Bowled Over By Bombay

The Snake Charmer

In April of 1944 much of Bombay Harbour was destroyed in a docks explosion, but when our troopship cruised into the harbour in the late summer of 1942 it was a vibrant and beautiful place.

Bombay was a shock to the senses. I found the sea and sky were bluer, the lush foliage greener, the scents stronger, the colours brighter, and the night lights spectacular, especially after London blackouts and a month-long sea journey.

At every turn there was something unfamiliar. The first to hit was the stifling heat and oppressive humidity, quite unlike anything I’d known in England, where summer was rarely warm enough to wear shorts. Not that I'm a fan of shorts. Even when they were issued to us in the jungle I preferred long pants for protection against malaria carrying mosquitos. Plus, I've always thought few Englishmen have the legs for shorts.

Also foreign was the array of exotic fruits - I'd never been so excited to see a banana again after several years - and strange spices at the markets, along with unusual street foods.  I noted that the city dwellers' clothing was intensely colourful, from the women's flowing saris to the tunics proudly worn by the men.

My nostrils were assailed with the smell of sickly sweet florals and aromatic foods combined with manure from the swarms of animals and sweat from the sheer mass of humanity in the streets. Never before or since have I seen so many people in one place, including Wembley Stadium during a cup final.

The city was populous to begin with, then the arrival of forces to fight in the Burma campaign stretched it to its limits. British Empire forces alone peaked at around 1,000,000 land, naval and air troops.

Other unusual sights included creatures I'd never laid eyes on before, like stinging scorpions and the mongoose. There will be more about them in upcoming memoirs.

I have to admit my surprise at wartime Bombay's sophistication, with its smart, modern shops and restaurants, and efficient transit system.  Of course there was a language barrier to overcome, but we managed nicely and found plenty to amuse us during our week-long visit.

I still marvel at a snake charmer I watched with wonder.  The fine-looking Sikh gentleman hurled a rope in the air and it hung there suspended without aid. He then opened a basket, started playing his pungi (made from a carved gourd) and a snake slowly emerged, swaying to the music as if hypnotized.

If that wasn't amazing enough, the snake then quickly wriggled up the rope. Once the charmer stopped playing, the rope and snake immediately dropped back down into the basket.  Don’t ask me how he did it – in over 70 years I still haven't figured that out. Everyone around applauded and threw their pocket change into the basket, myself included.

A rather disturbing sight was the street “surgeon” complete with stethoscope and a long knitting needle type tool he offered for use to purge dirt and debris for a small fee.  He also wielded a large corkscrew type device used to clean out ear wax.  I steered clear of him, remembering my dear mum’s advice to never allow anything in your ear larger than your elbow.

On our last day in Bombay two friends and I decided to take a restaurant meal at the middle class district.  We came across a public funeral procession taking place in the curb lane of an extremely busy street.

A modified rickshaw outfitted with large bicycle wheels was being pulled by an athletic young man and perched on the seat above the crowd was the departed, with family and friends walking slowly behind.

In charge of the proceedings was the local funeral director busily pleading onlookers for cash contributions to fund the cremation ceremony and ritual feast. To show our respect, we pitched several coins (rupees and annas) into the begging basket.

It was a solemn and touching sight, but I think some crafty beggars seized the opportunity to take advantage of our generosity.  Soon another rickshaw appeared, with no mourners in sight, bearing both a rather healthy looking departed and a large begging basket. Let’s just say my suspicions were aroused when the corpse winked at me.

Once the week was over, around 600 of us were gathered and paraded down to the railway yard to a huge American locomotive with six Pullman coaches.

It was quite comfortable travelling to Madras by train, since troops had reserved seats.  Locals wishing to make the journey were not so fortunate and made passage sitting precariously on the roof of the train.

I managed to get a window coach seat and was gazing out as the train went racing around a bend. To my horror, a few rooftop passengers flew right off. The train must have been on a strict schedule, since it didn’t stop to pick them up.

Once we arrived in Madras, preparations were made for departure to our squadron base in the jungle.  I was about to turn 18 and thought I’d seen it all – I was wrong!

Ed