KEY POINTS:
On the platform at Lokmanya Tilak train station in Mumbai a tiny beggar boy with club feet waddles up to me with his mum in tow. He's sobbing. After nearly three weeks in India, it's hard not to wonder if his feet were deliberately broken by his loving parents to make a better beggar out of him. The mother screws up her face in desperation and I give her some lollies that she barely acknowledges. It's money she's after.
We're about to jump on a train to Kerala in southern India for some relaxation. It will be a welcome respite from manic Mumbai, a jam-packed city of around 18 million people which is home to Bollywood, the country's finance hub, traffic chaos, teaming crowds, and some of the world's biggest slums. What a crazy, incredible place.
Compared with other parts of the sub-continent Mumbai has a more modern vibe to it. The men hardly leer at my wife Libby; many young women wear T-shirts and jeans instead of the traditional saris; and the restaurants happily serve you a beer with lunch. Plus, there is actually such a thing as a bar in this 24-hour city.
However, while India may have the second-fastest growing economy in the world behind China, the gap between rich and poor is brutally obvious. Our wee crippled friend at the train station is just one of millions with next to nothing living in this city.
The extreme poverty first hits you when you see the sprawling slums - an endless patchwork of corrugated iron, sacking, and dirty concrete - dotted all over the city. On our first day here our driver points out the area where more than 100 people died when the river flooded during the last monsoon.
In contrast, much of downtown Mumbai is all very smart indeed. Cows (that roam the streets and poo in other Indian cities) have been banned and so have tuk-tuks. And speaking of cows, you can even order beef - cows are sacred in India, remember - at Indigo, one of Mumbai's fanciest restaurants. Now that's progressive.
The food joints here are great - be it the kebabs, tikkas, and roti at the legendary street stall Bade Miya, a club sandwich and a Kingfisher beer at the famous Leopold's Cafe and Bar on the Causeway in Colaba, or a yummy pizza from the Pizzeria on Marine Dr.
But the seafood restaurant Trishna, on Ropewalk Lane, a seedy sidestreet in the trendy downtown area of Colaba, is the pick of the bunch.
I don't usually like prawns but after sampling their chilli and garlic variety I am converted. The King Crab in butter, pepper and garlic is their signature dish and it's delicious. It's advisable to wear the apron they supply because it gets messy.
By Indian standards Trishna is reasonably expensive, although $100 for four dishes and a bottle of wine is a bargain.
The shopping is excellent too. From the numerous emporiums, to the shonky clothes on Fashion St, to the junk on the Causeway, you need to set aside more than just a day to shop.
But for the real Mumbai, sidestep the many touristy monuments (like dreary India Gate), and visit the bazaars in the mess of streets in the Kalbadevi area, just north of Church Gate. Antiques, jewellery, records, books, and much more are on offer but you don't need to buy because it's all about the experience.
Start wandering about 10am as the shops open. Trolleys and trailers are laden with goods being hauled through the crowds, men are getting their ears cleaned on the crumbling sidewalks, and we are accosted by a mother whose baby is passed out in her arms. The child could be sleep-deprived but is more likely drugged.
The sights are jaw-dropping. It's bustling and hot, and a far cry from the haven of Colaba.
I peer down a narrow alleyway that runs with torrents of effluent and a little further on two men lie foetal in the gutter, flies all over their clothes, as if they are dead.
Mumbai, like India in general, is an intriguing place but with scenes like this it can break your heart 100 times a day.
Back at the train station the beggar boy continues to work the platform with his mum as we board the train for the 27-hour journey to the port city of Cochin in Kerala.
As we roll slowly away from the station the slums are within spitting distance of the open carriage door. Cricket games, played on dirt pitches, are in session and a group of smiling children wave to us. See you again, Mumbai. We'll miss you.
We're in a second-class, air-conditioned sleeper carriage and sharing a space with three lovely, older Indian women who are on their annual girls' getaway.
Barely a hour into the trip they are plying us with homemade paratha (stuffed bread), spicy lime and mango chutney, and a delicious sweet fudge made of nuts and grated coconut. Yum.
Outside, the slums of the city have been replaced by scenes of buffalo up to their necks in water, green crops of all sorts, people working the land, and villagers with a noticeably slower pace of life.
I see two men sawing through a railway track with a hacksaw. They are in no hurry.
While not luxurious, the train is comfortable and well-serviced. Reading, drinking chai tea, the occasional sweet and milky coffee, and snacking passes the time effortlessly.
The toilets - there's an Indian-style latrine and a Western one - are stinky even though everything falls straight on to the tracks. Travelling on Indian trains is, as Libby says, like hovering above the longest poo skid in history.
During a brief stop at Tellicherry station I talk to a Dutchman who's been travelling through China, Nepal and India for the past four months. He says the train from Delhi to Varanasi rocked relentlessly from side to side and he didn't get a wink of sleep. Our train, the Natravati Express, is like a cradle in comparison, he reckons.
Just before dinner I see a flicker of fur on the floor by our bags. It's a mouse.
I say to our ladies, "It was a mouse." They smile, and deadpan, "Mouse, yes."
We go to sleep in darkness, slightly disappointed not to see the coastline before we nod off. The old ladies are snoring and farting in the bunks beneath us.
Next day the chai and coffee men start combing the carriages at 6am. "Coo-fff-eee, coo-fff-eee, coo-ff-eee," croaks one of them.
Out of the window, through a soft, early morning haze, we are in an entirely different world. Kerala means land of the coconuts and it couldn't be more apt. There are palm trees forever.
We cross bridges traversing shimmering estuaries and the sea is the most inviting water I've seen in weeks.
After leaving the train in the port city of Cochin, and an overnight stay there, we drive for an hour and a half to Puthenangadi (about 120km north of Kerala's capital, Trivandrum) to catch our houseboat for a two day-two night cruise on the Kerala backwaters.
This beautiful area is a maze of interconnecting canals, rivers, and lakes that stretch for 75km from Cochin to Kollam in the south.
Lush greenery, coconut palms, tiny houses, mosques, and churches line the waterways and vast paddy fields of this waterlogged haven.
We have our own chef, driver and engineman on the houseboat. They are complete gentlemen and we hardly know they are there.
The food - everything from deep-fried banana, tandoori chicken and fish, to giant prawns and beautiful beetroot, cauliflower, and dahl dishes - is some of the best on the trip.
All there is to do on the boat is read, take in the scenery, watch the villagers' way of life, eat, and sleep. Oh, and because it's upwards of 35C, we cool down with a Kingfisher or three from late afternoon. This is as chilled out as it can get.
On the first night we moor near a seaside village with a gorgeous pink sunset beaming in from the Arabian Sea. We're in bed by 9pm both nights and the mosquito net is a saviour.
While you feel like you're prying, cruising so closely to the locals' homes, it's fascinating to see the villagers' everyday life up close - women and men washing their clothes, banging them violently on the concrete river banks; or seeing workers diving for sand in the canals, filling up their boats, and taking it away to sell to construction companies.
And the kids are great, even though they always want something; usually either a pen, empty water bottles, or lollies.
The backwaters are bliss. It's the perfect way to relax and have a little time to yourself in this crazy country while still getting down with the locals.
After the houseboat we drive to the seaside town of Varkala, a less-populated settlement than Kovalam (further to the south) and without the tedious razzle dazzle of Goa.
While the backwaters are unique, Kerala's beaches are just like anywhere else in the world.
But it's a tough country to travel in so there's nothing better than hiring a deckchair and an umbrella, and planting your bum on a beach for two or three days at the end of the trip. And that's what we did.
We also tried a few of the restaurants on the clifftop above the beach but even though we're on the coast there's nothing we eat in Varkala that matches the seafood at Trishna.
Enough relaxation, take me back to Mumbai for one last fix of nutty old India and another go at those chilli and garlic prawns before we fly out.
Checklist
Getting there
Singapore Airlines fly to Singapore 11 times weekly from Auckland and daily from Christchurch, then beyond to any of Singapore Airlines' and SilkAir's 15 destinations in the Indian subcontinent. From Singapore there are daily services to Delhi and two flights a day to Mumbai, as well as connections to Bangalore, Chennai, Hyderabad, Kolkata, Ahmedabad, Dhaka, and Amritsar.
See Singapore Airlines.
Getting around
Adventure World Travel can organise airport transfers, train journeys, internal flights, connections by road, accommodation, and Kerala houseboat cruises.
Further information
You need a tourist visa ($90) from the Indian High Commission which is valid for six months from date of issue. See Adventure World or Visit to India.
* Scott Kara travelled to India with assistance from Singapore Airlines and Adventure World Travel.
