Part II, Chapter 1

Only half a post tonight, kids. I'm beat. See below. But thanks so much for all of your e-mails! We've been away almost all of today, but I'll get a chance to write back tomorrow, while we rest up for our whirlwind Delhi-Agra-Jaipur-Goa tour.

WEDNESDAY

I made my post yesterday just before Vivek, Mani and I went downstairs to join Aunty and Uncle at aarti, or prayers, for Ganesh -- attended by many residents of the apartment complex, at the complex's temporary Ganesh shrine. I covered a Ganesh festival for the Beaumont Enterprise in 2004, so I had some idea of what I was in for – and excited to not be witnessing it, for once, with a pen and pad in hand. I got to just enjoy the experience instead, which included lots of singing, offerings of flower petals and money to Ganesh and traditional sweets afterward.

Most of the songs were in Marathi, the dialect of the local state, so I wasn't the only one who didn't understand them.

THURSDAY

All staying at the Shankar household except Mani rose bright and early today to escort Vivek to his visa interview. To return to the United States, as part of post-9/11 security measures, he had to have his visa stamped at the U.S. embassy here – a process that required many months of submitting paperwork to prove that he is employed by a legit company in the United States doing X at Y salary. And for this, we left the house at 6 a.m.

Obviously, this started us off on a somewhat serious tone. Uncle and Aunty took the time Vivek was at his interview to venture out with me to Haji Ali, a Muslim mosque on the sea accessible only by a walkway that is covered during high tide. According to my Eyewitness Travel Guide to India (Still enjoying yours, Mom? This should be on page 459 ;) .), the mosque was built in the 1940s. But the “floating” shrine began in the 15th century as the daragh, or tomb, of a merchant who gave up his wealth after a pilgrimage to Mecca. Though they've lived in Bombay for about 16 years, Aunty and Uncle hadn't ever been to Haji Ali, so it was a good opportunity to go. (The embassy's just a ways down the street).

This was the first time I've ever had to cover my head – or separate from the men – to enter a place of worship. We didn't spend a lot of time inside the daragh, so I haven't got any deep reflections, really – though I can say the devotees were passionate in rubbing their faces on the cloths covering the tomb. The mosque itself is actually in a good bit of disrepair, and Aunty tells me there are plans to revamp it.

After a stop for fresh pomegranate juice at the Haji Ali juice centre, Aunty and I headed to the dentist's office to wait for Vivek, who had a 10 a.m. appointment for a filling. The Shankars had been sure that he'd be able to make this appointment, since his last visa interview took only 7 or 8 minutes. So when 9:30 passed, and then 9:45, and still no Vivek, we began to worry. Ten o'clock came, and 10:15. Finally, Aunty went to tell the dentist we hoped to be back soon with Vivek, and she and I started to leave to find a place for me to eat breakfast. Just then (of course, right?), the worry subject appeared, and was soon whisked away to what turned into a root canal (ouch!).

While my dearest boyfriend had his teeth fixed, his Pop and I munched on masala dosas downstairs at a cafe. I could eat dosas all day and not get tired of them, I think. They're thin, crispy pancakes, made of fermented rice flour, panfried on a flat pan. Masala dosas come with a scoop of potatoes, onions and spices inside – carbohydrate heaven. I washed mine down with a small cup of chai – not a bad way to start the day's dining, I have to say.

We spent the hours after dentist and dosas touring the Shankar's old neighborhood. I saw where Vivek earned the scar on his knee, when he fell into a car bumper while playing football. He and I walked around a new garden at his old colony, or apartment complex, and then through the hanging gardens, where I saw many beautiful flowers and more than a few butterflies.

We walked down a hill to Chowpatty Beach, which, though pretty to the eyes and offering great views of Bombay, stinks quite a lot. Vivek tells me that's thanks to sewage that empties right into the sea. Yum.

We spent enough time strolling in the sunshine along Marine Drive for me to get a bit of sunburn on my shoulders, and then ducked into a restaurant so Vivek, whose local anesthesia had finally worn off, could eat. He ordered dosa mysore, and I took bites of that and a pair of idli, which are puffy dumplings. I mostly, however, enjoyed a cold Coke from a tall glass bottle.

Soon, what had been until now a peaceful, easy day would open into my first experience with true Indian crowds. More on that tomorrow.