Mumbai

What will it be? Parsee, Hindu, Jain, Christian, Sikh, Muslim or even atheist? The Mumbaikar are proud of their faiths, even if we have never even heard of some of these religions.

It is one of the many places in the city where the discrepancies between tradition and modern are so stark. In the midst of skyscrapers at the southern edge of the city stands the Banganga Tank. That is holy water in concrete. It is surrounded by a tiny village in the middle of the big city with one temple after another. We approach the tank, the holy water, in which boys are jumping to bathe. Children arrive, speaking English, asking for chocolate and money, but actually just to take a look. I take a look, too, and am amazed at the many little temples, the bright colours and the friendly people. “Namaste,” I say. An old woman invites me in. I dutifully take off my shoes and gaze at the temple, which a girl is adorning with flowers. Ganesh, the god with the elephant’s head, is the celebrity here. But, the Hindus have many gods, no one can tell me how many exactly. Most Mumbaikar are Hindu, but Mumbai is the city that has much of everything: many people, many beliefs. People pray all the time and everywhere. A cow pulls a shrine. Women come over and lay wreaths of flowers at Ganesh’s feet and pray. It’s sort of a temple-to-go. Prayer is part of my way to work as much as chai massala on the street corner.

Yet, there are not only Hindus here, but also Muslims, Sikh, Jain and Parsee. Sunil (herself a Hindu) tells me the story of the Parsee. They became prosperous in the city because they spoke English well and collaborated with the British. But there are no longer very many Parsee in Mumbai; about 70,000, Sunil guesses. The Parsee marry, if at all, very late in life and do not have many children. The consequence is genetic disease.

I am standing in front of the Towers of Silence, not far from the Banganga Tank. No one is allowed inside except for the Parsee dead. No vultures circle above the towers. I am reminded of an anecdote by Rudyard Kipling, who wrote not only The Jungle Book here. Once, as little Rudyard was taking a walk with his mother up on Malabar Hill a piece of meat fell down in front of him. A vulture had dropped a bit of thigh. The Parsee leave their dead lying for the vultures to consume. The vultures are threatened with extinction just like the Parsee. The birds are being bred, though.

The megacity of Mumbai is one huge jungle of faiths. Bhuleshwar, for example, is a small district above Crawford Market; a jumble of many little streets and even more religions. We stumble from faith to faith and would be lost without Soliman (a Muslim), who charmingly joined us without asking. He leads us to a Hindu service, then to a beautiful Jain temple that is being built. It will probably take a long time; masons are hammering intricate patterns into the white marble. Only the Jain are permitted inside. They are pacifists and more than vegetarians. They eat no vegetables that grow below ground. Pulling out a carrot might harm an insect.

There are also some Christians here in Mumbai. Margareth is Catholic. We arranged to meet for dinner, but because it is Sunday she has to go to church. The priest integrates both the disaster in Japan and cricket into his sermon. The church is packed: girls in high heels, women in saris and a guy in a Liverpool fan t-shirt – religion is part of everyday life. If there is no space left on the pews, people stand – all the way back to the door. Churches in Germany can only dream of such attendance rates.

I frequently observe men with bright red hair in the jungle of faiths that is Mumbai. I am so overdosed with religiosity that I think they are some special confession. Sukhada laughs over my hypothesis and says, “They just do that to hide their grey hair.”