Here’s a thought... at the age of 46 does the ageing process
suddenly pick up speed or am I beginning to look so much older because I live
in Mumbai? Or is it, as I suspect, a terrible combination of the two?
This hasn’t just occurred to me today. I have been noticing
things for a while. A cluster of brown spots have appeared on my calf, they are
slowing forming a relief map of India. There is a general puffiness of the
face, a slackness of the jaw and a weariness of the body.
I have just found a photograph of Mick and me in Goa three and
a half years ago and compared it to one taken last month. I can hardly believe
how much we have both changed in that time so I’m going to analyze what went
wrong and attempt a counter-attack on Mumbai’s ageing elements and the march of
time (well, I like a challenge!)
So what is it about Mumbai life that is making me old?
Firstly, walking is not really an option (if you value your life!) At home in
Kent I used to walk my dog over the fields in the fresh air for a couple of
hours every day. There are two factors here: walking and fresh air and I’m
getting neither. I went to collect Polly from school in a rickshaw yesterday
and, as I sat in the traffic I could almost see the pollution gently creeping
into my pores. And, as I gulped down the exhaust fumes, I thought of my little
dog and our long walks together in the early morning mist and how rosy my
cheeks would be when I came home. There’s not much I can do about the pollution
but there is a swimming pool down stairs which I rarely use and a gym with a
treadmill. It’s time to draw up a new exercise routine. But hang on a minute! I
already do three yoga classes, three Zumba (Bollywood-stylie) classes, four weight-lifting
sessions a week and a 10 km run on Saturdays! Also, since coming to Mumbai I have run
a full Marathon and several half Marathons. What’s going on? Three and a half
years ago I weighed 60 kilos and thought I was fat. Today I weigh 70 kilos and
cannot fit into any of the clothes in Zara in spite of my crazy exercising. When I went to get my nails done yesterday,
the manicurist (a man) greeted me with a cheerful: “Hello Madam, you’ve put on
weight!”
So this situation has not come about through lack of exercise
it must be the food. It is no secret that since arriving in Mumbai, like most
ex-pats, I enjoy the all-you-can-eat-and-drink Sunday Brunches at the fancy
hotels. After a week of curry and rice, it’s nice to have a blow-out on some
lovely European-style nosh washed down with a bucket of Sula Brut. Aha! here's the problem!
So, it’s out with the
five star brunches and in with the, er what? I have decided to do a whole separate
piece on the state of the supermarkets in Mumbai (see below) because I have a
lot to say on the subject. It’s not that easy to pop out and buy a fresh
avocado and some lean beef because it just isn’t available. In fact, thinking
of healthy things to cook and sourcing all the ingredients here is a real
challenge. (We did employ a cook for a while but that didn’t work
out because of her limited repertoire of curry or dhal)
I was in Phoenix Market City in Kurla last week and suddenly realized I was hungry. I didn’t have time to
go for a sit down meal as I had to get back for school so I began to look
around for a quick snack. From what I could see, I had two choices: ‘Mad Over Donuts’ or ‘McDonalds.’ All I
wanted was a lovely crayfish and rocket sandwich on whole meal bread and a
freshly-squeezed orange juice but I might as well have wished for the moon!
With my stomach grumbling I went into the new Reliance hypermarket and rushed
about looking for something quick and healthy to eat. Look, fresh orange juice!
But on closer inspection of the label, I noted several grams of added sugar.
“But I don’t want sugar!” I told the guy at the, ahem, ‘deli’ who looked at me
as if I were a crazy lady and told me it “wasn’t possible” to have freshly
squeezed juice without sugar. I came out with the sickly sweet juice, a packet
of dates and some digestive biscuits, not exactly the ‘Meal Deal’ I was lusting
after. And this is what is making me fat! I am never going to get anywhere unless I prepare
in advance. I can get hold of nuts, oats, pulses, vegetables, fruit and
chicken, so I’m going to buy that lot in bulk and eat the same things every day
until I am 60 kilos once again. Watch this space!
Primping and preening are all part of the expat’s life,
should she choose it, as Mumbai is full of beauty salons and health spas. I do
have regular manis, pedis and facials, something I rarely did at home, but each
time I go they try to flog me things I didn’t think I needed. “Do you want your
arms waxing, madam? Shall I thread your moustache also?” No and no! I do not
have hairy arms or a moustache and yet, as soon as I get home, you can bet yout bottom dollar I’ll be inspecting myself in a magnifying mirror, insecure and fearful of
finding new and horrendous flaws. Perhaps it’s a case of the more you dig, the
more you find!
All of this, of course, comes hurtling back into perspective
when you see disfigured beggars at the roadside. I may have the odd hair on my upper lip BUT THAT MAN HAS NO LEGS! India, you may be making me old, but you also make me
grateful for what I do have.
Like Cher and most other self-obsessed women past their prime
‘I wish I could turn back time’ but I can’t so instead, I’m going to try to
make Mumbai work for me. The fact that I have a maid to do all the housework
frees me up to go for a run on the beach every morning and try to shop for healthy
foods (which she will chop and make into soup) I have just booked a holiday in
Goa for a dose of fresh air and will try to remember my factor 50 every day.
Finally I’ve signed up for some weird Indian Ayurvedic fat melting treatments
at Dr Bhavana’s Fitness Highway (check the ads in the Mumbai Mirror) My wobbly
bits will be coated in a funny-smelling paste and magically massaged away. I
know there is no obvious science to this but I quite like the mysteriousness of
it. They also made me swear to give up alcohol for 50 days. Hmmmmmm
*****
I reserve my most vitriolic criticism for Nature’s Basket in
Lokhandwala which reminds me of one of the obstacle courses my brother and I
used to make in the garden after watching “It’s a Knockout.” It’s actually a
combination of an obstacle course and a maze for really thin people; a
labyrinth blocked at every twist and turn by unruly gangs of empty (dirty) trolleys.
Ok, you can get Heinz Beans here and Coco Pops (at a price!) but why is
everything coated in thick, black dust? Why are all the tins dented? Any pasta
product that does not have an inner wrapping of foil or plastic will almost
certainly be infested with weevils. C’mon Goodrej’s Nature’s Basket, you can do
better than this! You can start by eliminating whatever is causing that foul
smell which greets the shopper at the threshold. I could go on and on. Why, when an item is scanned, does
the cashier then have to enter the product into the till manually? (And
seemingly read the whole of the label) It can take up to 30 minutes to pay if
you have more than one basket. Also some sort of queuing system wouldn’t go
amiss, rather than everybody milling about amongst the cardboard boxes and
chaos near the till, hoping to catch the eye of an assistant so they can pay
and leave. Hey, I’m only saying! And
yes, I have asked to speak to the manager and each time he has smiled politely,
obviously not understood what I was saying and then quietly backed away from me
as if I were a dangerous care-in-the-community patient.
Ok, Hypercity, it’s your turn now. Filthy trolleys, the smell
in your meat hall makes me gag, your fruit and veg is often past-it (bought two
melons last week, both rotten inside) and your million-decibel sound system
makes my ears bleed. Plus, when I pointed out to an assistant that the
spaghetti was crawling with weevils, he just took the packet from me and
returned it to the shelf, offering me another one. Finally, your idea of
filling the conveyor belts at the checkout with products on special offer
sucks. The 50 bottles of sunflower oil you had lined up on every belt meant
there was hardly any space for the shopper to unload the shopping. Sack the
brainiac who ‘thunk’ that one up!
I have tried shopping at the Mom and Pop shops, I really have,
but the stock is so limited and it’s massively time-consuming.
My local supermarket, Star Bazaar, is affectionately known as
Shit Bazaar in our house. A large family of cockroaches live in the space
vacated by a damaged floor tile. I watch them busying about each time I wait in
the queue to pay. Come on Star Bazaar, clean it up!
The thing that gets me most is not the bad smells, the filth
or even the weevil/ cockroach infestations, it’s the Lack of Choice. Meat
choices are chicken or anonymous offal (I think I’ll take the chicken) Milk - long
life or dodgy unpasteurized stuff tied up in a plastic bag; Cheese - processed
slices or seriously expensive imported Cheddar which will not have been stored
properly and will almost certainly be off. You could have blown me down with a
feather when I saw a little box of blueberries in Hypercity the other day. It
didn’t matter that they were half mouldy, I was having them. I don’t care if
they did cost me a fiver; it was like finding hidden treasure!
Great news this week! After months of dithering about the
government finally allowed 51 per cent Foreign Direct Investments (FDI) in
multi-brand retail. This paves the way for retail giants like Wal-Mart and
Carrefour to open in India. I am sure a bit of healthy competition will be good
for the likes of Hypercity, Nature’s Basket et al. Bring it on!
I noticed that the boss of Wal-Mart arrived in India this
week (in the papers because he breezed in with an expired visa –sack the PA!) I
am really hoping he was here to start building a massive Wal-Mart right next
door to my building. My life would then be complete and I would never moan
again…honest!
