South of Mumbai lies Goa, which is where all the tourists go. So I've headed east instead. Because I'm like that, and that's the way I am.
It's pronounced "poo-nay", and the locals are collectively known as "Punani". (Only one of these two things is true.) Whereas Mumbai is huge and has about as many people as Belgium, Pune is but a small provincial backwater in comparison, its population merely that of Hong Kong. But even if you were to put Mumbai and Pune together, you'd still have only around 1 in every 70 Indians.
The ride here was fairly pleasant. 4 hours or so. All kinds of vendors were doing the rounds, up and down the train. I heard one of them approaching from far off. "Chai chai chai chai chai," he sang from the next carriage. "Chai chai," as he came into our carriage. "Chai chai chai chai," he chirruped to the people in the next compartment, and "Chai chai chai," as he appeared in our compartment. Then he saw the one white guy on the train, i.e. me, and his eyes lit up like beacons. "Tea?" I was reluctant to leave him unrewarded for this nimble feat of linguistic gymnastics, but unfortunately I'm a coffee drinker.
The young man next to me on the train was excitedly regaling his companions with footage from the Coldplay concert he'd attended in Mumbai the night before. British-Indian cultural exchange has evidently declined a very long way indeed since the days when they gave us curries and we gave them cricket. Incidentally I note that the Coldplay singer graciously took it upon himself to apologise to India, from the Mumbai stage, for colonialism. Yet I just spent two whole months in Italy, and nobody apologised to me for the Roman conquest. What's that all about?
Unlike in the USA, where the Declaration of Independence and the Revolutionary War and the Constitution are hailed everywhere you look, I've hardly seen anything here that commemorates the end of the Raj in 1947. The only images of Nehru or Ghandi are the ones on the banknotes. Nationalism is something we can all do without. I hope it doesn't sound too condescending towards the Indian people if I suggest that most of them probably have more pressing things to worry about.
Notable sights in Pune are the Bund Garden, whose founder rejoiced in the name of Sir Jamshedji Jeejeebhoy, and the original Aga Khan palace, which I didn't bother with. But the main attraction is the Shaniwar Wada temple, pictured below. I had a painful experience in the queue: when the security guards spotted me, I was immediately beckoned to the front of the line. Several dozen little old Indian ladies, evidently from the humbler classes, had to step meekly aside to let the foreigner through. I protested with some heat that I was happy to wait, but the guards were brooking no argument and nobody was going anywhere until I acquiesced. I didn't feel like a VIP; I felt like a cad and a bounder. But I suppose there's a faint justification for this preferential treatment, in that entrance tickets for foreigners are about ten times what the locals pay (£2.50 as opposed to 25p).
Pune has a small but pleasant overground Metro service, where the maximum fare is capped at about 35p. You have to go through airport-style security to board the Metro, and you're not allowed to chew gum or take soft drinks, as I discovered to my cost. There's a sign prohibiting the carrying of nuclear weapons, which is good to know, and it also states specifically that 'mentally disturbed' people are also banned. I fear that last one would leave most American suburban trains half-empty.
They don't allow animals on the Metro, either. You see stray dogs everywhere, and to a lesser extent stray cats, and quite often you find yourself stepping around cows on the street. They're not always tethered, but then cows are only dangerous in herds. I saw an enormous 'flying fox' bat flapping around in the trees at night from my 3rd-floor apartment balcony, and I think there was a tiny baby rat scuttling around the floor of the train as we trundled from Mumbai to Pune. Also, as much as I've been enjoying the Indian food, the local mosquitos have clearly been enjoying their English food even more. I'm getting bitten to death. But at least I'm successfully avoiding the cockroaches. And the tourists. And Coldplay.
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Shaniwar Wada temple (18th century)
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Iricen Railway Colony. My 'hood.
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| Looking south over the Shivaji bridge from the PMC Metro station |
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| My first ever non-Greggs cheese pasty |
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Every now and then, I'm reminded of home.
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| The river Mutha. Not one for swimming in. |
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Ideal development project opportunity for the first time buyer
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Edd vs Food #150
Vegetarian Kunwar Thal at Dal Baati, mere yards from my apartment.
Four baati (unleavened bread in centre) plus poppadom and salad.
Lasun chutney, pickle, Marwari curry, cooked gram flour dumpings in gravy, desert beans. |
