As we arrive in Mumbai and the stream of sweat starts to drip down my face and the plane, with its door just opened, begins to fill with the stench of BIO and i’m knocked over by an angry Indian man in a rush to queue it hits me that this place may not be the eutopia I had imagined. Then came the cab ride....
The most horrifying experience of my life doesn’t begin to describe that cab ride. A tiny car with enough crap jammed in that the driver needed to get the bungee rope out and as we approached the first hill we began to worry about the obvious lack of horse (or pony) power, but it wasn’t until I noticed what felt like the sweet caress of Weli’s hand on my thigh that I turned to notice the fear in his eyes and the first of many buses hurtling towards. If as they say whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger then i’ll be curling the Peugeots with Marius Pudzianovski tomorrow.
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