Goodbye, Mumbai; Hello, Hyderabad

Much of what we did in India consisted of sitting and waiting: in lobbies, on steps, in hotel rooms, in airports, in lines, in the backseats of vans. We became very good at it by the end of the trip.

Like this crow. We were just as good at waiting.

 Waiting for Rob to come back from Elephanta Island gave us a chance to sit in the hotel lobby and think about everything we still had to do. We wanted to figure out a way to call home using Skype, but even after paying the exorbitant rates for hotel Internet access and trying to load credits on our account, we couldn't do it. That didn't stop Aaron from messing around with the iPad, trying to get it to work. It was impossible to plan ahead for the portion of the shoot we would complete in Hyderabad during the rest of the week, since we didn't know exactly what we would be working with, but we talked about the shots we would need.

After awhile, though, we realized that it was getting very late, and there was still no sign of Rob. Having already experienced what it was like to get around Mumbai on our own, we didn't want to repeat that. But he was very late--to the point where we started to wonder if we would need to book a car and leave for the airport without him, hoping that he would make his own arrangements so we could all catch the flight together. Neither of us wanted to think of this as an option, but we also didn't want to think about what would happen if we made the flight and he didn't. Aaron's rational, logical brain kicked in, and we set a time limit: if Rob didn't make it back to the hotel by that time, we would leave a note for him at the front desk and depart without him.


I think Aaron and I managed to make each other more and more nervous as we speculated about the causes of Rob's lateness. Did he completely miss the boat? Did something terrible happen to him? Did he leave without us? It was within five minutes of our imposed deadline when Rob walked through the revolving doors into the lobby, explaining what happened in between bursts of apology. There had been a very large tour group ahead of him on the jetty to return to the mainland, and they had filled the only available boat--which meant he had to wait for another boat to come to the island.

Rob still had to finish packing his suitcases and check out, but we no longer felt panicked, really. It was like we didn't have the energy to worry. When he came back downstairs, we booked a driver through the bell desk, which was quite a bit more expensive than it would have been to take a regular taxi, but it turned out to be an excellent decision. Remember how our ride from the airport to the Taj was the most terrifying experience of our lives, during which we feared abandonment, murder, accidental death, kidnapping, and general abuse? The ride back to the airport for our domestic flight could not have been more different.

Two or three bellhops took our luggage out of a side door while another escorted us through the front doors to a waiting Toyota minivan. Our doors were opened for us. Not only was the vehicle clean, it was air conditioned and there were chilled bottles of water and mints waiting for us. Our driver spoke impeccable English and wore white gloves with his suit and hat. He explained that he had perfected his English while working for the U.S. Embassy, driving dignitaries around Mumbai.

He was, by far, the best driver we had while in India

Our driver took us along a scenic route that included Marine Drive and the Sea Link, a newly completed bypass toll bridge over Mahim Bay. I understand why our first ride was nothing like this: it was a more expensive route.

The skyline went for miles like that. As far as the eye could see, really.

Even though we saw so little of Mumbai, this ride gave us the chance to see a more developed side of the city, where people had time and money to spend on leisure. We passed beaches, cricket being played in huge stadiums, gardens, universities, lavish apartments, mosques.

After we crossed the Sea Link and the driver paid the toll, he pointed out the slums lining both sides of the highway. He told us that Slumdog Millionaire had been filmed nearby, in one of Mumbai's largest slum areas.

I couldn't get over the scale of this (and the one on the other side of the road was much, much bigger). I understood why Ganesh had wanted to show me, because it was unbelievable and devastating. It would have felt crass to get in a car for the express purpose of gawking at other people's poverty; seeing it accidentally felt surreal.

The trip to the airport took slightly less than two hours, since the traffic was heavier and it was daytime, but it had felt quick because it was so much more comfortable than our previous ride. As soon as we were out of the car, we rolled our suitcases towards the entrance and were faced with armed guards. We had to present our ticket receipts and passports just to get into the building. Rob took us over to the Air India ticket counters, where we waited in a line that didn't seem to move, like when you're at the grocery store and the person in front of you wants to use sixty coupons.

Eventually, we had our bags checked and boarding passes printed. I'm not sure if this is at all domestic airports in India (or if it is a common practice elsewhere), but we had to put ID tags on our hand baggage and had to have it stamped when we went through security. It's an interesting idea, and I suppose it's just one more way to prevent terrorism by adding another means of monitoring what enters each area of the terminal, and what gets on the plane.

This was my first real experience with gender-specific security lines, and I appreciated it because not only did I have more privacy, I also didn't get as thoroughly groped as I have by other security officers and my line was shorter than the ones Aaron and Rob went through. It made me feel more relaxed to be herded through with only women, because passengers seemed to be more patient with each other.

We had about 45 minutes before our flight left, which was just long enough for us to grab something quick to eat in the terminal. There was a small sandwich stand near our gate. Rob and Aaron panicked a little at the offerings, since the sandwiches looked dry (they were) and contained questionable ingredients. I had been smelling something delicious as soon as we turned the corner from the security checkpoint, so I followed my nose again and saw samosas. They were huge, and they gave you two for less than a dollar. I'm drooling a little just thinking about that airport terminal samosa dipped in ketchup.

As soon as we were done eating, Rob told us we should all stand in front of our gate. We looked around, a little confused, because everyone else was sitting down. There were empty seats right in front of the gate podium. "Trust me," Rob said. "You have to be more Indian here, and show less respect for the rules. Plus, this way you'll actually have a place to put your carry-ons." It turned out he was absolutely right, because within a few minutes a knot of people had formed around us, and we were closest to the front. By the time our flight was announced, there was a wall of people several deep, which prevented those who had sat down from even getting up.

Air India, it turns out, is a really nice airline. But the plane was small enough that Rob's warning about not having a place to stow our bags would have been valid had we not boarded at the beginning. Even though the flight was only just over an hour, we were fed by the most efficient crew of flight attendants I had ever seen. The meal was also one of the strangest I have ever eaten, because I don't typically consume tofu, corn, cilantro and another unidentifiable ingredient together on a sandwich, but it was strangely good, and I was so hungry that there wasn't room for complaint.

We landed in Hyderabad just as it got dark, and experienced the "everybody stand up before the plane stops moving" routine we had come to expect in India. There was some waiting. Then we entered the terminal to claim our baggage. There was some more waiting. While the domestic terminal of the Mumbai airport had reminded me of a 1980s bowling alley in ambience and decor, the Hyderabad airport looked brand-spankin'-new, all shiny and modern.

Rob assured us that we would be picked up by our contact in Hyderabad, so we didn't have to worry about booking a car. What we didn't expect was that Vinay Kumar, the academic advisor at the CMUIC, was waiting for us with bouquets of roses, an assistant, and a driver. He helped them load our huge bags into the van, and we somehow managed to cram six adults in the space for four, since Vinay had been displaced by our luggage. This was our first taste of the uncomfortably gracious and self-sacrificing hospitality we would experience our entire time in Hyderabad. I couldn't help but feel like a total jerk, because I had legroom (and I obviously don't need it).

The ride from the airport to our hotel was about 45 minutes, but it seemed longer in the dark. From what I could tell, the airport is located far enough outside the city that it is still somewhat rural. At the rate India's cities are growing, however, it probably won't be long until Hyderabad expands out that far.

Soon enough we were at our hotel, the Green Park in the Greenlands area of the city. It was at once fancy and comfortable: slightly better than the hotels Aaron and I normally stay in, but not anything like the Taj in terms of size or price, for which I was extremely grateful. It's billed as a place for business travelers, so it had conveniences without catering to luxury. Our rooms were on the second floor and had a view of the courtyard, where private events are held.

It was another situation where all I wanted to do was collapse on the bed, fully clothed, and sleep until morning, but we had things to do. Aaron was finally able to get Skype to work, since the credits had posted to our account while we were in transit between Mumbai and Hyderabad, so we called our families to let them know how things were going. It was hard to get used to the idea that it was night in Hyderabad but 7:00 in the morning back in Michigan, but it actually made calling home convenient because we were in the room at times when we knew our families would be available.

I also had to play seamstress for Aaron, since the strap on his new backpack had broken earlier in the day, while we were out shooting photos and video. I've always been completely enamored of the complimentary items in hotel rooms, and we had made sure to grab everything from our room at the Taj when we packed our suitcases--including, thankfully, the sewing kit. Even though I was voiding the warranty on the bag by repairing it myself, a bag that breaks on day two of a ten-day trip doesn't leave many options. We watched episodes of American television shows ("Big Bang Theory" was on every night) and drank cold sodas out of the free minibar. We were living like kings.