Daily Blog: Arriving in Mumbai

Like we always do when one of us hits the road for the TDN, we're going to try and give you some color commentary on what we're doing and seeing over here. I say we not in the royal sense, but because it's not only me in Mumbai, but also TDN publisher Barry Weisbord and his wife Sarah. We left on the same 14 1/2-hour flight from Newark on Thursday night, missing all the Snowmageddon fun, and arrived late Friday in Mumbai.

Maybe more than any international trip I've taken in the last few years, I didn't really know what to expect from Mumbai. You don't want to be too informed by a movie like Slumdog Millionaire, but then everything I read before coming backed that narrative: Mumbai is a city of wild extremes. It took four or five minutes after we left the airport to see that. Chhatrapati Shivaji International is about 15 miles north of what locals simply call “town,” the southern portion of Mumbai where most of the business and transportation hubs are. The airport is as modern as any that I've been to, and it took hardly any time to clear customs and collect our bags. Once you leave, however, you're immediately faced with a different side of Mumbai. Packed into a pint-sized Hyundai helmed by a small, friendly driver whose accent was nearly impenetrable, we merged onto a six-lane highway leaving the airport and made our way south.

First, a little about Mumbai, formerly Bombay, and still called that by many of its citizens. The entire city sits on a peninsula on the western coast of India that juts out into the Arabian Sea. It was once seven individual islands, but in the 1700s the British undertook a reclamation project that turned it into a single landmass. (The Brits had acquired control of Bombay the really old-fashioned way–via dowry. King Charles II took a Portuguese noble as his queen in 1661, and as a small thanks, was gifted the then Portuguese-controlled colony.) Today, Mumbai proper is about 233 square miles. That's not very big. To put that into perspective, Lexington is 285 square miles. That means that the roughly 12 million people that live within city limits–and the 20-million-plus who live in the greater metropolitan region–live veryclosetogether. And more are coming every day, as Mumbai's ever-expanding economy lures in workers from rural areas.

We were confronted with the poorer outer portions of the city as we drove to our hotel. An avenue that ran closely parallel to the highway was lined with low tenement houses and run-down businesses, and on Friday night, it was packed with people and old cars. Many of the structures were dilapidated and dreary under the yellow street lights. But then, every few blocks, a shiny new restaurant or nightclub, with a pink neon sign, would pop into view, and you'd get the immediate sense that Mumbai, the jewel of Indian renewal, isn't changing block by block or neighborhood by neighborhood, but building by building. That's something that's been confirmed over the last two days–the same city street may include an thriving international bank next to a fourth-rate hotel with broken windows.

If there was one thing I did expect of India, it was that driving here would terrify me. And it did. Our young pilot shot in and out of lanes, hovered between them, then ducked back in to miss a family on a motorscooter–dad in front, mom in back, a 3- or 4-year-old between them, none with helmets. A slender young Muslim woman, looking surprisingly stylish in full hijab, kept pace with our car for a mile or two. She had pretty eyes. I could tell, because she was about a foot from my passenger window, the wheel of her scooter coming perilously close to our front fender five or six times. She was unfazed.

Later, we flew under a red light without the slightest pause from our driver, and I couldn't tell if I was comprehending the traffic signals correctly.

The soundtrack to all this was a cacophony of horns. Honking in India is ubiquitous. Nobody doesn't do it. “It isn't honking, it's the cars talking to each other,” a local later explained to me. You honk to let someone know you're going to pass them. You honk, apparently, to let them know you have passed them. You honk if there's a threat of accident, hence the ubiquity.

Just before midnight, we turned left onto Marine Drive, the C-shaped road that lines South Mumbai and its natural bay and that is sometimes referred to as the Queen's Necklace because, if viewed at night from above, the street lights resemble a string of pearls. Many of the businesses didn't seem to be open, but that didn't mean much to the thousands of people crowding the sidewalks to our left and the promenade to our right. The boulevard was packed with taxis, and teenagers on bikes, riding in small packs, swerved between them. We passed a still-lit cricket field, then a huge wedding that was being thrown behind the cement walls of an open-air market. It looked more like a movie premier than a wedding. The entrance was illuminated by eight or 10 spotlights, and fashionably dressed partiers snapped photos outside. Inside, massive balloons hung over the guests' heads.

We finally got to The Oberoi and, after our bags were x-rayed and we passed the security wand (more on this later), we stashed our gear and headed to the hotel bar. Upon threat of physical harm–“I will hunt you down” were the exact words–Sarah exacted a promise from our waiter that the ice in our drinks was from a purified source, and we were able to relax and have a nightcap to properly conclude our journey. It was Us- one, Microbes-zero.

A Day at Mahalaxmi…

Our first sponsored event at the Asian Racing Conference came yesterday in the form of a trip to Mahalaxmi Racecourse. The lone track in Mumbai was hosting the Indian Oaks, a local Group 1 and an annual highlight of the racing calendar. The race pitted against each other an overflow field of 15 fillies going a full circuit on the 2400-meter turf course. There were some recognizable pedigrees–there were daughters of Champ Elysees (GB), Iffraaj, Orpen, Teofilo (Ire)–but it was a filly by a horse I wasn't familiar with who dominated the competition. Myrtlewood (Ind), by Multidimensional (Ire), was made the 3-2 favorite off her win in the 1600-meter Indian 1000 Guineas, and while some locals expressed doubts about the step-up in distance, one insider assured me she'd stay the trip. He was right. In the event, P.S. Chouhan rode a confident race, keeping Myrtlewood at the back of the pack before pushing the button as they made the right-hand turn into the stretch. Myrtlewood swooped with ease and won going away by five lengths. “I'm not saying she'd win a Grade I at Santa Anita, but she's an international filly who could win at the group level in the right spot,” the insider said afterward.

Myrtlewood's sire, Multidimensional, is a breakout stallion in India who had not one, but four representatives in the Oaks. Euro readers of this probably remember him. Bred and raced by the Niarchos Family and trained by Henry Cecil, Multidimensional won the G2 Prix Guillaume d'Ornano-Haras d'Etreham at three and was a group winner in England at five. From the family of Chief Bearhart and out of the G1 Yorkshire Oaks second Sacred Song (Diesis {GB}), he was the champion freshman sire in his first year at stud here in Indian, and has gone from strength-to-strength since.

Mahalaxmi itself was hugely enjoyable, so long as you had the right mindset. While the course is very large–2,400 meters, with a dirt training track set inside–the facilities aren't very big, and aren't at all modern. In fact, the clubhouse was pure British colonialism, straight from the 19th century. (The track was originally built in 1883.) A three-story, narrow building, the clubhouse is lined in front with maybe 25 rows of wood-constructed seating that looked more like pews than anything. Individual seats were covered in wicker, and with the exception of some sightlines obstructed by poles, offered terrific views of the track. The crowd–as a pure guess I'll say 7,500 in total, but I could be way off–was mostly older on the clubhouse side, with a less impressive grandstand attracting a younger, overwhelmingly male base. There was a large area for bookmakers located behind the grandstand, and an auxiliary area next to the walking ring behind the clubhouse. The track also had a number of pari-mutuel windows.

All horses who compete in India must be Indian-bred, but there were at least two winners on the card by sires who used to stand in the U.S. Quasar (Ind), by the one-time Hill 'n' Dale stallion Seeking the Dia (Storm Cat), won the day's second race going 2000 meters. One race later, Serenita (Ind), a daughter of the good California runner Whatsthescript (Ire), captured a 1000-meter turf dash.