Few would have guessed a tea made of these seemingly conflicting ingredients could taste so good.
Mumbai is such a pot of Masala tea - with its potpourri of locals (Maharashtrians), Indians from other states, and foreigners.
Even time has collapsed onto itself in this crowded city - cows and goats grazing on grass alongside roads flanked by buildings from the Victorian era traveled by an occasional Mercedes or Peugot.
Mumbai is not part of India, one of my professors insisted.
I could see why.
Hotels, horse carriages and locals who go "Konichiwa!... annyunghaseyo! No? From China?" abound, gearing to glean that extra rupee from tourists.
But this, of course, is not a fair appraisal of the city.
Paint a better picture from my upcoming photos you may.
Or finish up your cup of Masala tea.
What's been left behind may be telling.
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