So around noon Mumbai time today, I took a little stroll through Ghandi's house. This mind-bending event was unannounced, so it took me by surprise when our tour guide said, "10 minutes, Ghandi's house." We had already been bombing around the crazy streets of the former Bombay, seeing innumerable shanty-towns and slums beyond description, been to the Gates of India, where British crowns and armies had marched, and seeing the smog-smitten ocean-views of a city drenched in contradictions.
And then we were at Ghandi's house, looking at his books, bedroom, toilet (oh yes i did so!), and all the history on the walls. This was surreal beyond everything. We annoyed the guides by taking a good hour to go through the place. I never thought I'd find going through a famous person's house interesting, but you'll forgive me if this particular place held me in awe of its significance. I couldn't look up or down the street without recalling movie scenes of throngs celebrating or raging outside its doors. The man himself lived, fasted and prayed in there.
I felt like I did when the Terry Fox memorial thing coincided by perfect chance as I roared through Thunder Bay on my road trip out West. One person... it's amazing, and conveniently we are all stocked with personhood, so getting off one's butt does seem the most likely recourse.
Later, we visited the hanging gardens, where along with much beautiful landscape, there were quite a few young men holding hands and walking around. I was very suprised, thinking this was open gay culture, but was later told that it's how young men bond here- a way they form community. Women do not have the same privilege. In fact, I saw precious few Indian women all day, and those that I did see were in the company of men, or men and children. Families were out in number, and a cool breeze blew which was good respite from the 35 degree day.
My own person is pretty tired at this moment though, so I'm posting a couple of pics, and heading off to dreamland. I have the most gorgeous hotel room here, and I just ordered some aloo gobi up to my room as I fight valiently to adjust to the timezone. I am feeling humble, privileged beyond belief, and very content. Except for the small matter of not having Kate with me, which is like a hot knife in my stomach... but other than that...
Malaria pills, sleeping pills and gravol all conveniently left on the plane. Power adapter for India bought with great assurances it would work- does not fit any of the six options this hotel room has for getting your gear powered up. Once again I rely on the mercies of a front desk stocked with these items left over from previous forgetful guests. We could fill another Alexandria with accounts of our lost things.
