Of loss and of memory, a family gathers to mourn and recollect

It's mid-afternoon on a typically sultry day in the Mumbai suburbs, and most of my family are taking an afternoon nap. And, given the circumstances, it is good that they are, for it has been a difficult week for the Valladares family.

On Saturday, news reached us that Sinclair, my father's younger brother, had been seriously injured in a traffic accident - he had been crossing the busy road between Mahim and Bandra and had been struck by a motor-cyclist. Tragically, it quickly became apparent that he wasn't going to make it.

Suddenly, unexpectedly, in Auckland and Toronto, London and Boston, passports were being unearthed, emergency visa applications completed and flight tickets booked, as the implications of diaspora came into sharp focus. My cousins, Sinclair's sons, Clyne and Clint, live in Canada and the US, his elder brothers, Windsor and my father, live in New Zealand and London. As for me, I was booked on the evening flight.

By the time I arrived on Sunday afternoon, the house was already filled with a stream of neighbours and friends, there to express their condolences and to tell stories of how Sinclair had touched their lives. Fortunately, my Aunt was already visiting, and Daphne, his sister, who lives across town, had arrived to take control of things.

The funeral was arranged for Tuesday evening, and as sons and nephews, brothers and cousins arrived, we sat and retold stories from our shared past. A stream of friends, neighbours and those whose lives Sinclair had touched came to the house to tell us their stories too, of generosity and support, of favours done and lives changed, of redemption and heroism.

Three hours before the funeral mass, the coffin was brought to the house - open, as is the way here - and prayers said over the body, both by the priest and by a nun - we are never short of the latter here - before a small New Orleans-style band turned up to play some tunes. Eventually, the coffin was carried to St Michael's, the band leading the way, the rest of us following along behind.

I admit to being a less than entirely devout Catholic - I am guilty, rather than practicing, but not so guilty that I feel I should be practicing. But it was a very nice mass, nonetheless, with friends of the family, plus Clyne and Clint, performing some songs as part of the service. It was only when I got up to read a eulogy on behalf of the family that I realised that the church was full, a thousand or more people there, filling the pews, up in the mezzanine, looking through the windows. It was a deeply touching demonstration of his place in the community and the affection in which he was held.

Afterwards, a blur of condolences and reintroductions, as the coffin was interred into the family plot and rose petals scattered, before we returned to Eagle's Nest to talk and eat and reflect.

Such an event in the life of a family is strangely terrible yet moving in equal measure. When that family is as far flung as ours is, it is however an opportunity to reconnect, to strengthen the bonds that tie, regardless of how tenuous they might have become through age and remoteness. Whilst I mourn the passing of my uncle, I am grateful to have had the time with my family here.

Mumbai and the Ranji Trophy - talk about a set of coincidences...

The Ranji Trophy

So, after a pretty horrible season, and a dramatic win over Baroda in the penultimate round of fixtures, it all came down to the last round. In group A, with three to qualify for the quarter-finals, Karnataka were through, whilst Baroda and Tamil Nadu, in second and third, played each other, the winner guaranteed a place and the loser, possibly.

With the intriguing points system - six points for a win, a bonus point for a win by an innings or ten wickets, three points for a draw with a first innings lead and a point for a draw otherwise, it was possible for any two of six teams to qualify.

Elsewhere, Railways needed to beat bottom of the table Uttar Pradesh, and Madhya Pradesh needed to beat Bengal to stand a chance, whilst Mumbai took on probably the best state side in the country on form, Karnataka, probably needing a win to be certain.

Despite a good showing on day 1, Mumbai looked to at best have gained three points, which meant that, as the fourth day dawned, Mumbai needed the following;

• Baroda to lose to Tamil Nadu
• Railways to fail to beat Uttar Pradesh, and
• Madhya Pradesh to fail to beat Bengal

The first looked likely, the second was completely open, and Bengal were following on against Madhya Pradesh. And, would you believe it, Tamil Nadu strolled to victory, whilst Uttar Pradesh comfortably made their target to beat Railways. It wasn't looking good for Bengal though as, needing 295 to avoid an innings defeat, they were 212-7 just after lunch. Surely, a struggling team like Bengal weren't going to resist for nearly two sessions?

But, the gap closed slowly but surely, and Madhya Pradesh couldn't make the breakthrough. Mumbai and Karnataka had shaken hands on the inevitable draw, and the Bengal eighth-wicket partnership ground on through nearly fifty-four overs, until the deficit was made up and a draw agreed.

There can't be much doubt that Mumbai have been rather more fortunate than their form deserves, and a quarter-final against Delhi will probably turn out to be the end of their season. But, all credit, they took the chance offered to them, and who knows, they've got nothing to lose now...

Alas, my Mumbai, alas...

I am, in some ways, a hopeless optimist - some might suggest that, given my philosophical beliefs, that's a necessity - but Mumbai is enough to cause even the most rose-tinted spectacles to turn as black as the fear-sensitive sunglasses in "Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy".

The air pollution is positively hostile, littering is an epidemic, not a problem, government is either incompetent, inept or both, and islands of immense glamour are surrounded by a sea of slums enough to make one wonder how such huge wealth can allow you to glance out of your penthouse window over such dire poverty. And yes, the city works, after a fashion, and yes, it may be true that life on the margins in the City of Dreams is still less awful than it is in the rural villages, but that says very little, I'm afraid.

Mumbai is a city where a dozen or so people die on the suburban railway every day (yes, really), where human life appears to have little value - even crippled beggars are abused for their nuisance value. And yet, it aspires to be a world city.

But perhaps what is so depressing is that, for the most part, its citizens accept this. Yes, the middle class protest about corruption - it makes their lives more complex, even as it throttles initiative and creativity - but the environment is a disaster, the city is in gridlock most of the time and you wouldn't even know where to start in terms of street cleaning. The scent of raw sewage in the air is, in a hot climate, merely a hint as to the quality of life for those unfortunate enough to live in the slums.

It is perhaps nostalgic to look back to a time when Bombay was somewhat gentler on the senses, before the streets filled with cars and the gutters with dirt, and perhaps time and memory give the city a sense of better days past, but until government and the people come together as one to reclaim the city as a place to live properly and well, rather than somewhere to inhabit, Mumbai will be a place which fails to live up to its ambition.

The contrasts just keep on coming...

The cricket over, and a little more shopping done, I went off in search of light refreshment in a typically unfocused sort of way. As I skirted Horniman Circle, I discovered something new in town...

Yes, it's a Starbucks. Frightening, when you think about it, that in a city where people sleep on the streets in their tens of thousands, and many others are only barely better off, you can buy an iced Raspberry Truffle Mocha for 294 Rupees - about £3. To put this into context, a twenty minute taxi ride costs about a third of that.

And yes, it's very nice, as a visitor to town, to have somewhere familiar and easy to stop and rest your feet, but given how few tourists come here, it is local custom that will keep it going.

India is brand crazy, with a curious inferiority complex when it comes to status - foreign always seems better here, and if you can afford the imported alternative, you buy it. Starbucks is merely taking advantage of that, so I guess that I shouldn't be terribly surprised. There is one obvious difference though, in that here, they are in partnership with Tata, which hopefully means that some of the money is circulating back into the domestic economy.

Ranji Trophy, 9th Round, Mumbai vs Karnataka

It is one of those strange things that, in all the years I have been coming to India, I have never actually seen any live cricket. And so, I've made my way to the Wankhede Stadium, between the commercial hub and the sea, to catch the last session of the first day's play.

For the visitors, the match means relatively little, as they qualified easily for the quarter-finals, but for Mumbai, the traditional giants of Indian domestic cricket, it is a must win game, following an erratic season. Losing their opener to the minnows of Jammu & Kashmir, at home, no less, set the tone, and an inexperienced batting line-up has struggled to impose itself.

The stadium itself is almost deserted, despite free admission - there are probably no more than 350 people in a stadium that seats over 60,000 - and the seats are thick with dust, reflecting just how grim the air quality in the city is. It's noisy too, with the railway into Churchgate rattling by just behind me, and plenty of traffic noise too.

Mumbai batted first, and were 230-5 when I arrived, just before the tea interval, and have pushed on since, knowing that their best chance is to make quick runs and give themselves as much time as they can to break down a strong Karnataka batting side. Even the new ball appears to be making little difference, as the sixth wicket partnership accelerates, making their runs at more than four an over.

So, all in all, not a bad day for the home side - even the local sea eagles, perched on top of the Vijay Merchant Stand, seem to approve. We'll see though...

Typical of Mumbai - a metro system which isn't that obviously useful...

One of the things about being a Mumbaikar, is that you take a dim view of Delhi. In Mumbai and Bengaluru, money is earned and invested, whereas in Delhi an inept government wastes it for you. Mumbai is cultured, stylish, Delhi bureaucratic and backward.

And so, obviously, Mumbai is leading the way in terms of modern transport methods, right? Errr... wrong, actually. Whilst Delhi has five metro lines and an Airport Express route, Mumbai has one line, linking Ghatkopar, in the northern suburbs on the Central Railway, with Andheri, also in the distant suburbs on the Western Railway, before ending at Versova - still a long way from the central city.

It did seem worth an explore, however, so I caught a bus to Kurla and a commuter train to Ghatkopar, where I headed for the rather swish looking new station. And yes, the whole thing is rather impressive - clean, efficient (somewhat unlike most of the city outside), and with a maximum fare of 40 rupees, competitive with the local bus service.

But, whilst it passes near the incredible new International Airport, it doesn't serve it yet - there is talk of a spur that will do so one day - making it pretty useless for tourists whilst putting the cost of housing up in the areas served by it - where have I heard that before?

Something else that I have learnt on this trip is that commuter trains are much cheaper than local buses. For example, Santa Cruz to Hutatma Chowk is 30 rupees by bus, but only ten by train. There is probably a very good reason for this and, perhaps, someone will explain it to me...

Another day in the City of Dreams...

So, having settled in, visited Eagle's Nest and the Creados in Santa Cruz, it's time to head into the city for some light shopping and a visit to my aunt and uncle in Colaba, at the southern tip of the peninsula that is downtown Mumbai.

I could take an air-conditioned car from my hotel but, instead, I've taken the slightly more complex and rather cheaper route of walking to Santa Cruz station and catching bus number 83 to Hutatma Chowk. When I was younger, and before the local Marathi nationalists (think "North Indians go home!" and you'll get the idea...) started renaming the city, it was universally known as Flora Fountain, after the fountain commemorating Sir Bartle Frere, who did so much to create the modern city by infilling the gaps between the original seven islands.

But, as I mentioned, I'm here to shop - first stop the Khadi and Village Emporium, an exquisite caricature of what shopping must have been like in the last century, with a three-stage purchasing process, select in one place, take receipt to another to pay, then take the slip that remains to collection where your purchase has been wrapped for you. A batik style cotton shirt in deepest purple costs about £4 (you may wonder how I can be so precise about that... sorry, Ros...), and I picked up a relatively sober summer shirt for about £2.

Next stop, Chimanlals for paper goods. Sadly, they don't sell the wonderful notebooks they used to have, but for exotic thank you cards, they can't be beaten.

A quick stop for hydration in a bar with a desire to play Madonna's back catalogue, and it's off to Colaba. It's nice to catch up with my aunt and uncle, and my cousin Julian comes home from work, so the two of us head off to the Catholic Gymkhana for dinner and a couple of drinks whilst we talk about travel - he works at a travel agency and is an experienced traveller too.

But, eventually, it's time to head back to the suburbs. Julian walks me back to Charni Road station for a train journey back to Santa Cruz. Luckily, my body clock still thinks that it's about 9.30 p.m. when I arrive back at the hotel at midnight...

A transport of delight, Mumbai style...

Those of you who remember Flanders and Swann will doubtless recall one of their best-known songs, all about a scarlet-painted, diesel-engined, ninty-seven horsepower omnibus. But, whilst they may now be but a distant memory in London, not much has changed in Mumbai, with some glorious old boneshakers still dominating the streets.

Mostly single decker these days, they are utterly disabled unfriendly, with steep steps and narrow doorways (assuming that the bus actually stops) to be negotiated. The conductor operates predominantly with one hand on the cord operating the bell but, in fairness, they do have some kind of Oystercard system, so he now has a computerised ticket machine. The ride is uniformly awful, the seats uncomfortable (or am I getting old?) but the fare is cheap, despite today's exorbitant fare rises - I paid 13 rupees (about 14p) to get from Mahim to Santa Cruz today.

It is, in truth, a throwback to my childhood forty years ago, travelling the city from uncle to aunt and back again to Nana in Eagle's Nest.

Tomorrow, I'm heading into the Fort area, the old commercial hub of the city, with a little shopping in mind, and, whilst I could simply catch a train from Santa Cruz to Churchgate, that would be too easy, although almost as much of an adventure. I think that I've worked out the bus routes so, keep your fingers crossed...

All quiet on the Western (India) front

I was, like so many people, horrified by recent events in my second city, Mumbai. It touched me particularly, given that I have family across the city, and that I have spent many happy weeks in the city over nearly forty years. Luckily, the various members of my family have checked in, and all is well.

Victoria Terminus, a UNESCO World Heritage Site

However, it was the choice of targets that was of particular poignancy. Victoria Terminus, one of the busiest railway stations in the world, is a place that I have passed through on many occasions, and somewhere I took great delight in showing to Ros when we were on our honeymoon. The swimming pool of the Taj Mahal Palace hotel was pictured in some disarray, and was the place where we spent our final afternoon in the city before flying home on that trip.

Mumbaikers are resilient souls - they've had to be over the years - and the city will recover, just as New York, London and Madrid have in recent times. Hopefully, those who hide and plan such atrocities will be found and punished for their acts, and the authorities in their countries of origin are willing to cooperate so that this might happen.

Reflections on an outrage...

Mahim Junction is the nearest station to the Valladares manse in Mumbai, and I took this picture in early January when I was in town for a family wedding. It isn't the world's most evocative railway station, although it is an important one (you could call it Mumbai's equivalent to Clapham Junction - lots of people pass through it but most don't stop for long).

Last week, it was a scene of the latest horrific, large scale act of terrorism, as were the stations on either side at Bandra and Matunga Road, amongst others.

Ironically, Mahim itself is one of those multi-cultural parts of the city with a sizeable Catholic population (my grandmother is buried behind St Michael's Church there), plus a visible Muslim community. There has been tension in the past, especially when the city government was run by Shiv Sena, a rather ghastly Hindu nationalist, pro-Marathi party, whose greatest wish would be to make the city 'safe for Marathis'. Every incidence of terrorism, regardless of where it was, or who was to blame, was an excuse to ratchet up inter-communal tensions.

I fear that this outrage will lead to more incidents of violence, which is exactly what the terrorists on one side, and the extremists on the other, want. And, caught in the middle, will be the Catholic community.

The Western Railway is a part of my Mumbai, and I use it whenever I'm in the city, travelling to visit my family, or to go shopping in the Fort area. In fact, my Uncle Ritchie and Aunt Vanessa live in an apartment which overlooks the railway tracks. As a child, I used to look out of the window and watch the trains go past. So it's particularly horrible to think of the carnage that would have been caused on trains packed like sardines next to crowded platforms full of women, children and all of the other innocents who were simply trying to get home on a midweek evening.

There continue to be concerns about the response time of the emergency services here in London after last year's attacks. We have all of the modern equipment, trauma support, a free health care system and the means to get people to a place of safety quickly. Healthcare is less easily accessible in Mumbai, the roads are congested, support services limited. And yet Mumbaikars will somehow pick themselves up, dust themselves off, and carry on. Perhaps we should remember that the next time we complain about the supposed insufficiencies of our emergency services, and realise how lucky we are to have them at all...

It ain't 'arf hot, Mum!

It's 93 degrees, humidity is at about 70%, and I'm sheltering in an internet cafe near Eagle's Nest, the family manse here in Mahim, one of Mumbai's now inner suburbs - it's entirely relative, I know.

Having conquered my jetlag, I ventured into the city by bus to do a little shopping and to reacquaint myself with the sort of conditions that will be commonplace on this part of my journey (Vietnam will be very similar). The traffic was surprisingly free-flowing (if England's midfield is equally uncongested, we've got a chance) and I made very good time.

Mumbai is still one of the most vibrant cities I've ever visited, full of life, cattle, noise and street drama, and it is good to be 'home'. The next few days will be a whirl of family, and it's nice to be surrounded by familiar faces for part of this trip.

Tomorrow, I'll be hoping to rediscover the days of the colonial Raj, so more news then...