A Bombay Mix for Ash Wednesday

As befits Ash Wednesday, it's a day for churches and temples. St. Thomas's Anglican Cathedral is a stately Georgian (1718) temple to Englishness, its walls lined with top-notch monuments to top-notch people. These include one who "died in the discharge of his duties against the Coolies" and Capt. Nicholas Hardinge RN whose magnificent monument (above) records his death while emulating his hero Nelson. But the church is more than a mausoleum: it still gleams from a recent renovation, the duster-wallas are busy polishing, and several people are deep in prayer in the pews. Well, not pews, but those elegant rattan-seated armchairs favoured by up-market Anglo-Indian Christians. The sanctuary is draped in Lenten purple, and I spot a poster advertising Sung Eucharist (with imposition of ashes) at 7.30 and vow to return this evening.

Flying buttresses, St Thomas's

Head towards the harbour and the Gateway of India by way of Horniman Circle gardens where I feed my last British Airways bun to the ducks on the pond. It now dawns on me why Mumbai looks so familiar. It's nothing to do with Slumdog Millionaire, which could be on another planet. Even the streets here are broad, uncrowded, clean in an Indian sort of way and with fewer beggars than Norwich (but with a lot of expectant dogs). It's just that so many buildings are larger-than-life replicas. 

Gateway (bottom right) somewhat dwarfed these days

The Central Library is a stretched, white-painted version of the National Gallery, St. Andrews (the Scottish Kirk) is St Martin in the Fields, the Prince of Wales Museum is Brighton Pavilion enlarged and brought home to Asia, the Royal Bombay Yacht Club is a Renaissance palace, and the Gateway of India is a triumphal arch on a grand scale with Moghul details thrown in for good measure. 

To Elephanta Island by small ferry, a one hour trip as it's about15 kms offshore, The Portuguese "discovered" the island in the 1500s and named it after a huge stone elephant they found guarding the caves. Such was the civilizing influence of Catholic Christendom, they proceeded to chuck the elephant into the sea and used the refined, already 1,000 year old, statues they found within for musket practice. Happily for us - and unlike the Taliban in our day - they lacked either the will or the skill to totally destroy the ancient and awe-inspiring statues and much remains today. It's now a UNESCO World Heritage Site (of course) and one that exceeds any expectations (it's said even Rodin was "struck dumb" by what he saw). I try to avoid purple prose, so just check out the photos.

Mumbai skyline

Inevitably I spend far longer than anticipated. I run (literally) the gauntlet of the souvenir sellers arcade (stopping only for a Jesus Saves 'fridge magnet, a bargain at 20 p - it is Ash Weds!) but still miss the "last" ferry by a whisker. It turns out that, despite all the notices warning of final departure times, there is a "last last" ferry after all), which brings me back to Mumbai just as the sun sets behind the Gateway. 

And so I creep into the back of St Thomas's a little late, if not last. My thoughts are with my fellow choristers in Wymondham preparing for the vocal challenges of Allegri's famous Miserere. St Thomas's has a competent-ish purple-robed choir (though they don't attempt the Miserere.) They sing Forty Days and Forty Nights so slowly that I this is how long it will drag on. I sing rather loudly in an attempt to speed them up (an old Wymondham ruse), but abandon this approach when people start to turn round and stare. The service is familiar, dignified and quite joyous, and I find it surprisingly moving. The lessons and sermon are hard to hear in the echoey acoustic with fans whirring and car horns peeping outside. Just when I thought I'd avoided any obvious gaffes (e.g. sitting on the "ladies side" - Indians don't take sides), it is time for communion. Too late I spot that most men have removed their shoes to go up barefoot, apart from one old man who has brought his bedroom slippers. Kneeling at the altar rails, I see the priest also is barefoot in the sanctuary. I feel a bit of a heel, but hope it won't harm my soul.

Sorry - ran out of time. More photos to follow. On train tomorrow.