embrace, Ramesh (whose once immaculately maintained moustache had now morphed into a scruffy goatee in style of George Michael circa 1990, Freedom) grabbed my hand and shook it so hard I thought it was going to drop off! ‘Merry Christmas maaam, I have missed you’ Arrrrr I thought, I’d bloody missed Ramesh too. ‘’I missed you too Ramesh Ji’’ I replied. His little rat like features lit up as he pulled my suitcase (which was roughly the size of him) to the car.

Honey... I'm Home!

Call off the search party, bring back the Coast Guard, inform Scotland Yard that the prodigal son daughter has returned…. For now! My loyal followers may have noticed that I haven’t blogged for a good six months, reason being I have actually been having a life in no other than the city of clean…Singapore!!! After my 10-day silent nightmare meditation course I realised that Mumbai was not the place for a high heel wearing, short skirt loving, extravert like myself and managed to convince le husband (in my own way) to move back to Singapore.  As he had notice to serve it was decided that I would head over first, get a job and set up our new life and he would join a few weeks later.  After a few days at a friends house I checked in at the Marina Bay Sands Hotel. Whilst I was checking in the over friendly receptionist commented on how skinny I was, extremely flattered I replied ‘’Thank you, but I suppose that’s what you get when you live in Mumbai for a year’’ (obviously over exaggerating my 6 months so it sounded better) a look of shock (I presume over the fact I had been living in India, not my protruding bones) came over the woman’s face. After a few clicks she smiled at me and said ‘’Enjoy your stay, I have arranged an upgrade for you’’ Pleased as punch I made my way up to my……pimping suite!

Malaria Watch: Monsoon Edition!

Week 1 Malaria Watch: Monsoon Edition!

Like most people I have been taking extra precautions to ensure I am not bitten and infected with Malaria during the Monsoon season. These precautions include:

·     *  Not leaving the house. Ever

·      * Dressing head to toe in clothes, ensuring no area of the body is uncovered – think Ninja/ woman in a Burka

·      * Spraying myself, everything and everyone around me with creatively named repellents such as;  ‘Buzz Off’ ‘Mosquito Gone’ and ‘Moz Away’

·      * Arming myself with one of those surprisingly entertaining electrified tennis racquet's which instantly kills bugs on contact (this is also fun for electrocuting your husband)

However all of these precautions went out of the window when we decided to hit Bandra on Saturday night! The legs were out, the perfume was on and the electrified tennis racket was deemed inappropriate.
It was during the hours of 3.30am-4.10am whilst waiting for a taxi/ travelling home in the taxi/ arriving home in the taxi I was again bitten, not once, not twice but three times on the right leg (this seems to be the leg preferred by Mosquitoes)! Oh how I wish I would have worn jeans!

I Don't Normally Do Serious...

India isn’t the only place in the world you get begged at, I know. Many a time in Birmingham I have been asked if I could ‘Spare a bit of change’ or if ‘I want to buy a ‘Big Issue’ from a beggar, but in India it really is a whole new kettle of fish. I rarely write about things that don’t amuse me and although being bribed at the airport wasn’t my idea of funny, I can imagine me clambering up a ramp to the hold of an aeroplane, wearing skinny jeans and wedges was comical to the workers below, so I’ll let that one go, but this post is serious.

Beggars are everywhere here, men, women, children, babies, old ladies, children with one arm, children with no arms, ladies with scared faces, men with no legs (you get the picture,) constantly approach me asking for money, or Chapatti (Indian food). The relentless begging means that I hardly leave the house on my own anymore as the children will just follow me for miles and the sight of babies playing half naked in the street was starting to disturb me. At night you will see families who cant even afford to live in a slum lying on cardboard boxes in the street, trying to sleep.

People said to me before I moved to India that you get used to the begging and you just have to tell them ‘No’ and they go away, but I’ve never got used to it. Its just awful to see adults and children living this way and all I want to do is give them everything in my pockets, but I know that you can't do that. Everyone gets begged at here, I probably slightly more as I’m female and white but even the local Indians get their fair share, the difference is if they say ‘No’ they will walk away, when I say ‘No’ they don’t really listen.

Examples:

'Rain, Rain....' Are You Coming or What?

View from my window today

Errrrrrm, I thought it was supposed to rain in the Monsoon? I’m thinking of getting my bikini and the factor 15 out! 

Don’t Report me to the RSPCA!!

Holy Cow? Skinny Cow more like

Although I have seen more cows in England in areas as big as my living room than I have in the whole of Mumbai, I have been lead to believe that they are Holy here and I have occasionally seen one or two at the roadside standing next to little old ladies washing their clothes. Before I went back home to the UK one of these little old ladies grabbed me and asked me if I wanted to feed her Cow for good luck. I had 10 rupees on me so gave it to her; in return she gave me some cardboard and urged me to feed the ‘Holy Cow’ with it. I don’t know about you but I expected to be given luscious green grass or a fresh wholesome vegetable of some sort to feed this sacred creature with, not a piece of old, brown, dirty, cardboard? At first I declined, cruelty to animals and all, but the little old lady wouldn’t take no for an answer! She ripped off a sizeable strip, stuffed it into my hand, then rammed the card board (and almost my hand) in to its mouth. ‘Thank you goodbye maam’ she said. Did I feel full of luck? No! Did I feel full of Holiness? No! Did I feel like I had just been conned out of 10 rupees by a little old lady and now the Cow God was going to unleash bad luck on me because I fed its form on earth with crappy cardboard? Absofrigginglutely!