[The World Tour of Oopsies is an ongoing series of travel stories about my first decade of travel. During these adventures and misadventures, I had to unlearn many things I thought I knew about life. Welcome to my miseducation.]
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Catch up on my World Tour of Oopsies travel stories:
Part I / Bengaluru
My semester studying in Bengaluru, India, was the most chaotic of my life. It was difficult to study and apply myself while dealing with the most intense culture shock I’ve experienced in my life.
If you grew up in the US and have visited India, you understand; it’s a lush, colorful, and busy place that can feel like a fever dream, for good or worse.
Living smack in the center of Bengaluru (in Rajajinagar, specifically), a bustling city that’s now home to 14 million, was challenging enough. Toss in cultural milieu, and every day was its own mind-blowing experience.
Along the way, my classmates and I (around 15 of us total) made friends. These friends took us into the fold, showing us where to find great dancing and inviting us to their private go-kart tracks. At the time, it felt like everyone wanted to be our friend, and Indians are incredibly warm and hospitable to friends and family.
Cut to me and a few classmates deciding to see Swedish House Mafia in Mumbai. Swedish House Mafia was one of the first electronic groups to gain global fame during the late 2000s, pushing house music to the forefront. And they were going on their last world tour, with a stop in Mumbai.
We couldn’t miss it. And one of our friends, Nikhil, graciously offered an apartment in Mumbai where we could crash to catch the show. We packed our bags, booked an overnight bus, and scrambled to make the show.
Part II / Mumbai
Those three days we spent in Mumbai are incredibly memorable for a few reasons. First, I went on a slum tour, which had to be one of my lowest travel points.
As part of our coursework in Bengaluru, we visited a few slums while working alongside an organization that educates women in various artisanal crafts to provide them with work and financial autonomy.
So, I should have known better. But a taxi pulled up, offered us a slum tour, and I took it with a few friends. I highly recommend avoiding this type of tour if you’re ever offered; it turns poverty into a museum or, worse, entertainment. (Usually, you’d end up in a slum as a traveler if you’re a volunteer and have resources to share with locals.)
During our time in Mumbai, we also visited the Gateway of India and the famous Leopold Café from Shantaram. The Gateway of India was infinitely more memorable.
Most tourists in India are domestic, and it seemed like a crowd of over fifty people gathered when they saw me and my Western classmates. We were quickly surrounded and photographed en masse. We were even posed with certain groups.
Determined to be chill, we let the photoshoot run its course, which probably lasted around thirty minutes. Sometimes, I wonder where those photos are and how many people ended up sharing pictures that included me standing there with a confused smile on my face.
The last thing I remember about Mumbai before the riots started was finally applying my language studies from school. My partner and I took sleeper buses between Bengaluru and Mumbai, which I correctly identified from the bus stop.
The bus company was raja, Hindi for king and written like राज in Hindi script. That’s one of my proudest moments from this World Tour of Oopsies.
Part III / The mayor
Cut to the day of the concert. My friends and I had been enjoying some time off school in Mumbai while staying at our friend’s apartment. It was a massive, two-story place inside a large building with maybe 15 floors.
We were getting ready for the big night when news arrived: riots were starting in the streets of Mumbai.
From what I remember, earlier sentiments from the Azad Maiden riots had rekindled. To make a long and complex story short, riots from mid-August of that year had created ongoing tensions between the city’s Muslim and Hindu populations, which were still flaring up during our visit in November.
In short order, we heard news of a high-profile death, which was followed by violent riots. Then, our friend who owned the apartment called—he advised us not to leave under any circumstances.
And that’s how I spent 48 hours in a high-rise Indian apartment in Mumbai without seeing Swedish House Mafia. We stayed there for a few days, then packed up and headed back to school in Bengaluru.
