L'Chaim - Mumbai, Nov. 29, 2009

Log margin notes:
Yesterday I spent the morning at the local synagogue. The building itself is very impressive; the service itself was orthodox, nice and fairly normal. I was welcomed many times over by the regulars there. (See previous entry.)
Afterwards there was a kiddish lunch served of traditional Indian vegetable dishes as well as rice, chicken and fruit.
In true Jewish fashion, a heated discussion broke out between a few of the regulars and a friend of the local Chabad House where four people were killed a year earlier in the attacks.
The locals insisted that the money collected from around the world should be used for the local community, but Chabad has its eyes on the world.
The rabbi was able to calm the situation and the occasion remained peaceful meal. Then, with an invitation from the Chabadnicks who attended the service, I went to the Chabad House... for another lunch.
I was given a tour of the, still under construction, Nariman House by an Israeli who is affiliated, but not a Chabadnick himself.
The bullet holes were obvious and as he explained, mostly from police who were not well-trained in counter-terror tactics. They had clearly been firing around corners. He showed me the section of wall missing where Maharastra state commandos broke through to combat the gunmen. In what would be the rabbis' office, a grenade blast had smashed the tiles on the floor.
He also showed me the room where a young rabbi Gavriel, his wife Rifka and their son Moishe were killed.
"Death is everywhere," the Israeli said.
Finally, I was showed to a modest lunch table at around 12:30 p.m. and was asked to sit. I was clearly welcome, but for me only in the uncomfortable way which is possible in a foreign country where I'm very familiar with neither the local language or the Hebrew which was spoken. Lunch began and I was implored to "say l'chaim" (to life) many times. In honor of the rabbi and his family, I was in no condition to refuse. I finally chose "the yellow," which is known to the rest of the world as "The Glenlivet." The other option, "the white," is known to the world as "Absolut."
I said "l'chaim."
Lunch number two was salad, chick peas, olives, pot roast and potatoes. Many prayers and stories went around the table which were translated into English for me and one other. After each, a round of l'chaims.
If not for any ability in Hebrew, I was respected for my ability to say "l'chaim." I was surprised how quickly some of the others at the table were soon asleep... on the table.
After hours of this, I had to escape to meet a new friend at the Times of India. We were supposed to meet and possibly begin work on a story about the city's ambulance services. I tried to escape, but was held back in a very religious way. I was #10.
To say a prayer called Kaddish over lost loved ones a group of 10 men is required. I agreed to stay for another 10 minutes, which I did. It felt good to be there for them to say Kaddish. It was a small sacrifice on my part, but I figure it meant a lot to them.
After the prayers dancing broke out and I broke away to find my way from far down in the historic section of Colaba to near the Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminus (CST) across from the Times of India building.
"The yellow" had sharpened my navigational senses. I was late and decided on short-cuts. I made no wrong turns and showed on time.
I met Sudharak, of the Times, for the first time while I was sitting in police headquarters earlier in the week. I was waiting to speak to the commissioner about an ill-fated 26/11 story (see Nov. 26 posting). Sudharak was somewhat planning an ambulance story of his own and was intrigued when I told him about my own ambulance experience back in New York.
However, this day we met with a few other of his friends for yet another meal, biryani. After dinner we went to the local press club chatted for a while over some more snacks and decided to meet again on the next Tuesday to work on the ambulance story.
I had eaten a lot that day, but had to rush home to pay for the dinner which is delivered to my room every night for Rs. 70 or a modest $1.55.
I didn't make it, but I did call ahead and avoided another scrap with my battle ax landlady. I at the food at the next day's breakfast.
The scrap finally came when she insisted I was one day behind (again) on my payments to the food delivery people. She had the wrong date. I was not behind, but call it yet another run in with the old dragon.
I also couldn't believe that she asked me if I planned to stay in the room beyond the one month I already paid for. I was disappointed that she doesn't hate me enough to want me out.
I sleep easy there. I'm sure I'm more her problem than she is mine, but I won't stay there any longer than necessary.
Besides, I can't stagnate in one place too long. I've got a country to see here.