Wagah border

I spent a night in Amritsar after that ordeal in Jammu. Although determined to leave India, I however will not do so before having some of the gorgeous Parantha Thali at Brothers' Dhaba. I still felt rather upset about not being able to go to Srinagar, seeing pictures of my two other friends who managed to slip through by flight made me Pak-green with envy (our paths diverged from Delhi, I went alone to Amritsar to attempt the overland route but they were right in flying directly to Srinagar - this a long story in itself).

Crossing the Wagah border was a piece of cake. There was almost no one who crossed the Indo-Pak border that day. Just me and a Nepalese. But at the same time there were so many people there, all stood firm on their side of the border, to watch the Border Ceremony. I didn't stay to see it though, much to the horror of many Indians and Pakistanis but parades, armies and patrotism make me nauseous.

The border is a entertainment ground as much as it being a, well, border crossing. There were amphitheatres, audiovisual equipments and decorations on both sides. It is the most opulent border in the world. Nothing like the usual no man's land characteristic of other crossings.

Entering Pakistan, throngs of crowd lined up for the spectacle. It was the Pakistani Independence Day. The atmosphere was festive and the Urdu accent began to excite me. The first thing I did was to pray at the border mosque, I felt relieved to leave Jammu. I was quite shaken by the curfew. Unlike in India, no one was hostile or gave me suspicious looks at the mosque - only smile and delight that someone of a different nation share their beliefs.

When I got to the Pakistani immigration checkpoint, there was a power loss. It was to become my first glimpse on the hardship of everyday life in the country. Power cuts happen so regularly (few hours everyday) people have to plan lives around it. Feeling rather embarassed perhaps, the officer only smiled and apologised to which I obviously said koi bhat nahin (it's ok). At this moment, the chief officer at the border came out of his glass box and saw me to which he cried "You're Malaysian! Welcome to Pakistan" much to my surprise. After being mistaken for all sorts of East Asians, to be identified like that made me ecstatic.

I was invited to his glass box office for a cup of tea and we had a fantastic conversation about Malaysia. He served in Sudan in a UN mission, alongside many Malaysian colleagues whom he said impressed him greatly. We also spoke about religion and freedom. As it turned out news of Malaysian government violent crackdown on Shias made its way to Pakistani media. I was deeply embarassed, naturally gave no defence to this authoritarian regime but joined in his condemnation of this violation of basic human rights. I was going to tell him about the podcast series I worked on with BukuJalanan (on the discrimination against te Malaysian Shias) but the power came back and we proceeded with the immigration business. As with all Pakistanis I met later on, he gave his contact number in the case that I get into any kind of trouble, gave practical advice on safety in Pakistan and warmly wished me a great journey ahead.

After passing the checkpoints, I walked for few kilometres in a straight road that stretches to the horizon. By the roadside thousands lined up for the border ceremony in flags and with painted faces. Thousands of smiles, like waves, greeted me. After an hour or so of walking in this rather dreary straight road leading nowhere, a family saw me walking in the rain, gave me a free ride to Lahore and before dropping me off, took me to a restaurant.

I knew I was going to love the Pakistani people.

Jammu: a nightmare

When I left for Jammu from Amritsar, I was totally ignorant about the situation there. I did not check the news on the day and had only remotely heard about the Indo-Pak border wars that happened a week or so before I arrived in Amritsar. I thought it was an intergovernmental conflict which involved only armies - a terribly stupid thing to believe. The Jammu region was embroiled in an intercommunal riots with fatalities on both sides and here I was heading towards it in blissful ignorance.

Desolation.

Few dared to enter the main road, and would be chased away by police and army officers in jeeps.

When I got on the full bus it seemed like business as usual but we draw closer to the Jammu and Kashmir border things begin to look amiss. Miles after miles of lorries were packed by the roadside, and police checkpoints were everywhere. The bus began to take detours into mud roads and farmlands. My heart sensed something unpleasant. Suddenly we were all dropped at what looks like a nameless place with a small train halt. I was then told to go to Jammu by train.

At the train halt there was almost no English signboards so I was slightly confused on what to do. Few people spoke to me to explain what I should do although they all were saying there's a slim possibility of no trains at all. With no taxis or buses plying the route next to this halt, I was beginning to feel quite scared. No hotels or bus or taxis in the area. No way of turning back to Amritsar. The train arrived after four hours (of being completely clueless and friendless) and I was glad to recommence the journey.

I arrived in Jammu when it's already very dark. The station was overflowing with stranded Hindu pilgrims (Jammu is a centre of Hindu pilgrimage). I went out towards the autorickshaws and to my surprise not one hassled me or spoke to me. Incensed, I went to start haggling to no avail - everybody said no. No ine explained why. A Jammu local saw me and gave me a free ride on his bike to town.

The city as I approached it was a like in a siege. Police barricaded all entry points and were armed to their teeth. I was terrified to see the chaos at the checkpoint. Everyone was blocked from coming in. We managed to slip past the army and police.

Then the situation began to unravel. I was stuck in my hotel room for several

days. No one is allowed to go to the streets, under the pain of being shot by the patrolling police and army. In the hotel alleyway, crowds were trying to join in the protests in the other side of the city, chants of Hindu nationalism/extremism were heard. Bored, I went down to speak to the crowd (it's a Hindu area). Worrying violent statements about the "Muslims" made me conceal my religious beliefs. My name betrayed this but I prepared a clumsy explanation on being an atheist and coming from a secular family. This may be cowardice but I was certainly not going to die a martyr in India.

Banks were closed for few days and I had no food and no money left. I was stuck in my room hungry and scared. I called the Malaysian embassy to report my situation. They were distressed by this and acted to arrange a pick up or send me some money. However I realised I had some Ringgits left in my wallet so I decided to breach the curfew and face the barricades to find a place where they'd exchange my money with rupees.

As if walking through the empty streets weren't spooky enough, I had to walk slowly towards the heavily armed and aggressive officers to explain my situation and that I am a foreigner stuck in the middle of this mess. I was allowed to pass. Hotels after hotels refused to change the Ringgit (one hotel employee gave INR100 because he was so worried to see me in such helpless state) and when I finally got it changed, I was only offered half what I should get. A pretty inhumane act of business that I was in no place to refuse.

I checked out of my hotel (paid for the food I was getting from the employees) and with my backpacks I head to the streets determined to get out of the city. The city had calmed down a lot by then and I begged the officers to allow me to leave the city.

I finally reached the train station in one piece. Took a train back to happy and peaceful Amritsar.

With that, it really felt like it's time to leave India. Huda hafez Hindustan.

Amritsar

I've just lost my travel journal so now I'm writing what ever comes to my mind, or shall we say my "stream of consciousness" (sounds better).

The Golden Temple of Amritsar.

I came to Amritsar twice on this trip and I'm glad that I did. Off all the cities I visited in India, this is the most relaxed and manageable. The city is not a terrifying South Asian megalopolis, nor ot is a monolithic small town. It has its own complexity, the urban drama in the Old City is just as exciting as Delhi but its much less congested and there was almost no one who tried to overcharge me. Its a pleasant and friendly city (feels like a small town in some parts) where you are offered a smile wherever you go.

The city, or rather the Golden Temple, is a holy pilgrimage site for the Sikhs all over the world. Its holiness and sacredness is evident not just on the temple but the endless streams of people who flow in and out in total devotion. The area surrounding the temple has an air of piety that perhaps can be compared to Mecca (I've never been!).

The golden reflections made the temple look so divine. I love this effect.

Holy bath.

White marble building surrounds the Golden Temple.

The Golden Temple of Amritsar is a sight to behold. It does make your heart skip a beat. No amount of pictures can replace the first sight of the gleaming domes and walls, whose golden reflections fill the holy lake surrounding it. 

The Sikhs worship in calm and resolute meditation, I was drawn to the murmuring of the devotees, to the silent prayers. People come from all over the Sikh Nation and beyond to take a dip in the holy lake where large, and rather terrifying, koi fish swim in grace. Together it was all picture of colours and gentleness.

Precious and semi-precious stones inlays on the marble building.

Picturesque.

Again, I love the colours in the picture.

Gentleness however seem to be somewhat ephemeral over the course of the Temple's history. For centuries, until recent times, it has been the scene of bloody massacres and destruction as I've learned by going through the gory exhibits of the adjacent Sikh Museum.

History aside, love seeing Zen-like girls looking demure in shalwar kameez brandishing those dangerous-looking daggers. Some older ladies have it too! It's a pretty contradicting picture.

The food here is damn good. There's two restaurants that I went a couple of times - Brother's Dhaba and Kesar Da Dhaba. Especially good is the Parantha Thali, an Amritsari take on the South Indian dish. The ghee butter used to top the paratha was bliss.

Together with Mumbai, this is my favourite city in India so far.

From here, I took a local bus to Jammu, the southern city of the troubled region of Kashmir -an episode which I never forget.

New and old Delhi

Delhi is not an easy place to like. World famous for its multitudes of scams, we got a bitter taste of this very early on when we arrived. Arriving at 4a.m. with no hotel reservation, we were asking to be eaten alive by all the predators of tourism industry (hotels, touts, autorickshaws, travel agents all work in tandem to cheat). Knowing that we were exhausted from our journey and badly needed our sleep, the hotels showed no mercy. Waiting for us outside the hotels like vultures are autorickshaws who had seen this episode unravel many times. We were offered terrible deals for terrible rooms so we went from one hotel to another (on these autos) until finally about two hours later we found a reasonable place in Paharganj's main bazaar, a somewhat Thailandesque tourist street. (I said then this was a nightmare but what was in store for me in curfew-imposed Jammu was to become much more challenging).

Rainy day at the Jama Masjid. Terrible picture!

Outdoor wudhu' area.

Entrance to the main prayer hall.

Faithfully symmetrical as are all Mughal architecture.

As often the case, I can't help but to compare India and China - two giants, loosely speaking, of similar size and complexity. New Delhi is far behind its counterpart Beijing. In the Chinese capital for example unpaved roads or potholes are either rare or well away from the main commercial, cultural or political district. I didn't see municipal failures such as overflowing sewage, especially at monuments. Delhi however, also an old city like Beijing, was riddled with these problems. Sewage overflow is ubiquitous and embarassing for the capital of the world's fastest economy. This is especially true in Old Delhi where residents had to live with infrastructure of a past era. Here I'm not talking as tourist but in sympathy towards the daily drudgery that I saw among the common people.

On the other hand, as if to symbolise India's beautiful contradiction, Delhi has one of the best metros in the world.  Not only it is able to carry huge numbers of passengers, much more than KL's measly LRT, but it is network extensive (even now as we speak the metro is being expanded at a rapid rate). We loved the metro as it freed us from the risk of being overcharge by autorickshaws and give us complete freedom to do whatever we want without worrying about traffic.

I stayed in Delhi the longest but it seems like I did very little at all. There's a lot of things going on but we needed a local to take us through te events. We ended up sticking to tourist routes around the city centre, and even then we missed so many of the main sights. The city is too big. Secondly the rain was still going on and not letting down, so we were hampered from even sticking to tourist trails.

One of the great buildings along the administrative district in New Delhi.

Jama Masjid.

Jama Masjid.

But some areas soon become familiar to us. My favourite is the bazaars around the Jama Masjid where it seems to have changed very little for hundreds of years. As Eid looms ahead, the marketplace became frantic with people who were doing some last minute purchases. This is the first time in India that I see widespread use of Urdu in signboards and advertisements. There tucked at the back alley of the bazaar is a restaurant ran by descendants of the royal cook of the Mughal court - a must try if anyone comes to Delhi.

The mosque is also a stunner. We were prepared for some rude treatment from mosque authorities an was unsurprised to get the usual - a barrage of questions (what an ignorant bastard) and then a hefty INR300 to enter! We were more incensed about paying so much to enter a mosque than the racist attitude we had to endure. Once in, we calmed down for a bit. The mosque is a great beauty, as one wpuld expect of any Mughal architecture. I have read and seen the mosque in pictures since I was very young so I was in trance, gaping in wonder. Its beauty lies not in elaborate decoration or luxurious materials, like in the Taj, but rather in its restraint from grandeur or becoming bejeweled, again like the Taj. It has a sense if modesty, despite its size and scale, appropriate to the ethics of Islamic architecture. Unlike many mosques, it does not come across as a symbol of religious vanity. We were relieved that although we were met with some hostility inside the prayer room, there were also warmth and kindess from many.

I spent my Eid here in Delhi and was excited about wearing my kurta and looking all resplendent for the morning prayers. In the night before, I even practised a line (in a rather bad Urdu) as a pre-emptive attack on mosque officials who'd give me the attitude at entrance. As it turned out, I woke up really late and missed the whole Eid experience. I went to the Jama Masjid anyway and did the prayers on ny own. Mosque officials didnt notice me, the congregation had left, so I had a serene time. Afterwards I went to my favourite restaurant next to the mosque, Karim's, purportedly run by the family who was the cook of the Mughal court. The food was fantastic (it was my third time in the restaurant).

With the rest of the day ahead of me still before my flight to Amritsar, I took the auto and had a tour of the administrative district of the Central Government, a rather Utopian landscape of emptiness, gardens, majestic architecture - all that speaks of power and pride. Just needed to have a peek at this famous work by Edward Lutyens. I must say the British wasted tonnes of money doing palaces and big buildings but they look really good (footnote: The new and wasteful Istana Negara looks like a multipurpose hall, at best a gaudy wedding shop).

Just before I left, the hotel was forcing me to get their taxi, insanely expensive compared to the metro, but won't budge when I said no. Running rather low on patience and with the return of the devils post-Ramadan, I had huge go at them for testing the limit of my patience and gave a lengthy angry deeply un-Malaysian sermon that shut them all up. Jangan bagi aku mula berleter, sumpah kau mati.

With that final outburst, I knew it's time to say goodbye to this rather unkind city.

Jaipur

After another long train journey (15 hours), we knew we have to be well rested before we can set out to explore this much hyped up city of legends. While on the train we toyed with the idea of staying in the palace of the Majaraja for one night but this of course well beyond our means. We decided to settle for the next best thing - palace-like hotel! It's beautifully decorated and at RM150 per night it's a real bargain. I know we sound like a typical tourist who love the hotels more than the world outside it but the hotel we stayed in Jaipur with its beautiful details and beautiful Indian furnitures must ranked as one of the best hotels I stayed in (second only to the palatial riad in Marrakech I also loved).

This Orange-pinkish City well-endowed with many monuments, although we missed many because of our misjudgments in planning the trip.

The facades facing the main routes are rejuvenated by the tourist dollars, visual relief from the overflowing sewage on the street.

This was minutes before a salesman-imposter-schmuck pretended to be a "Muslim passerby" and sent us on an autorickshaw to a handicrafts sales gallery. Never again I buy the "We're Muslims and I want to help you" - only liars say something like this.

Just like Mumbai, the monsoon wasn't about to give up yet. The streets were turned into streams of polluted water. To our surprise the basic infrastructure is even worse here, so we had serious reluctance to walk in this sewage streams. It's no wonder that almost all tourists decided to be bussed around in gleaming white tourist busses. Walking takes courage.

Strangely the government had embarked on an ambitious metro system while basic infrastructure for local residents are neglected. Surely Jaipur needs drainage and better sewage system first before such high tech investments.

We do look very different than the Indians, don't we?

One of the many gates of Jaipur.

Gates after gates after gates - and all beautiful.

Now that I've got that out of my system: the city! The old city sits in a grid system set hundreds of years ago in accordance to ancient Sanskrit texts. It has a beautiful streetscape especially along the major axial roads that meet at the centre of the city, culminating in a temple and a mosque. Most of the buildings facing the main roads are painted an orange-pink hue, further adding to its old world charms.

The real draw to Jaipur is primarily its monuments - the Jantar Mantar observatory, Hawa Mahal (palace harem), the City Palace, and the forts surrounding the city. When it comes to these, Jaipur's a winner. The preservation is not overdone and has managed to retain some of its authenticity - basically hadn't been turned into a Disneyland. The combined ticket for all monuments is good and we also managed to get student rates (technically we are still students, graduation is in September lol!) so we're very pleased. Attempting to visit all of these monuments in a day proved impossible, each of it requires several hours to explore - and we started the day pretty late.

The Hari Krishna temple was so welcoming and kind. Only smiles and welcoming gestures.

It sounded like Qawwali but I must say I'm too ignorant about the vast repertoire of Subcontinental music to discern the subtleties.

The smell of roses, the trickling sound of water and spiritual music. Paradise.

The Jantar Mantar is an observatory to measure and calculate the heavenly bodies built by the Maharaja of Jaipur who was a keen astronomer himself. I love how the scientific is blurred with cosmology and magic, and the extreme precision taken to create these delicate but massive objects. We were slightly at loss as we didn't take any guided tour but looking at those who did, they were clearly more impressed. However for the next monument I made sure we get ourselves some audioguide.

The Hawa Mahal is my personal favourite. The audioguide we took was certainly helpful and gives a illustration how life was like in the palace harem. Compared to the Ottoman Sultan's harem that i visited in Istanbul few years back, I felt that the Hawa Mahal tried much less to evoke Orientalist fantasies of harem women or demean their roles in society. Not suggesting it's feminist in any way but it provided a many sided perspective about the princesses and the queens.

Going mental over astronomical devices at Jantar Mantar. (Oh yes Libra - Fair and Just!)

The many intriguing devices. I love the fact that behind this spherical marble sheet, you'd find a hidden deep red space. Great idea for future architectural project!

Colours so familiarly Indian. I think they should have more of this fabric in the cities.

By the time we finished exploring Hawa Mahal, it's already 3.30pm so we quickly head to the Amber Fort just on the outskirts and then realised how massive the whole complex is. We abandon pur hopes to visit the rest of the monumens and decide to explore this fort in a more meaningful way. The fort is mostly utilitarian military installation but within this many architectural marvels were inserted creating a kind of hill-top utopian royal city. It was built in the style of the Mughals, using idioms that are distinctively Mughal - the Maharaja was certainly was trying to keep with the Mughals. Some aspect of Hindu architecture is kept, in effect creating a beautiful synthesis of Hindu-Muslim forms. The use of Urdu, rather than Hindi (or are they the same?), in some of the inscriptions is also telling of the state mind of the society and monarch at the time.

Great place for great photos.

Our favourite refuge in all of India.

After the fort, we asked our autorickshaw driver, Shakir to drop us at a footpath  that leads to another hill top fort, mainly to catch the moment when the sun sets on the Pink City for some magnificent photos. (No sun, was cloudy). To our shock the footpath begins in a slum with open sewer flowing by roadside, surrounded by rubbish piles, and closely packed homes. There many pigs roaming around, hundreds maybe, some the size of a juvenile hippo! As the freely rumagging through the sewer lines, eating and swimming, we began to get freaked out by this sight. As rational and open minded as I professed to be, this time all the cultural baggage of irrational porkophobia materialised. All I remember was that after few seconds of being dropped off by the taxi I started running uphill slipping past the bewildered pigs and the exposed sewer lines and screamed like a true blue Malaysian. As we got halfway up the hill the rain started, we ran back downhill to the bewildered pigs and sewer lines. All the residents were amused by us I'm sure but I couldn't care less - that place is hardcore! Caught an autorickshaw and ended our crazy day out in Jaipur.

The delicate Hawa Mahal, the palace of queens and princesses of Jaipur.

From the top of the Hawa Mahal.

One of my favourite gates in India: Amber Fort.

Amber Fort. 

No idea what they were doing! Just let photographers be.

Hall of Public Audience. Amber Fort.

Hall of Private of Audience is where I naturally belong.;)

Of mosques and Muslims

Non-Arab and non-South Asian Muslims (basically vast numbers of Muslims) visiting India should prepare themselves for a fair degree of ill treatment and discrimination from Indian Muslims, especially when visiting mosques. Upon coming into the mosque to perform our prayers we were instantly viewed with suspicion and often rude (shouting) questioning either from security guards or the 'elders'. Many times we were subjected to this treatment - Mumbai and Delhi are especially rude, and at Agra too. Like a true Bollywood spectacle, this rude treatment drew crowds (about to go to pray themselves) who do nothing to stop the disrespect we endured but rather just observing the commotion with great interest: "What is this bunch of Chinese-looking kuffars doing in our mosque?", if you allow me to speculate in anger). There seem to be an insanely high level of ignorance among these Muslims we met at the mosques who can't seem to brain that Islam is not an Indian religion, and the devotees are not just Indians or sometimes Arab.

The worst experience was when we were told to leave by a security guard in a mosque at Mangaldas bazaar-Crawford Market area in Mumbai. Nothing can describe the hurt and anger we felt at that time. They simply didn't believe or trust us. We were in shock and felt quite depressed for several hours after that. After all, in temples and gurdwaras we were welcomed by the Hindus, Sikhs and Jains. In our own places of worship, we received only shameful behaviour which contradicts the Islamic ethic which places a high importance on treating guests fairly and with generosity.

To console ourselves, we tried to explore reasons why mosques in India are so xenophobic, and why this didn't occur to us in temples. Perhaps we are trying to make us feel better or just to calm our nerves - we don't know. We needed to talk to each other and probably learn from this.

These are questions that we had: Why does it occur in mosques where it should be open and inviting? Why have the Indian Muslims created "the Other" out of us despite a sense of internationalist brotherhood that is often stressed in Islam? Could it be their decades of social and economic marginalisation? Could it be the constant demonisation in the media? Could it be a lingering Sinophobia that is the remnant of Sino-Indian war decades ago (currently as I read the news, the jingoism of the Indian media in trumpeting war against Pakistan is just disgusting and irresponsible - after all the war will be fought by poor people and not wealthy newsroom staff)? But if I am any judge, I think the xenophobic attitude among these Indian Muslims that we've met in the mosques is primarily a symptom of the widespread ignorance about Islam itself. With Indian iiliteracy at criminal levels what can one expect? I will not be surprised if many received little or no Islamic education, or any education at all. As a result, Islam is reduced into a matter of strict traditions and rituals - not a philosophical way of life that is open to debate or questioning. Islam for too many people is a folk Indian religion consists of things that are familiar and indigenous - to illustrate rather crudely, if you come to the mosque not in your kurta you are instantly judged as a deviant infidel.

Whatever reasons that had given rise to this behaviour at Indian mosques, what we know is that they are a shameful and unworthy inheritors of a once tolerant, cosmopolitan, intellectual Muslim India.

Mumbai

The monsoon came in full swing when we arrived in Mumbai. The gradual change in climate was quite disheartening, from sunny and mild Karnataka province to rainy and humid Maharashtra province. From the fourth floor lobby of our seafront hotel we could see a swarm of black clouds approaching from the sea. Our whole stay in Mumbai was disrupted many times by the torrential monsoon which meant many hours lost to waiting for the rain to subside, walking through puddles, water holes and overflowing sewage.

This is an image of Mumbai that is often lost in Bollywood and its international reputation. It's not just slums and vulgar riches, Mumbai is a vast architectural heritage.

Don't you just love this place?

From UM to another UM! University of Mumbai.

The dhobi ghats! It's really beautiful and practical. Maybe even greener than our energy inefficient laundrettes.

But the rain was easy to forget. Mumbai is a fabulously good city. It's nowhere near perfect but I thought it has all the necessary ingredients to become a major metropolis of the world. Staying in the older part of the city added further value to our stay, the Victorian and Art Deco buildings, though in a state of dilapidation, make such an atmospheric district. I was taken by Mumbai since we got on the taxi from the train station. As a lover of cities, this melting pot of human desires and dreams rank as one the best cities I've been to (and that is to include its many but correctable flaws). Spires of minaret and temples pierces the sky among closely-packed add-on buildings and narrowly snaking between them are roaring streets and bazaars of all kinds.

Managed this poorly composed picture, in the few minutes that it didn't rain.

This mosque near Crawford Market is stunning but it was deeply suspicious of foreigners and people of different ethnicity.

I secretly took photos of the mosque, many seem to still hold antiquated views against photography so we had to be extremely discreet!

The city is a treasure trove of architectural ideas and creative ways to think about cities. This megalopolis is also mega-dense and have forced out many creative responses driven wonderfully by necessities rather than stale theories of architecture. Regretfully I spent very little time sitting down to think about these preliminary questions in my mind. I have a feeling it's a city that I will always come back to, not just to study its inner workings but just to relish on its urban energy.

It is this energy that makes the city ticks. On every street, its veins and arteries, you are carried by the pulse of every person's dreams and trepidations. The beating hearts of the city are the suburban rail stations that feeds the city its oxygen - the boisterous Mumbaikars. Taking in this energy, we stood still in the middle of the suburban rail station (in Churchgate) and watched throngs of people flowing, criss-crossing like huge waves of fluid particles.

Mumbai's street food was not the reason I broke my fast in Ramadan! It was the rain. Yeap. Plus, I'm travelling and I was tired walking in the rain, there were millions of people and I was..... #excuses,excuses,excuses

Mumbai has one of the most picturesque  old town. Swathes of Victorian buildings dwarfs that of Manchester or Liverpool, and lends it a sense of grandeur. Many were built by the British, but in line with the Victorian sensibilities it was slightly "Indianised". But what made Mumbai's colonial quarter really interesting is the prominent presence of Jewish and Parsee establishments, which I found highly intriguing. That said, a lot of these are in a state of dilapidation and disrepair, which may add beautiful texture to our photography but certainly is not the right way to sustain and preserve this world heritage.

For someone who had been a staunch advocate of street rules, this lawlessness is beautiful and peaceful - no road rage or Malaysian-style swearing ("Oi babi pukimak!", remember that one?).

In my earliest post I have mentioned about getting one or two pairs of shalwaar kameez or kurtas to go to work in. Mumbai I was told by many is the best place to shop for it. This was much harder than to find than I thought it'd be. We went on a wild goosechase all over Mumbai and into the innermost bazaars that don't even appear on travel maps or guidebook. And still I didn't find what I want. Feeling defeated I finally relented and decided to venture into the high street chain Fabindia where I finally found what I wanted albeit at a price comparable to that of Pavillion KL.

Two billion elbows ready to pounce! The suburban rail station at downtown Mumbai.

Pomegranate shopping.

Shopping aside, we also enjoyed Mumbai's waterfront. It's obviously not a tropical paradise beach but the sea breeze and view of horizon is a welcome change in a city so dense (it could be difficult to breathe sometimes looking at the density). The Marine Drive and Girgaum beach (or Chowpatty beach) is a favourite hang out place for lovers and friends alike. The ice cream parlours and pani puri stalls next to the beach open to late hours so we spent our final night watching the horizon and with some music on. As is natural when one sits meditatively staring at nothingness, in my thoughts are the people that I love across the seas.

Eid mubarak. Selamat Hari Raya.

p/s: Do I have to say how insane the gap between the have and have-nots here? Close to a 27-storey mansion of a rich family are the world's poorest people.

Fruits of all shades. Crawford Market.

Holy cow!

The Haji Ali Dargah, a shrine off the coast of Mumbai which attracts people of all religions and walks of life. A different Islamic culture to what I'm used to, I'm like a puritan Salafist compared to the practices here! It's an eclectic mix of Islam and possibly other religious traditions which offends the usual bigot but much is lost if one take that kind of position.