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People at the Gateway1. In Mumbai， the capital and “Gateway” to this part of the orient， warm climate makes it easy to forget the cold biting winter，2 and smog filled air in giant industrial centers. Today， I get a camera shot of the Victoria station， then strike a comic pose3 at the famous Gateway of India monument. Enthusiastic tourists loiter in the shade， as well as， in the hot blazing sun.4 The famous Gateway to India is a bold structure slightly resembling the Arch de Triumph5 in Paris. People rush toward this icon at the major port of Mumbai. Camera shutters6 click everywhere. Group photographs and“selfies” happen from every vantage point7. At the Gandhi Museum8 a few hours of reflection help give a sense of historical changes. The next stop is the Hanging Gardens， a place popular for romance and nature’s flora.9 Here spectacular views of the harbor and skyline are framed in shady lanes， nature’s greenery， and a small petting zoo for children.
Excited school groups of uniformly dressed students in plaid skirts， white blouses， pressed slacks， and neck ties， walk leisurely around with book bags slung over their shoulders.10 These youngsters are chaperoned11 by adult teachers. Large tour buses are parked along the narrow high street. Inside one park section older females， wearing traditional colorful sarongs， preen and snap solo or duet “selfies” with mobile phone cameras.12 Elsewhere， older adult and parents sit on blankets spread beneath the afternoon shade of green trees. On various park benches some older men sit wistfully13 watching flowers of youth express their joy of life. Several romantic couples have found secluded areas where feelings are more overtly expressed.14 After the park scene， we zoom15 to a historic beach where other symbols of the legendary Gandhi are seen. The beach is crowded with people. The sand is a dirty muddy gray， so lingering16 here is not desirable.
Lunching earlier at a shelter for abused women， I learn the Gandhi Foundation provides a unique program supporting critical social needs. We enjoy a tasty lunch in the restaurant that provides job training for girls getting new starts controlling their own lives. Two startling17 facts I learn. First， many females are routinely targeted for punishment and abuse from mere evidence of having menstrual periods18. In some religious groups such signs from nature are viewed as “unclean” and are thus disreputable19. Second， some local airlines now face legal sanctions from having dropped “poop” （human waste materials） while flying over residential areas.20 Apparently， there has been a documented practice of planes dumping their toilets on private homes. Back at the hotel the helpful concierge directs me to a footbath spa place near the Embassy area.21 The three-wheeled Auto Rickshaw22 driver gets lost several times and repeatedly seeks directions. We finally locate the particular area and hotel sought. But my luck has run out， the spa is closed for renovations23. Deciding to walk back on foot， I now become a willing tourist in the unfamiliar landscape and darkness， only guessing the general direction in which to head. A golden statue of an archer24 is near the “West Railway Station”that I pass. Street vendors are cooking and selling dishes， enticing aromas assail my nostrils.25 But I am too tired and do not want to risk any illness from stomach problems. Drinking bottled water is safe. Just before reaching my hotel I stumble across a well-lit， decorated place called， “Sukho Thai”. It is a Thai foot massage chain. I obtain a brochure， but am now too tired and worried about finding my hotel. Perhaps I will give the Thai Spa place a try on another day.
The next evening I stumble upon a posh looking urban bookstore， framed by colorful neon lights，26 called The Title Wave. A publicity event for a new book release is underway. I enter and listen to， Radhika Tabrez， author of In the Light of Darkness， explain her motivations for writing， while also encouraging Indian writers to share their lives by telling their stories. I happily purchase some books about Gandhi that are printed in English.
After five days I have relocated to another Mumbai area， a bit“dicey27”， according to Arunji， where the Sanjury Palace Hotel will be my home four more nights. More animals， bearded men， and mosques28 are here. The air is frequently punctuated29 by vocal “calls to prayer”. This area is surrounded by metal shops， scrap iron yards， rust bucket cars， and related artisans working at their crafts.30 Large white sheep are frolicking31 around open doorways. Several dark， horned cows are tethered32 near shops. I venture up and down a few crooked isolated streets.33 Peeking inside shadowy dwellings reveal homes like animal pens， clothing hung on lines draped across windows and drying meat carcasses.34 Blankets and rags bunched35 as beddings on floors. A few sleeping bodies are curled in corners. Blackened pots bubble and belch36 smoke from the boiling water. Teas or stew aromas mingle with the stink of pungent urine and tobacco in some mysterious cubby holes.37 People actually live in these squalid38 conditions. Less than one quarter mile away are posh villas inside iron bars and metal grilles39 protecting shiny automobiles.
Excited school groups of uniformly dressed students in plaid skirts， white blouses， pressed slacks， and neck ties， walk leisurely around with book bags slung over their shoulders.10 These youngsters are chaperoned11 by adult teachers. Large tour buses are parked along the narrow high street. Inside one park section older females， wearing traditional colorful sarongs， preen and snap solo or duet “selfies” with mobile phone cameras.12 Elsewhere， older adult and parents sit on blankets spread beneath the afternoon shade of green trees. On various park benches some older men sit wistfully13 watching flowers of youth express their joy of life. Several romantic couples have found secluded areas where feelings are more overtly expressed.14 After the park scene， we zoom15 to a historic beach where other symbols of the legendary Gandhi are seen. The beach is crowded with people. The sand is a dirty muddy gray， so lingering16 here is not desirable.
Lunching earlier at a shelter for abused women， I learn the Gandhi Foundation provides a unique program supporting critical social needs. We enjoy a tasty lunch in the restaurant that provides job training for girls getting new starts controlling their own lives. Two startling17 facts I learn. First， many females are routinely targeted for punishment and abuse from mere evidence of having menstrual periods18. In some religious groups such signs from nature are viewed as “unclean” and are thus disreputable19. Second， some local airlines now face legal sanctions from having dropped “poop” （human waste materials） while flying over residential areas.20 Apparently， there has been a documented practice of planes dumping their toilets on private homes. Back at the hotel the helpful concierge directs me to a footbath spa place near the Embassy area.21 The three-wheeled Auto Rickshaw22 driver gets lost several times and repeatedly seeks directions. We finally locate the particular area and hotel sought. But my luck has run out， the spa is closed for renovations23. Deciding to walk back on foot， I now become a willing tourist in the unfamiliar landscape and darkness， only guessing the general direction in which to head. A golden statue of an archer24 is near the “West Railway Station”that I pass. Street vendors are cooking and selling dishes， enticing aromas assail my nostrils.25 But I am too tired and do not want to risk any illness from stomach problems. Drinking bottled water is safe. Just before reaching my hotel I stumble across a well-lit， decorated place called， “Sukho Thai”. It is a Thai foot massage chain. I obtain a brochure， but am now too tired and worried about finding my hotel. Perhaps I will give the Thai Spa place a try on another day.
The next evening I stumble upon a posh looking urban bookstore， framed by colorful neon lights，26 called The Title Wave. A publicity event for a new book release is underway. I enter and listen to， Radhika Tabrez， author of In the Light of Darkness， explain her motivations for writing， while also encouraging Indian writers to share their lives by telling their stories. I happily purchase some books about Gandhi that are printed in English.
After five days I have relocated to another Mumbai area， a bit“dicey27”， according to Arunji， where the Sanjury Palace Hotel will be my home four more nights. More animals， bearded men， and mosques28 are here. The air is frequently punctuated29 by vocal “calls to prayer”. This area is surrounded by metal shops， scrap iron yards， rust bucket cars， and related artisans working at their crafts.30 Large white sheep are frolicking31 around open doorways. Several dark， horned cows are tethered32 near shops. I venture up and down a few crooked isolated streets.33 Peeking inside shadowy dwellings reveal homes like animal pens， clothing hung on lines draped across windows and drying meat carcasses.34 Blankets and rags bunched35 as beddings on floors. A few sleeping bodies are curled in corners. Blackened pots bubble and belch36 smoke from the boiling water. Teas or stew aromas mingle with the stink of pungent urine and tobacco in some mysterious cubby holes.37 People actually live in these squalid38 conditions. Less than one quarter mile away are posh villas inside iron bars and metal grilles39 protecting shiny automobiles.