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Brightly coloured scarves attract the eye while smells of
spices stir your taste-buds. The streets are filled with people.
Horns are tooting. Shopkeepers are touting for business. The
barrage of sights and sounds assault the senses as you take
your first steps into Mumbai.
After escaping the taxi extortion and fighting our way past
the hotel hustlers we were proud of our ability to avoid the
tirade of locals preying on the tourists for their western
wealth. We were not prepared, however, for the mass of innocent
infants who are sent out on the streets by their parents to
beg for food.
Sunita had the widest brown eyes I have ever seen. Tugging
on my skirt she stared intently at me as she introduced herself
in broken English. Waiting for a response she repeated her
pleas in Spanish and Japanese, highly educated in the art
of persuasion. She joined us in our navigation of the city
pointing out the sights and shops, proud of her knowledge
and streetwise beyond her years. She introduced us to the
snake charmer and told us the best photo angles for the gateway
to India. It was obvious that Sunita knew this city like the
back of her hand. At just six years old she had spent far
too long walking these streets.
We asked Sunita what she wanted. Her response? Rice. That's
all. As we took her over to a stall her eyes grew even wider
and a smile spread across her face that was so genuine and
heart-warming it was brighter than any of the silk scarves
we had seen that day.
In our taxi as we left the city we passed the shanty towns.
Pieces of wood nailed together in an ad hoc fashion and parents
washing their babies in the street. Maybe this was where Sunita
called home. A scene so detached from the colourful and vibrant
scenes we had just left, it attacked the senses in quite a
different way.
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Travel Writers: A Gateway to India By Emma
Jones
