A Taxi Ride to Bombay Central

"I like it all good muuusic!" our private taxi driver said as he turned up the raspy Indian pop blasting out from the car speakers. "If you find CD of good music, give to me because I love music all types, good."

Our driver was very gaunt, cheekbones protruding alarmingly from his jaw, and appeared in good need of a feed. But he seemed to be in a spectacular mood. This very happy man very happily showed off his laminated photos. He kept them shoved above the driver's seat flap and proudly insisted we look.

"We are famous everywhere. This one me in front of my car, old car. That my doggie," he giggled. "And this one good too," he said handing us a sheet depicting an early photo of Queen Elizabeth II and one of the kings of England. He passed us a laminated sheet of a letter on a photographer's letterhead thanking the driver for his help, as well as a newspaper article from an Indian daily showing him in his car.

"That one from documentary maker, I in documentary, drove all streets Mumbai."

"Ah, you are famous!" I said.

The driver laughed and agreed, "Yes a little famous. Where from you?"

"New York City," we said.

"Ah, ha ha yes New York, good! I take you to New York, we have New York in Mumbai. Easy." We were a bit bewildered. Would we see some replica of the Empire State Building or the Statue of Liberty? He careened through Mumbai's thick, chaotic traffic expertly, cutting off other taxis, autorickshaws, beggar women holding young children, city buses, and chic modern Indians sauntering into oncoming traffic, all within very slim margins. Only a city like New York could possibly have prepared us for Mumbai's traffic. Somehow it all flows in harmonic motion and a pedestrian steps out of way just in time or a car swerves within an inch of ours without us ever touching anything. Maybe the miniature Ganesh and Shiva figurines on the dashboard or the Jesus on the cross hanging on a beaded chain from the rearview mirror protected him, but whatever the trick it seemed to work.

"Look here New York!" To our right was a small restaurant called "Cafe New York." This tickled the driver pink. We laughed more at his exuberance than anything else, and arrived at the Bombay Central train station cheered by his good mood.