After 21 years of being an Indian, I finally made the sacred pilgrimage to Bombay the city that defines every existing stratum of society, defies every law of equilibrium population density and deifies every square inch of land available. And it was into this city that I announced myself in my New Balance shoes and electric orange U of I teeshirt assuming it would be useful to stand out in the crowd in case I got run over by a train catching mob and got separated from the family....scary things like this are known to happen in Bombay, and a bloody firang guy (BFG) must always be prepared.

My education of BOM101 began at the airport. Going to pick up our luggage at baggage claim immediately taught me two things. First of all, an orange teeshirt and sneakers with reflectors on them is exactly what you wear when you want to blend in, or are the last deer at a buffet for lions and are trying to go around incognito so long as you re in Bombay. Secondly, thinking up rambling analogies about teeshirts and reflective shoes means the whole airplane has beaten you to taking pole position around the baggage carrousel and you won't have a hope in hell of joining the 200 odd flourescent shirt wearing people who are milling around the carrousel gaping up its birthing canal waiting for their luggage to arrive. If you can't join em, appear disdainful of the petty crowding mentality. So, I reach into my pocket and fish out a piece of gum and proceed to chew on gum that definitely tastes like it had been in my jeans on laundry day. I watch sympathetically as a chunky father of three leaps over three luggage carts and flings himself at his newborn luggage on the carrousel lest it drift back into the orifice where unwanted luggage goes to die. He gently dusts off the suitcase and introduces it to his family. The kids grin broadly and have the 'U did it dad!!' look on their face and the mom has the 'I think we ll call her Delsey' look on hers. After several more luggage births, we finally pick off our stuff and head out the airport doors. My BFG danger sensors are on full alert. I look suspiciously at the sliding doors as they make way for me a little too willingly. I almost expect to be pitched a credit card offer from anything that smooth. I clench my butt to draw my wallet in closer in my backpocket to make sure I haven't been pickpocketed yet.

My brother's wife (she's new) has brought a shiny black Scorpio (Indian 4WD) for our BFG travelling convenience. I settle into the front seat of the Scorpio and almost lose my breath when I see the driver. He's a tall dark handsome male adonis with copper bangs, tight levis and leather boots. He casually flings our overweight baggage into the trunk in a single fluid motion and I realize its rude to stare. He jumps into the seat next to me and guns up the Scorpio. I suck my gut in lest I block his peripheral vision. Stupid hunky Scorpio drivers.

We begin the drive home and I get my first glimpses of Bombay. Its amazing how while driving around at 60 odd kmph, u can see abject poverty and fabulous luxury, stunningly hot girls and incredibly scary eunuchs, garish pink and green hotels and pretty marble houses in alternating bands every few seconds. Cruising around the city at an altitude of 3 feet afforded by the Scorpio, Bombay seems hardly polluted. The tinted windows seem to make the hovels and the street-crapping urchins seem almost endearing. I guess most of the pollution in this city is under the three feet mark. Above three feet, everything is chic. The skyline is breathtaking and the beaches seem oblivious to the pace the rest of the city is keeping.

Midway through the ride, I decide to remind everyone about my BFGness and announce that I m thirsty. Adonis promptly pulls into the right lane and slows down in front of a fresh juice stand, the best in the city, he promises. Adonis rolls down my window for me to place the order and I realize only too late, that my hindi will have to be on show. To make things more challenging, my family decides to order every possible permutation of the words mango, orange, lemon, ice, no ice, sugar, no sugar, chaat and no chaat. The guy taking our order seems mighty irritated at the lack of efficiency in my ordering process as I labor over the right word for each thing. He shifts from one foot to another as though his bladder is ready to explode and his bladderly health depends on my coughing up the order really really fast. Words of encouragement for my hindi come from the back of the car....'sugar is sakkar' and ....'chaat is chaat itself, like msn.' Surprisingly, the order guy gets every last request right and serves up some spectacular juice. After we re quenched, I wave a 100 rupee note at the order-guy with a benevolent 'keep-the-change' wave of my hand. Now the order-guy seems mad enough to strangle me. I slowly realize that I need to slap another nine of those hundred rupee notes to placate him after all the juice we downed. This is my third BOM101 lesson of the day. Bombay is expensive as hell and illusions of powerful foreign exchange rates just won't fly. The rupee may be weak, but in bombay, everyone has a lot of it.

We finally pull up in front of the apartment that has been rented for us. It is extremely fancy with fresh paint, flower-potted driveway and a perky security guard. As he helps us unload the Scorpio, Perky the security guard advises us to stock up on water as soon as we get in because they will stop pumping water in a half hour. I look around in horror, wondering whether anyone else is as perturbed about having to take a mug and bucket bath as opposed to a high-speed jet sprayed shower. My dad looks very nonchalant about the news...but I feel he's just trying to look non foreign-bratty. We get into the very comfortably furnished apartment and I pass out on the king sized bed. Somewhere nearby, construction workers are pounding away at a wall with gusto. I wonder what they could be building by beating on it so much. I hear my dad running from bathroom to bathroom hoarding water. He is in his 'Back in 'Nam' survival element. My minds a blur with all the information and color. My heart rate gradually settles into resonance frequency with the construction workers' thumps. I close my mouth as I drift off to sleep just in case my dad runs out of places to store water....