A Chinese in Bombay

"Nobody can face the world with his eyes open all the time." (Rushdie) I took a nap while our airplane was on the way to Bombay. When my eyes re-opened after 7pm, I was eager to catch my first scene of the city through the plane window. Not trying to match Manhattan treasury island’s glamour, Bombay gleamed at its own charm. I saw its unique shape as a piece of wildly decorative necklace. Days later when we drove by Marine Drive, I heard her nick name--Queens’ necklace again. Though the views were very different, I was satisfied with my Bombay dream.

“You look Indian!” –the best comment that I ever heard from a shop assistant.

I smiled at the mirror when looking at myself in churidar with mixed feelings. Last day last stop for my Bombay tour was this clothing shop run by local Indians. It was recommended by Anthony, my taxi driver, who made my day. I had dreams for Bombay hoping to share the venture with an Indian friend but Anthony accidentally became this Indian friend, a Roman Catholic.

Our day started with lavish color—an Indian way.

Mahalaxmi Temple, one of the busiest Hindu temples, welcomed us with pink roof embellished by orange and yellow flowers, red carpets, and women in splendid saris. I was enchanted before noticing my bare feet burning under the brilliant sunshine. While waiting in queue for the worship, I had the leisure to enjoy a closer look at the saris worn by the locals: cotton, silk, and synthetic. Under the pink roof, the face-to-face conversation between a Chinese and an Indian woman started without any hesitation. With a lotus flower in hand, she excitedly pointed to me her husband and sons in the other queue. This was the first Saturday of the month when the family came and worshiped their goddess of wealth, Mahalaxmi.

Before I fully soaked myself in Indian scents, I smelled fish when Anthony and I walked along the bank by the Gateway of India. Looking afar into Mumbai Harbor and glancing back at the majestic Taj Mahal Palace, for a moment, I was confused whether this was India or China, precisely Mumbai or Shanghai?

History might be able to explain this. Barely a stone's throw from the Gateway of India was the Prince of Wales Museum. Anthony still took his car along to the southern end of the Mahatma Gandhi Road. I was immediately intrigued by the structure of the "Crescent Site" crowned by a sparkling white dome—a confluence of Gothic and Moorish styles. The nature of embracing diversity was even more obvious inside—from ancient Indus Valley artifacts, Buddhist tankha scrolls, Tibetan bronzes to European paintings. I was more attracted to miniature paintings from various art schools of India—they are colorful windows to watch India while listening to Gulzar’s poetry.

Anthony understood me well when I asked for a visit to a local bookstore. I was led to Crossword, the largest bookstore in the city. Though it was one tenth of the size of a typical Barnes & Nobles, Crossword carried similar popular titles. Language was not a barrier, unlike Chinese. I fell in love with the corner shelves where the Indian literatures were waiting to be picked up. “If you lose touch with nature, you lose touch with humanity…. You carry a gun for ‘sport.’” I was first shocked by Krishnamurti’s precise analogy but later relieved with confidence. Since 1962, India and China have sported no more and I hope that they can become allies.

Since cricket tournament was out of town, I decided to overlook some impromptu match along Marine Drive. Very quickly, I discovered that it was more fun to play in the field. Cricket is an Indian men’s game. Being a Chinese woman, I was not afraid to walk into the field, becoming the batswoman. The Indian boys were excited, becoming bowlers. When the pink balls were thrown at me, I felt the heat on my cheek reflecting the color of the red sand field. I did not miss hitting the balls while Anthony cheered for me on the side. Two hours later, I walked back into his yellow and black car with a green covered cricket bat on my shoulder. He smiled at me blissfully so that I couldn’t find his eyes on his bronze face. At that moment, I knew that religion, ethnicity and language can only enhance the color of our lives.