first gig, more to come

Heading onto track number 3 at Bandra station, the fast train to Churchgate -Bombay South approaches. I ready myself as it pulls into the station, gaging where I'll need to stand as it slows down. People hang out of the open doors, some waiting to jump out before the pressing crowd forces them back onto the train car. Others are hanging on, outside of the train, for lack of space. It slows next to me, and I jog along an open door as three people force their way off leaving a moment of empty space, a vacuum, and I seize the chance, thrust my hand out to the bar that stands just inside the door and pull myself inside. Instantly five more people collide with my back forcing me deeper into the car though there is nowhere to go. A wall of people block my way, and when I can absolutely go no further, the train begins to accelerate.

There's shouting, jostling for position, and we are underway. My hands are crisscrossed in front of my chest, barely able to move, my small backpack is sealed against my back, and I can feel every man around me breathing. We move, writhe, sweat and breathe together. There's an elbow in my ear, and one of my hands is curled into someone's armpit.

I breathe deeply in order to create space for myself, and to an extent it works. I am able to get my arms free and turn a quarter turn to stand straight. I wonder why every person holds fast to a bar, or hanging handle, as without holding anything I am wedged in... It would take a shoehorn to pull me directly up out of this space. Then it dawns on me that it might be the only defense at the next station against being forced off of the train before my stop.
I am thankful, again, for being nearly a head taller than most everyone else, as above the crowd is fresh air and at least a view of safety should I need it.

The man next to me reaches down carefully sliding his hand along his body using the only space he has available, and tries to get something out of his pocket. I give him a sharp look, and he looks down realizing he has put his hand in my pocket! He draws back in embarrassment, and we both laugh out loud, and he announces it to the car. Then someone else makes eye contact with me and asks, "Do you like it, this pressing, sir?" I respond, "Yes sir, this is life!" And he is overjoyed. We laugh, and everyone around starts to yell, "Yeah Bombay life! We are really living!" The train car erupts in noise for a moment, then quickly dies down.

Despite the initial competition, the forcing, pushing, and jostling for position, when the matter is settled and you have a place, everyone finds their calm. You do here what is necessary. You fight for your spot. Then once you have it, and others have won or lost, you find peace with everyone around you. There are smiles, nods (or head wobbles) of encouragement, and laughter....

Until the next station. Preparing for battle, I try to wedge into the car further, but have absolutely nowhere to go. The train slows, and people begin to jump off before the oncoming crowd surges forward. Another vacuum opens before me and sucks me in. I press myself against a wall, my back to it, and holding fast to a nearby pole. About ten make it off, some in the middle try, but to no avail, and are forced to go to the next station. Where ten were, fifteen fill in, and the train picks up speed again.

I'm thankful my stop is the last, and by the time we roll into Churchgate station, it is an easy and orderly stroll off of the train.

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My father showed up, and we've been strolling around the last two days. My big quest for dance contacts has come to an end (just after five days), as I have found almost exactly what I have been looking for here. So the pressure is off, and my dad and I can catch up, drink our cafe lattes, and make fun of ourselves, each other, and life, and the city in the classic Collins' family way.

We went to his favorite Vegetable Thali place, and had a five course meal, then found another excuse for another cafe latte, and paid a visit his motorcycle mechanic who has been working for years on my fathers motorcycles. And as with most people you stay in business with for a long time India, he has become a close friend. I arranged to have a motorcycle ready for when I return after the summer from Europe to stay.

Look closely at this poster, and see if you recognize anyone. The first official gig for Lindy Hop India. Yes, yes, it is at a Salsa congress, but Salsa-India a pretty incredible company, with an artistic vision for dance that matches my own.

The details of my search for contacts and the different people I met are better left for stories over drinks with you folks, but when Kaytee , the owner of Salsa-India and I met for the first time, It was obvious that this was the company to work with.

Until April 30th when I return to Europe, my time here will be all about getting the word out on what Lindy Hop and Argentine Tango are, and establishing business and artistic relationships here.

I am absolutely psyched, and ready.

Arrived, slept, ready

My first choice for a website in India was this: http://swingindia.com/ I was upset to find that it was taken and that I already have competition for swinging in India. Please have a look at what I am up against.

In my research before coming here, I, of course, scoured the net for articles and dance classes and teachers in India. A simple google search for: "partner dance sexual diseases bank account emptied and broken teeth" brought me this article:
http://mumbai.broowaha.com/article.php?id=2840 written in December 2007.

Also through a google search I found my first mention in the press: http://www.expressindia.com/latest-news/Coming-through/259315/
After this written interview, I never heard from the author if it was actually published and found it about a month later when searching for more teachers in india.

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"the temperature is 31c/90f and very humid..." the capitain announced as we arrived... and indeed the sun through the window of the plane burned hot on my neck.

There's nothing like that first step off of the plane in Mumbai. There is a smell so peculiar to this place. Not bad but completely unique and instantly recognizable. My sense memories were kicking in, and as I walked through the terminal towards baggage claim I thought of the last time I was here in 2004. India came back to me in a rush... everything I hadn't thought of in preparing for this project. It is one thing to make a pretty website, and tell everyone you are going, but the reality of your decisions don't become apparent until they hit you with a hot rush of air in your face, and instantly soaks you in your own sweat...

My friend Lisa, someone I had studied with in Ghana in 2002 and is now living in Mumbai teaching at the American school, arranged for a driver. He was waiting anxiously with a sign in his hand, and I nodded at him appreciatively. He said his name, grabbed my suitcase and rushed towards his car. That was about the most we said to each other the entire ride... he focusing on the road, and me focusing on my thoughts. The passing scenery, slums, and hotels, organized chaos of the traffic, horns, and the smell of plastic burning brought back more memories.

Lisa's apartment is located to the North of the city, in a neighborhood called Bandra. It is a newer part of town, and is becoming known as the new "place to see and be seen" by India's most famous celebrities.

In preparing to come here I have contacted every dance school and teacher I could find online in Mumbai, so I had several people waiting for my call. After sleeping off the afternoon, I started making phone calls, and set up three meetings for the next day, one the day after, one on Friday, and so on.
I also called a Greek woman who saw my website and is desperate to dance tango. She and Andy, her fiance picked me up at 8 for dinner. I was expecting a night out at some local bar, and as I got in the car next to their driver Andy asked me if I knew of any places around. I said no, I am still getting my bearings, and he instructed the driver in Hindi. "I know a place, one of my favorites.," and we shot off through Bandra. And in the classic complexity of contrasts in Mumbai, and India herself, we drove past slums, taxi ranks, beach fires, pot holes, thumping clubs charging $50 a head, open sewers, and then turned into the Lands End Taj. The most expensive and luxurious hotel in the city (and probably on the sub-continent).

I ordered a beer at the bar: $8, and recognized a slightly suprised look from Andi. Then they ordered double Whiskey sodas, at $30 each... and suddenly I was in a world I barely recognized, where the price on the menu represents how quickly a waiter jumps up to light your cigarette when you pull one out of a box.
A lounge band played Fly Me to the Moon, and Route 66, as they told me about the woes of house searching Mumbai. The prices here are rivaled only by Manhattan. You can spend $6000 a month for a small decent flat in the center. But even that price doesn't get you anything you can raise a family in.

Then we got to talking about dance... Andi had great perspective on the city, and the places to try to get things going. He knew some of my contacts, and provided a few more, ad well as ideas for Bangalore, and Goa... two places I have also been considering trying to develop Lindy Hop. As we ordered more drinks and snacks, we talked about professionalism, art, music, Indian views on partner dancing, and the challenges I will have to overcome to make this thing happen. It was a very enlightening conversation, and got me pretty excited. In that time we charged up a bill that exceeded the money I had changed that day by a factor of three.

We moved on to one of the Taj's three restaurants, and sat in a beautiful candlelit room. The walls were completely made of red marble, with small inset cages housing one candle each. The effect, with the swirl of marble around them, looked like a picture of space, with shining stars and the vapors of some distant galaxy. We ate and drank, and the conversation moved on to the history of India, global warming, terrorism, religion, politics, and our dinner ended with a story from Andy about the history of the festival of Ganesh, the elephant god. The festival had occurred for thousands of years, but it didn't become a procession through the streets until the British banned public meetings, with the only exception being meetings for religious purposes. The Ganesh processions were used by the Anti-British movement for covert meetings and plan making.

Andy flatly refused my offer to help pay the bill, and we left the Taj, back into the world of slums and local chai huts and food stands at the beach. Back into the world that I know and move in. The world where when you take a step, sand squishes between your toes and chai is served from the seller's head in a metal cup that is passed to the next customer.

Today I have three meetings. One with the Prima-Ballerina of India who wants to start Tango at her Ballet Academy, another with a local Tango and Salsa teacher who seems to know the scene well in Mumbai, and the Dutch owner of Zenzi Bar in Bandra "The place to be in the place to be." The Mumbai salsa scene started at his bar, so he seems to have good perspective on what it will take.

I'll share more stories as soon as I can.
Much love,
Tim