6
Mumbai
I gazed out the window as we flew over the ocean and into the city. I guess I hadn’t really expected a modern city, and I was amazed by the hundreds of tall, white, uniform buildings spread out before me. As we circled the large, half-moon-shaped airport, the plane’s wheels dropped in preparation for our landing.
The sleek aircraft bounced twice and settled down to hug the runway. I whirled in my chair to see how Ren was doing. He was standing up expectantly but, other than that, he seemed alright. I felt a rush of exuberant energy as we taxied across the runway and came to a stop on the outskirts of the airstrip.
‘Miss Kelsey, are you ready to disembark?’ Mr. Kadam asked.
‘Yes. Just let me grab my bag.’
I slung it over my shoulder, stepped out of the plane, and skipped quickly down the steps to the ground. Deeply inhaling the wet, sultry air, I was surprised to see a gray sky. It was warm and humid but tolerable.
‘Mr. Kadam, isn’t it usually hot and sunny in India?’
‘This is the monsoon season. It’s almost never cold here, but we do get rain in July and August and, on occasion, a cyclone.’
I handed him my bag and strolled over to watch some workers attempt to load Ren. This was a much different operation than it had been in the United States. Two men attached long chains to his collar while another man affixed a ramp onto the back of a truck. They got the tiger out of the plane okay, but then the man closest to Ren pulled on the chain too tightly. The tiger reacted fast. He roared angrily and half-heartedly swiped his paw at the man.
I knew it was dangerous for me to approach, but something pushed me forward. Thinking only of Ren’s comfort, I walked over to the frightened man, took the chain from him, and motioned for him to back away. He seemed grateful to be relieved of the responsibility. I spoke soothing words to the tiger, patted his back, and encouraged him to walk with me to the truck.
He responded immediately and walked beside me as docile as a lamb, dragging the heavy chains behind him on the ground. At the ramp, he stopped and rubbed his body against my leg. Then he jumped up into the truck, quickly turned around to face me, and licked my arm.
I stroked his shoulder affectionately and murmured to him softly, calming him while my hand moved gently over his collar and detached the heavy chains. Ren looked over at the men who were still standing frozen in the same place with stunned expressions, snuffed out his displeasure at them, and growled softly. While I was giving him water, he rubbed his head along my arm and kept his eyes trained on the workers as if he was my guard dog. The men began talking very fast to one another in Hindi.
I closed the cage and locked it while Mr. Kadam walked over to the men and spoke quietly. He did not seem surprised by what had happened. Whatever he said had reassured the men because they began moving around the area again, making sure to give the tiger a wide berth. They swiftly rounded up equipment and moved the plane into a nearby hangar.
After Ren was secured in the truck, Mr. Kadam introduced me to the driver, who seemed nice but very young, even younger than me.
Showing me where my bag was stowed, Mr. Kadam pointed out another bag that he had purchased for me. It was a large black backpack with several compartments. He unzipped a few to show me some of the items he had placed inside. The back zipper pocket contained a sizeable amount of Indian currency. Another pocket held travel documents for Ren and me. Snooping, I opened another zipper and found a compass and a lighter. The main part of the bag was stocked with energy bars, maps, and bottles of water.
‘Um, Mr. Kadam, why did you include a compass and a lighter in the bag, not to mention some of these other items?’
He smiled and shrugged, zipping up the compartments and placing the bag on the front seat. ‘You never know what things might come in handy along the journey. I just wanted to make sure that you are fully prepared, Miss Kelsey. You also have a Hindi/English dictionary. I have given the driver instructions, but he doesn’t speak much English. I must take my leave of you now.’ He smiled and squeezed my shoulder.
I suddenly felt vulnerable. Continuing the journey without Mr. Kadam left me anxious. It felt like the first day of high school all over again – if high school was one of the biggest countries in the world and everyone spoke a different language. Well, I’m on my own now. Time to act like a grown-up. I tried to reassure myself, but fear of the unknown was chomping away inside me and chewing a hole through my stomach.
I asked pleadingly, ‘Are you sure you can’t change your plans and travel with us?’
‘Alas, I cannot attend you on your journey.’ He smiled reassuringly. ‘Don’t fret, Miss Kelsey. You are more than able to care for the tiger, and I have meticulously arranged every detail of your trip. Nothing will go wrong.’
I gave him a weak smile, and he took my hand, enfolded it in both of his for a moment, and said, ‘Trust me, Miss Kelsey. All will be well with you.’ With a twinkle in his eye and a wink, he left.
I looked at Ren. ‘Well, kid, I guess it’s just you and me.’
Impatient to start and finish the trip, the driver called back through the cab of the truck, ‘We go?’
‘Yes, we go,’ I responded with a sigh.
When I climbed in, the driver stepped on the gas and never, ever took his foot off the pedal. He raced out of the airport and in less than two minutes was winding quickly through traffic at frightening speeds. I clutched my door and the dash in front of me. He wasn’t the only insane driver though. Everybody on the road seemed to think 130 kilometers per hour, or, according to my travel guide, 80 mph in a crowded city, with hundreds of pedestrians, was not quite fast enough. Hordes of people dressed in bright, vibrant colors moved in every direction past my window.
Vehicles of every description filled the streets – buses, compact cars, and some kind of tiny, boxy car with no doors and three wheels sped by. The boxy ones must have been the local taxis because there were hundreds of them. There were also countless motorcycles, bicycles, and pedestrians. I even saw animals pulling carts full of people and produce.
I guessed that we were supposed to be driving on the left side of the road, but there seemed to be no distinct pattern or even white stripes to mark the lanes. There were very few lights, signs, or signals. Cars just turned left or right whenever there was an opening and sometimes even when there wasn’t. Once, a car drove right at us on a collision course and then turned away at the last possible second. The driver kept laughing at me every time I gasped in fear.
I gradually became desensitized enough to start to take in the sights that were speeding by, and, with interest, I saw countless multicolored markets and vendors selling an eclectic variety of wares. Merchants sold string-puppets, jewelry, rugs, souvenirs, spices, nuts, and all manner of fruits and vegetables out of small buildings or street carts.
Everyone seemed to be selling something. Billboards showed advertisements for tarot cards, palm reading, exotic tattooing, piercing, and henna body-painting shops. The entire city was a hurried, wild, vibrant, and touristy panorama with people of all descriptions and classes. It looked like there was not one square inch of the city that was unoccupied.
After a harrowing drive through the busy city, we finally made it to the highway. At last, I was able to relax my grip a bit – not because the driver was moving slower, in fact, he had sped up – but because the traffic had dropped off considerably. I tried to follow where we were going on a map, but the lack of road signs made it difficult. One thing I did notice though was that the driver missed an important turn onto another freeway that would lead us up to the tiger reserve.
‘That way; go left!’ I pointed.
He shrugged and waved his hand at me dismissing my suggestions. I grabbed my dictionary and tried frantically to look up the word left or wrong way. I finally found the words khara¯bı¯ ra¯ha, which meant wrong road or incorrect path. He gestured to the road ahead with his index finger and said, ‘Fast drive road.’ I gave up and let him do what he wanted. It was his country after all. I figured he knew more about the roads than I did.
After driving for about three hours, we stopped at a tiny town called Ramkola. Calling it a town would be overemphasizing the size of the place because it boasted only a market, a gas station, and five houses. It bordered a jungle, which was where I finally found a sign.
The driver got out of the truck and started to fill the tank with gas. He pointed to the market across the street and said, ‘Eat. Good food.’
I grabbed the backpack and went to the rear of the truck to check on Ren. He was sprawled out on the floor of the cage. He opened his eyes and yawned when I approached but stayed in his inert position.
I walked to the market and opened the peeling squeaky door. A little bell rang announcing my presence.
An Indian woman dressed in a traditional sari emerged from a back room and smiled at me. ‘Namaste. You like food? Eat something?’
‘Oh! You speak English? Yes, I would love some lunch.’
‘You sit there. I make.’
Even though it was lunch for me, it was probably dinner for them because the sun was low in the sky. She motioned me over to a little table with two chairs that was set next to the window, and then she disappeared. The store was a small, rectangular room that housed various grocery products, souvenirs depicting the wildlife sanctuary nearby, and practical things such as matches and tools.
Indian music played softly in the background. I recognized the sounds of a sitar and heard the tinkling of bells but couldn’t identify the other instruments. I glanced through the door where the woman had passed and heard the clatter of pans in her kitchen. It looked like the store was the front of a larger building and the family lived in a house attached to the back.
In surprisingly fast time, the woman returned, balancing four bowls of food. A young girl followed in behind her bringing even more bowls of food. It smelled exotic and spicy. She said, ‘Please to eat and enjoy.’
The woman disappeared into the back, while the young girl started to straighten shelves in the store as I ate. They hadn’t brought me any silverware, so I spooned up some of each dish with my fingers, remembering to use my right hand following Indian tradition. Lucky Mr. Kadam had mentioned that on the plane.
I recognized the basmati rice, naan bread, and tandoori chicken, but the other three dishes I’d never seen before. I looked over at the girl, inclined my head, and asked, ‘Do you speak English?’
She nodded and approached me. Motioning with her fingers, she said, ‘Little bit English.’
I pointed to a triangular pastry filled with spicy vegetables. ‘What is this called?’
‘This samosa.’
‘What about this one and this?’
She indicated one and then the other: ‘Rasmalai and baigan bhartha.’ She smiled shyly and bustled off to work on the shelves again.
As far as I could tell, the rasmalai were balls of goat cheese dipped in a sweet cream sauce, and the baigan bhartha was an eggplant dish with peas, onions, and tomatoes. It was all very good, but a bit too much. When I was finished, the woman brought me a milkshake made with mangoes, yogurt, and goat’s milk.
I thanked her, sipped my milkshake, and let my eyes drift to the scene outside. There wasn’t much of a view: just the gas station and two men standing by the truck talking. One was a very handsome young man dressed in white. He faced the store and spoke with another man who had his back toward me. The second man was older and looked like Mr. Kadam. They seemed to be having an argument. The longer I watched them, the stronger my conviction became that it was Mr. Kadam, but he was arguing hotly with the younger man, and I couldn’t picture Mr. Kadam ever becoming angry like that.
Huh, that’s weird, I thought and tried to catch a few words through the open window. The older man said nahi mahodaya often, and the younger man kept saying avashyak or something like that. I thumbed through my Hindi dictionary and found nahi mahodaya easily. It meant no way or no, sir. Avashyak was harder because I had to figure out how to spell it, but I eventually found it. That word meant necessary or essential, something that must be or has to happen.
I walked to the window to get a better look. Just then, the young man in white looked up and saw me staring at them from the window. He immediately ceased his conversation and stepped out of my line of vision, around the side of the truck. Embarrassed to be caught, but irresistibly curious, I made my way through the maze of shelves to the door. I needed to know if the older man really was Mr. Kadam or not.
Grabbing the loose door handle, I twisted it and pushed it open. It squeaked on rusty hinges. I walked across the dirt road and over to the truck, but still, I didn’t see anyone. Circling the truck, I stopped at the back and saw that Ren was alert and watching me from his cage. But the two men and the driver had disappeared. I peeked into the cab. No one was there.
Confused, but remembering I hadn’t paid my bill, I crossed the street and went back into the store. The young girl had already cleared away my dishes. I pulled some bills from the backpack and asked, ‘How much?’
‘One hundred rupees.’
Mr. Kadam had told me to figure out money by dividing the total by forty. I quickly calculated she was asking for two dollars and fifty cents. I smiled to myself as I thought about my math-loving dad and his quick division drills when I was little. I gave her two hundred rupees instead, and she beamed happily.
Thanking her, I told her the food was delicious. I picked up my backpack, opened the squeaky door, and stepped outside.
The truck was gone.