The Mishra Dairy, Mumbai

Does the importance of fresh milk in the diet of Indians explain the sacredness of the cow? I came across the Mishra Dairy in a side street near my hotel in the major commercial district of Fort in South Bombay. It was the smell I noticed first. Then the man who was eating - what, paneer? His skin the very epitome of good health and abundant vitality. Is this the 'home' of the cows wandering the streets around here? People come by with their empty milk cans, get them filled from one of the large pitchers. Fresh lassi? How much fresher is it going to be anywhere else? And Chaas? A masala (spicy) buttermilk drink, tempered by being sprinkled with fried mustard seeds. Here's a recipe. Said to be a summer cooling drink that goes well with a meal. The asafetida and ginger in it aid digestion.

Victoria Terminus

Headed out after breakfast to take photos of the Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminus, formerly known as Victoria Terminus Station. After about an hour I'm back in the hotel lobby, dripping wet and exhausted.

Bought a coconut juice along the way. Twenty rupees, and yesterday I sat in the Intercontinental Hotel on Marine Parade and had one cup of tea and it cost 200 rupees. I had to be frisked to get into the hotel building, previously targeted by bombing terrorists. The views over the bay and some cool and quiet were well worth the price. It would be nice to be that sort of tourist once in a while I have to admit. Later in the day I went to a shopping mall and again we all had to have bags searched at the entrance, like in the UK in the 70s.

So, the train station. Picked up two little boys along the way. Where you from? You speak Hindi? You click many pictures. You have pictures your country?

I said how do I say hello in Hindi, and they said Hello. So I said, I know hari om. Much giggling that one casused. I left them still nudging each other and saying Hari om! Hari om!

Best photo is of the Mishra Dairy. From the smells, there are cows in the darkness in behind, but at the front a semi-naked substantial man and several boys with lots of metal churns and some glasses with milk in them too. Chains of fresh marigolds looped over the front of the stall and incense burning. Can't say I got that one.

At a corner there were two cows tied up, with women hand feeding them stalks of fresh green from large woven baskets. I stood watching for a while, not sure about taking a photo. A passing man in a turban, the ever-helpful bystander, said to me solemnly, Cow.

The train station was remarkably orderly. Long long queues outside for the beat-up double-decker buses moved quickly. Inside more queues. Still, at this point I'm relieved I don't have to work out how to buy a ticket or actually travel by train.

Mumbai

Internet access from the hotel in Hanoi was not great so there has been a bit of a gap. I'll try to describe arriving in India. At just after midnight it was 34 degrees in Mumbai. For some reason I'd spent about 6 hours at the airport in Hong Kong. The cabin of the Cathay Pacfic plane to Mumbai was a cacophany of noise - that was the first feeling of being in India. Big family groups with lots of well-dressed children and a bun-fight to get luggages into the overhead lockers. One old man shouting out something that sounded like "Bugger! Bugger!" over and over. Maybe that's the name of his wife?

Collecting baggage was the next indoctrination. I was determined not to just up my spot by the conveyor belt, and as more and more people crowded in behind and beside me I hung on to my spot - only problem being it was impossible to see what was coming along. I was bumped and jostled and held fast against the shouting in my ears and face... Lots of officials directing people through Customs "Madam you stand behind the yellow line at number 32". Outside the terminal a sea of signs being held up but my name was nowhere to be seem. A tall curly-haired handsome man simply held a sign saying "Babe". I'd have gladly gone with him, but I don't think he meant me. I did find someone from the right Hotel who used his mobile phone and told me to take taxi.

Off I went bouncing about in the back of some beat-up vehicle with a man who seemed not speak english. We hurtled through miles of grungy poorly-lit back streets and I lost count of how many bundles of rags we passed. People sleeping on footpaths, against walls, in the centre strip of the road even. Some with scraps of laundry hung out. We stopped twice presumably asking directions. There was a lively market with gas lights and boys running around dragging goats on leads. I saw several large cows wandering about. Total urban decay, everywhere.

I made it down to breakfast this morning but had to make a quick retreat from the food smells. Spent the morning back in bed. I have been on a walk around the block and bought a copy of Indian Vogue for the equivalant of about $3 Aust dollars. It is hot out there and I'm feeling very weak today. That's OK. Enough for now.