Extremes

"Would you like a drink, Mr Webster?" the waiter politely asked me, spoken in an English most of us Aussies couldn't hope to match in terms if precision. How he could remember my name still eludes me, but then this is the Grand Hyatt after all- maybe it's in his job description.

And this is the metropolis of Mumbai, India's most populated city of some 17 million people. The sea of humanity that was formerly known as 'Bombay' was experienced first hand on a city tour yesterday. Having tipped our guide for a job well done, I tipped the driver equally, as it was his intuitive and deft driving skill that got us back alive. Road rules don't exist here, or if they do they must be optional because, for example, lane lines were purely aesthetic. Seeing vehicles indicate to change lanes was as apparent as the clean drinking water from taps- neither actually exist here.
Careering through the traffic, I felt strangely relaxed as our guide talked about the history of the city and the importance of the local buildings, all of which seemed to have a healthy layer of grime covering any detail that might have been noteworthy. The tooting of car horns weren't simply added ambient noise for the sake of it. Rather they were a necessary warning that seemingly sounded each and every second in order to avoid a coming together of fenders. In that regard, any cars undamaged by such a coming together were certainly the exception, rather than the rule.

The first of many stops on the tour was atop a bridge over a train station, besides which a 'traditional' laundry was located. Hundreds of workers below busied themselves as they washed and slapped sheets, clothes and other materials. As it was done before washing machines, it is still being done today. The sheets that hang over makeshift clotheslines as far as the eye could see are all somehow impossibly clean and glisteningly white in the sun.
I made my way back to our car as I dodged the small boy carrying a baby, asking me for money. I was expecting it, but when it happened I felt strangely uneasy.
"Don't be alarmed", reassured our guide, "they're just trying to make a living". As were the numerous peacock feather-selling folk.
Onwards, to Ghandi's former residence, lunch and finally a Hindu temple. Having been approached at all of these places by people trying to sell things or simply asking for money, I became quickly immune to these approaches. Trying not to make eye contact is the key, lest you become somehow emotionally involved in their plight. It's easier to pretend these people don't exist than try to assist each one you meet. That's what I kept telling myself. And it seemed to work for the most part. But am I really that heartless? Does it make me a bad person? I should try to help surely?

It wasn't until we were almost back to the 'safety' of the hotel that I was most shocked. Aproaching a set of traffic lights I happened to make eye contact with some school aged children on the footpath, perhaps 30 metres away. I noticed in that instant one of those girls point at me as she gestured to her friend. I quickly looked away and for a moment, felt uneasy that I had gained their attention. As we drove past and towards the intersection, my mind moved along to something the driver said. We came to a stop and as we did, into my vision from the left came the two girls I had seen. From across four lanes of busy traffic, they had bravely ventured over to our car to knock on the window. They had noticed the glance was from my Western-face and had risked life and limb in weaving through the oncoming cars to beg at us. As the driver activated the car's central locking, I wanted to once again look at the girls. I wanted to open the window and give some kind of financial gift. But I didn't. I didn't look. I didn't flinch from my straight-ahead gaze into nothing. The lights changed green as they sang and knocked on the window. We drove off and left them behind in their plight to survive. I felt a lot of things right there. Uncomfortable, saddened, angry and helpless. For all I could have given, would it have made any difference anyway? I'll never know.

"I'll have a Jack's and Coke, please", I responded to the waiter.
"I'm sorry Sir, but we only have Black Label". I nodded. I didn't get what I asked for either, as I once again thought of those children. But then, such are the extremes.


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Volume 1

Grandad: Did you play cards again last night?
Del Boy: What? Yes! You know me Grandad! He who dares, wins.
Grandad: How'd you get on?
Del Boy: I lost.

(Only Fools And Horses, BBC TV, 1982)


With seemingly infinite and undying ambition, Del Boy presses on into life with unrelenting energy, enthusiasm and a passion for living. He did so with a great deal of naivety and, at times, disregard for the consequences. However, he did so in striving to live his life to the full no matter how adverse the situation may be.

In writing this blog, I wanted to create a space to share my own 'Del Boy' adventures. The phrase 'He Who Dares.... ' conjures a sense of adventure and a willingness to try new things. The 'testicular fortitude' to become immersed in surroundings unfamiliar in the name of exploring self and the wider world. To experience, learn, grow, travel and to hopefully become a little less ignorant along the way are among the reasons I'm living on the other side of the planet right now. In essence, to become a better person is what it's all about.

The world is an enormous place, making it impossible to be in more than one place at a time. Bummer that. In writing these words, I hope family and friends near and dear find a source of information, inspiration and a place where, even for just a moment, we can be a little closer together.

Enjoy.