Dear Guests, Beware of Wild Monkeys

Hungry Monkeys and

Sacred Cows

oxygen masks! There has been a drop in cabin pressure!”

My eyes shot open, all remnants of sleep vanishing from

my mind like smoke swept away by a powerful wind.

I was instantly awake, but my mind was still unable to

process what I could see and hear.

I had been dozing on a long-haul British Airways flight

from London to Mumbai. The cabin lights had been turned

off, and passengers huddled beneath blankets, sleeping,

watching movies on the seat-back screens, or reading in

small pools of light.

Suddenly, the peace and quiet shattered. Every light

on the plane flashed on in full brightness, and the clipped

British voice began delivering its loud, urgent message

over and over without any change in inflection.

I looked next to me at Ava and Salome, who appeared

as wide-eyed and shocked as I felt. All around us, as the

recorded voice blared the same order again and again, I

saw arms raised up, fingers grasping at the empty space

where oxygen masks were supposed to be dangling.

Salome started to cry, and I tried to calm her: “It's okay,

honey, everything's going to be all right.” I hugged her close

to me, but was far from sure I was telling her the truth.

Still, the passengers' arms reached up, groping at the

consoles above them. They reminded me of sightless

Zombies walking across a field in Night of the Living

Dead.

"Are you okay?” I asked Ava and Salome. “Can you

breathe all right?”

They both nodded.

"Me too,” I said. “It must be some kind of glitch,

otherwise the masks would really come down.”

We could hear the roar of the plane's engines, which

seemed to be strong and steady, but terror lurked inside

me as I waited to see what would happen next. Would

the engines just stop, causing the plane to plummet to

the earth?

Then, as abruptly as the voice had started, it stopped.

There was silence in the airplane, except for the drone of

the engines. Then the passengers started talking excitedly;

I could also hear a few muffled wails.

The lights remained on, and in a few minutes, the

proper English voice of the captain came over the PA

system. “Hello, folks, sorry for the disturbance. We have

run a check of all vital systems, and everything seems to

be in order. We surmise there must have been an electrical

malfunction that triggered the warning, but we can detect

no change in cabin pressure. From what we can tell, the

aircraft remains quite serviceable, and we will continue on

to Mumbai. Again, we apologize for this inconvenience.”

The captain clicked off, and Ava and I looked at each

other.

"Quite serviceable?” I said. “Not exactly the

reassurance I was looking for. Maybe that's just the British

way, you know, keep a stiff upper lip.”

From my calculations, we still had about three hours

remaining on the flight, and for the entire time, we sat in

our seats nervously, listening for any slight change in the

thrum of the engines.

My imagination had come up with many potential

disasters that could befall us in India. The one thing I

had felt complete confidence in was British Airway's

ability to deliver us safely to our destination. Now, as we

approached the subcontinent, I had no idea what to expect.

Eventually, the jetliner approached Mumbai, and we

cruised in for a smooth landing at Chattrapathi Shivaji

International Airport. We arrived in Mumbai about 12:30

a.m. local time, our nerves jangled by the airplane's

electronic hijinks, and still apprehensive about our

upcoming nine-week sojourn in India.

By the time we cleared customs and picked up our bags,

it was after 1 a.m., but the sidewalk outside the terminal

was crowded with people, and the air was hot and muggy.

The taxi driver helped us out to his car, which resembled

a VW minibus. He cranked up the puttering engine, and

we rolled out into the Mumbai night. Ava, Salome and I

huddled together in the back seat of the minivan, quietly

watching the dimly lit city streets through the window.

Soon, we noticed a shocking sight - all along the road,

which was lined with market stalls, were people sleeping

on the ground under thin blankets. The luckier ones slept

on wooden tables or benches, which were probably used

to display goods during the day. The homeless residents

of Mumbai spread out before us as we drove to our hotel;

there were literally miles of people sleeping shoulder-to-shoulder

in the night, their bed the dirt edge of the road,

their pillow a bundle of clothes, or nothing at all. We had

seen homeless people; San Diego, like all cities, has its

share of unfortunates bedding down in doorways and on

sidewalks. But we had never before witnessed poverty of

this magnitude.

The ride to the Railway Hotel took about 45 minutes,

and we were underwhelmed when we pulled up in front.

The hotel was on the corner of a squalid block, where

motorized rickshaws, called “tuk-tuks” parked, their

blanket-wrapped drivers asleep in the back seats.

The dreary scene outside the Railway Hotel was enlivened by strings of colored lights adorning

the building, which we figured had been put up for

Diwali, India's festival of lights, which had ended a few

days earlier.

As we groggily climbed out of the minivan and crossed

the sidewalk, a large rat scurried along the gutter and into

a crack in the wall.

Welcome to India.