STREET PERFORMERS—BOMBAY
The modern British buildings of Bombay would probably in newspaper language be described as “handsome.” There were many showy and pretentious structures in a sort of Italian Gothic style, but they looked imported, and were decidedly out of place in a country which possesses such magnificent specimens of architecture of its own growth—as one might say. The many balconied and shuttered fronts, with projecting stories, the ridge-tiled roofs and plastered walls that we saw in the older quarters of the town seemed, as types of dwelling-houses at least, much more suitable and characteristic, and such types would surely be capable of adaptation to modern requirements. The Crawford Market is one of the sights of Bombay. Outside, with its steep roofs, belfry, and projecting eaves it has a rather English Gothic look, but inside the scene is entirely oriental, crowded with natives in all sorts of colours, moving among fish, fruit, grain, and provisions of all kinds, buying and selling amid a clamour of tongues—a busy scene of colour and variety, in a symphony of smells, dominated by that of the smoke of joss-sticks kept burning at some of the stalls as well as a suspicion of opium, which pervades all the native quarters in Indian cities. There is a sort of court or garden enclosed by the buildings, and here the live stock is kept—all sorts of birds and animals.
A drive through the native bazaar of Bombay is a revelation. The carriage works its way with difficulty through the narrow, irregular street, crowded with natives in every variety of costume (or next to no costume), forming a wonderful moving pattern of brilliant colour, punctuated by swarthy faces, gleaming eyes, and white teeth. Shops of every kind line each side of the way, and these are rather dark and cavernous openings, shaded by awnings and divided by posts or carved pillars on the lowest story, but raised from the level of the streets by low platforms which serve the purposes of counter and working bench to the native merchant or craftsman who squats upon it, and often unites the two functions in his own person. He generally carries on his work in the presence of his whole family, apparently. All ages and sexes crowd in and about the shops, carrying on a perpetual conversazione, and the bazaar literally swarms with dusky, turbaned faces, varied by the deep red sari of the Hindu women, with their glittering armlets and anklets, or the veiled Mohammedan in her—well, pyjamas!
The older house fronts above the shops were often rich with carving and colour, the upper stories being generally supported over the open shop by four columns. It reminded one of the arrangement of a mediæval street, as also in its general aspect, the shops being mostly workshops; and, as in the old days in Europe, could be seen different crafts in full operation, while the finished products of each were displayed for sale. There were tailors stitching away at garments, coppersmiths hammering their metal into shape, leather workers, jewellers, cook-shops, and many more, the little dark shops in most cases being crowded with other figures besides those of the workers—each like a miniature stage of life with an abundance of drama going on in all. The whole bazaar, too, was gay with colour—white, green, red, orange, yellow, and purple, of all sorts of shades and tones, in turban or robe—a perfect feast for the eye.
In the course of our drive through the bazaar we met no less than three wedding processions, though rather broken and interrupted by the traffic. In one the bridegroom (who, with the Hindus and Mohammedans, is considered the most important personage in the ceremony as well as the spectacle) was in a carriage, on his way to fetch the bride, in gorgeous raiment and with a crown upon his head. He was followed by people bearing floral trophies, perhaps intended for decoration afterwards. These consisted of gilt vases with artificial flowers in them, arranged in rows close together, and carried in convenient lengths on a plank or shelf by young men bearers.
Another of the bridegrooms was mounted on a horse, crowned and robed like a Byzantine emperor with glittering caparisons and housings, a tiny little dusky girl sitting behind him and holding on, who was said to be his little sister.
The third bridegroom we saw was veiled, in addition to the bravery of his glittering attire. Flowers were strewn by boys accompanying him, and a little bunch fell into our carriage as we waited for the procession to go by, in which, of course, the musicians went before. We afterwards passed the house where the wedding was being celebrated, the guests assembling in great numbers to the feast, a tremendous noise going on, drums beating and trumpets blowing. In one of the processions very antique-looking trumpets or horns were carried of a large size, much resembling the military horns of ancient Roman times. These were Hindu weddings.
We also had a glimpse of a Parsee wedding. This was in the open court of a large house arcaded from the street, brilliantly illuminated, where sat a great crowd of guests all attired in white.
Working right through the native bazaar we reached the Victoria Gardens, a sort of Kew and Zoological rolled into one, being well stocked with fine palms and many varieties of tropical trees, as well as birds and animals, and all looking in good condition and well kept. Many Eurasians were here walking about, looking very weird in European dress. In these gardens are situated the Victoria and Albert Museum of Bombay.
Sir George Birdwood had given me an introduction to H.H. the Aga Khan and we drove out to his abode, only to find, however, that His Highness had gone to Calcutta on his way to Japan. I was not much more fortunate with my other introductions to the eminent Parsee Sir Jamsetji Jijibhai, and Sir Cowasji Jehangir Readymoney. Although the son of the latter magnate did call upon us and brought us an invitation from Lady Jehangir, we were unable to accept it owing to the shortness of our stay in Bombay. I understood that the Calcutta Races in December attracted a great many of the rich Bombay residents, and this accounted for the absence from their homes of many at that time.