The Final Stretch: Mumbai, Delhi, and the Journey Home

Mumbai was not what we expected. Our accommodation sat at the edge of an expensive, artistic neighborhood, but in reality, it overlooked a sprawling slum. It was a mix of old-world charm and stark reality—the kind of contrast that defines India.

We spent a few days wandering the city, and despite its sheer size and intensity, Dalma liked it more than she expected. The maze of historic lanes, the chaotic energy, the sheer life of the place—it was overwhelming, but in the best way.

One evening, we decided to treat ourselves to a drink at a five-star hotel. Walking in from the dust and mayhem outside, we were instantly transported to a parallel universe—silent, polished, and dripping with wealth. We ordered a couple of beers, a gin and tonic, and a small plate of chicken. The bill? More than $100 AUD—more than the same order would have cost in Sydney.

It was a reminder of the two-tiered economy that runs through India. On the street, you can get a beer for $2, but inside this bubble of luxury, the price of admission is steep. The contrast was staggering, and it stuck with us.

One of the most eye-opening experiences in Mumbai was our visit to Dharavi, one of the largest slums in Asia. We were hesitant at first—we didn’t want to be part of some exploitative poverty tourism. But we chose our guide carefully, and she was from Dharavi herself, born and raised there.

To her, it wasn’t a “slum.” It was home.

She called it her beautiful slum, and as we walked through its narrow alleys, past the makeshift factories and crumbling walls, we started to understand why. Dharavi isn’t just a place of struggle—it’s a place of industry, resilience, and community.

The main industries here are plastic recycling, leatherwork, and pottery. The plastic workshops were relentless—men working six or seven days a week, breaking down and sorting plastic by hand. Many workers were migrants from rural areas, where farming was no longer sustainable. They came to Mumbai in search of work, sleeping on factory floors to save money. Water is only available three hours a day, from 9 a.m. to noon. The entire slum—over two million people in just two square kilometers—has to collect and store enough to last the rest of the day. In the industrial area, where mostly men work, a single toilet serves multiple streets.

Women’s lives, we learned, are shaped by rigid expectations. Our guide told us that while all children must attend school until 14, girls rarely continue beyond that. What’s the point, she said, if they’re expected to marry and start having children immediately? She estimated that only around 50% of women are now working—a huge shift, but still far from equality. Without family support, many have no real choice.

It was confronting, but it was real. And while we left with a deeper understanding, we also left with questions—what would it take for that other 50% to have the same choices?

The next day, we set off to see Mumbai’s famous Gateway of India, a grand arch built in 1911 to commemorate King George V’s visit. Scaffolding covered it—renovations again. It seemed like a theme of this trip.

We debated taking a ferry to Elephanta Caves but, by midday, the heat and crowds had us rethinking. Instead, we found a historic café for lunch—Leopold Café. A landmark in Mumbai, it’s featured in Shantaram (which neither of us has read) and was the first target in the 2008 Mumbai terrorist attacks. Ten people died there, but the café reopened just two days later, refusing to be silenced.

After lunch, we walked around, taking in our last few glimpses of Mumbai before heading to the airport.

And what an airport. Mumbai’s Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj International Airport is stunning—easily one of the most beautiful we’ve seen. We flew out on Republic Day, so the usual chaos was oddly subdued.

Delhi greeted us with empty roads—another unexpected perk of flying on Republic Day. We got to our hotel in record time, and for once, we’d picked a good one.

The next morning, with just one day to explore, we set off to see Humayun’s Tomb, the grand Mughal mausoleum often called the predecessor to the Taj Mahal. Allegedly stunning, but we wouldn’t know—it was closed for a VIP event.

No problem, we thought, we’ll go see the Lotus Temple, Delhi’s famous Bahá’í House of Worship. Also closed. That’s when we realized it was Monday—all monuments were closed.

With our grand sightseeing plans ruined, we settled for wandering the city before heading to visit my old friend, Pankaj. We met in 2013 when I was researching in India, and despite the years and distance, we’ve stayed in touch.

Dinner at his place was a classic Indian affair—starting in the early evening, filled with gin and tonics, and stretching well past midnight. A perfect way to end our time in India.

The next day, we flew back to Australia.

Two days later, we were both sick. Some flu or virus had hitched a ride home with us, knocking us out for days. A final gift from the subcontinent.

Summing It Up

How do you sum up a trip like this?

Challenging. India doesn’t make things easy. The heat, the dust, the constant roadworks—every day was an effort.

Beautiful. The landscapes, the history, the people—it’s a place unlike anywhere else.

Confronting. The poverty, the inequality, the sheer weight of the country’s complexities—it stays with you.

Perspective-shifting. We left with a deeper understanding of the world and ourselves, as travel so often does.

Reaffirming. That we can do this. This was particularly true for Dalma, who wasn’t sure she would ride there safely. Fortunately she was wrong about this. She’s a determined lady.

India is not a place you simply visit. It’s a place that demands something from you—patience, resilience, an open mind. And in return, it gives you stories, lessons, and experiences you’ll never forget.

For all its frustrations, we wouldn’t change a thing.

Except maybe next time, we’d check if things are open on Mondays.