Christmas this year was not traditional, which actually seems to be the tradition for me. In the last 5 years, I have spent only one at home with family, which was in 2008. Before that I spent Christmas in Beijing, Xinzheng, Manila, and now India. My roommates had never spent a Christmas away from family, so we decided to go on a trip to distract ourselves and Mumbai was the perfect destination for four days off.
We boarded the train on Christmas Eve after working a full day and woke up in Mumbai at 5am. The train ride from Surat to Mumbai should be about 5 hours, but we took the slowest train imaginable and the trip took a lengthy 12 hours (one way was 99 rupees; about $2.00). We found a taxi and headed towards Colaba, one of the most popular places in Mumbai, in search of The Salvation Army Hostel. It was too early to check in so we hung around the dining area and while we waited we witnessed a small Christmas gathering of the workers and got to sing some Christmas songs and listen to the Christmas story. Then, we all filed downstairs to check in, which is when I realized I had made a huge mistake.
As I was packing for the trip I was hesitating about bringing my passport, and then, at the last minute I decided against bringing it. As a traveler, your passport is the most important item. A lost passport can be devastating, so if I think I don’t need it, I leave it locked up at home. Other teachers had told me that they had stayed in hotels in Mumbai with no passport, so I thought I would be okay. This was not the case for me. When the gruff front desk man asked me for my passport my stomach dropped. I did have a black and white copy of my passport and visa which I handed to him. He was looking them over when I realized that the visa copy was of my OLD visa which had expired on November 14th. I had neglected to photocopy the new visa I received in October. My stomach jumped.
“This is expired,” he said in a rough tone.
“I’m sorry, I left my passport in Gujarat. I do have a new visa,” I managed to say.
“You cannot stay here without a passport and visa. Go to the police station and ask for a letter,” he replied flatly, handing the copies back to me.
When I entered the Colaba police station several officers turned as I entered and gave me a hard look. “What can I do for you?” the sergeant asked.
“I, um, I need a letter to stay at The Salvation Army. I, uh, forgot my passport,” I stammered as I handed him my passport and visa copy.
“Sit and wait,” he barked back and I obeyed.
I sat for about 45 minutes while he dealt with four Indian women and their grievances. The longer I sat, the more nervous I got. I started to run through my options if I was not given the letter that I needed. I decided that I could give my bags to the other girls for safekeeping inside and that I would wrap myself in my sheet and sleep outside. It wasn’t too cold, and if no one saw that I was a foreigner maybe I could survive two nights sleeping on the streets of Mumbai.
Finally, the sergeant finished with the women and it was my turn. Before I even sat down in front of him he swept all the papers from his desk, including my only copy of my passport, balled them up, and threw them into the corner. Not good.
“So what do you want from me?” he asked.
I repeated my story as he looked at me, clearly not happy that I was there.
“How can I write you a letter?!” he said, folding his arms across his chest, “I don’t know you. Go back to America and get your passport,” he said.
“I have my passport, but I left it in Gujarat. I’m sorry. I made mistake and left it in Gujarat,” I replied, shrinking smaller by the minute.
“Go back to Gujarat! Get your passport, and then come back to Mumbai,” he growled.
“I can’t, my return ticket is for the 27th. I am only here for two nights, for Christmas. Today is Christmas,” I managed to say through the growing ball in my throat, and I felt it coming; tears.
Till this point, I had not cried in India, but this was too much. It was Christmas Day and the irony of not having a place to stay was too much. I bit my lip and my eyes spilled over as a few tears slid silently down my cheeks. He picked up the phone and began a lengthy conversation with someone while watching me.
He slammed down the phone and said “Do you know what Whagwalla means?”
“What?” I sniffed.
He began to write the word on a scrap of paper. “Whagwalla! It means Tiger Killer. Say it! Tiger Killer.”
“Tiger Killer?” I said in a questioning voice, totally confused as to what was happening.
“You go to Salvation Army and ask for the Tiger Killer,” he said as he slid the paper across the table. “I have just spoken with him. You tell the manager he is the Tiger Killer. Maybe he will let you stay,” he said.
“Uh, okay, um, Tiger Killer? Ok, thank you,” I said as I walked out.
The manager at the Salvation Army was clearly not happy with the trouble I was causing by not bringing my passport. He was more Army than Salvation and he too gave me a hard time about not bringing my passport. I don’t blame him; it was a stupid mistake on my part, but it was Christmas! He snatched the scrap of paper I humbly offered and slammed it into his desk drawer.
“You stay only two nights,” he said in a tone of finality.
“Yes. Thank you. Only two nights. Merry Christmas,” I said as I breathed a sigh of relief.
After cleaning up, we hit the streets. Mumbai, also interchangeably called Bombay, is an island in the Western state of Maharastria. Our hostel was in prime real estate in the Colaba district and we were just a five minute walk to the Gateway of India and other sites of interest. The weather was perfect on this Christmas morning and our appetites were craving both good food and entertainment. We ended up at Mondegar Café for our Christmas brunch which included bacon AND sausage for me. After filling up on delicious food, we headed to a nicer part of Mumbai to watch Avatar in 3-D, which we enjoyed immensely. As we were walking out of the theater we literally ran into a famous Bollywood actor, but were too star struck to speak.
The next day we went to the Museum of Modern Art, did some shopping, marveled at the Gateway of India, admired the Taj Hotel, and got lost in the chaos of Crawford Market. We spent the majority of our time eating all the food and drinks that are impossible to find in our village. Before we knew it, it was time to head back to Bombay Central to board our train headed for home. After another 12 hours we arrived back in Madhi, the village Kirsten and I teach in, and jumped into a rickshaw bound for Bajipura.
We had postponed opening gifts until the 28th, which is when we celebrated our after-Christmas Christmas. I made some muffins (thanks to Shellie) and Dunkin Donuts coffee (thanks to Hannah) as a special treat and we all sat on mattresses on the floor as we exchanged our Secret Santa gifts between the four of us. Then we laid on the floor together and watched Elf and Love Actually. Even though we were missing our families, we were still able to have a good Christmas.
New Year’s came and went with barely a second glance from me. Running at 6am everyday makes me very tired and I try to be in bed by 10pm. As I was heading to bed at 9:30 Drew asked if I was going to stay up, and then I realized that it was New Year’s Eve. Going to bed sounded like more fun, so I missed the arrival of 2010.
