Nowhere seems to open on time in Mumbai and this is maddening if you’re a morning person. I was left with no option but to breakfast at McDonalds. And it was in McDonalds that I finally secured my exit from Mumbai. I had tried so many times to book a bus. Time and again, each and every website refused to accept my card and I was no longer taking my attempts seriously.
I’d completely given up on Goa. It fell from the pedestal it once held in my mind and I was just trying to get to anywhere that was relatively close to the capital of Maharashtra.
So, when against all the odds, my online payment suddenly went through on a website called Abhi bus. The future was set in motion and there was no going back. On this very night I would be getting an eight-hour bus to a place called Aurangabad. I had no idea if this was a good or a bad thing, but I didn’t care. I was finally escaping Mumbai and venturing out into wider India. I was too excited to have any misgivings. Screw the beaches of Goa! I was going to AURANGABAD. Whatever the hell Aurangabad had in store…
Shortly after this shocking success, Nitesh pulled up outside McDonalds and came in to wish me good luck with my travels, also presenting me with a peacock feather. We chatted for a while before taking leave of each other.
Our brief journey into the jungle the previous night had inspired me. So on my final day in India’s biggest city, I sought out the Caves of Mumbai.
My journey in search of the Caves of Mumbai brought me through yet more bustling neighborhoods, and I stopped briefly to fuel myself up with a saucer of dal fry and some butter roti.
At the entrance to the caves I spotted people removing their shoes, but as I went to do the same one local told me to keep them on. He assured me that because I am not from here I will not be prepared to explore the caves without them.
The caves were being used for all sorts of things. There were shrines to Hindu gods in the shadows where people were kneeling and worshiping and burning incense. In other nooks people were cooking food. A family sat cross legged around a little fire as they prepared their meal. The caves were also being used as part of the sewage network. I followed the trail, tiptoeing around the narrow indent as it ran through a passage of rock. Way above me I could see houses built around and atop the caves. I soon turned back wondering where the hell I was going.
My new line of the day was ‘Aapka naam kya hai?’ Which means ‘what is your name?’ in Hindi. (Or, translated in exact word order: Your name what is?) When I came across an overly friendly group of youngsters in the caves who knew only a couple words in English, I saw a good opportunity to practice it. And to introduce yourself in Hindi the line is: ‘Mera naam Shane hai.’ (My name Shane is). Though I actually prefer the sentence in Marathi – the original language of the people of Mumbai and the state of Maharashtra as a whole: ‘Maza nav Shane ahai.’ If you speak Marathi to the right person in Mumbai you’ll get an incredible reception. Either way, people are impressed enough when you speak Hindi.
After the caves of Mumbai, I went to visit one last shopping mall and had another tasty sizzler (noodle-spaghetti in a peppery gravy) before heading to the place where I was supposedly to be getting my bus.
When I stepped aboard the sleeper bus, I was dazzled by an array of red curtains fluttering madly in the air corridors created by the numerous AC vents. I walked down the aisle to my designated compartment and climbed into bed. The guy in the bunk above climbed down to shake my hand and ask me where I was from. Soon after, I closed the curtain and lay down. The bus crashed over the bumpy road and I felt as if I was lying in a coffin that was sliding and crashing down an endless mountainside, never reaching the bottom. An 8-hour lying down roller-coaster ride. Sholay blared in my ears – the ending song from the Bollywood Oscar winner R.R.R. I had little idea of what Aurangabad held in store. I was just happy to be on the move once more.
