J. Adam Huggins for The New York Times
Gandhi’s room is sparely furnished, nearly as he left it.
MUMBAI didn't give me a headache, but it sure didn't help. My skull was already throbbing when I arrived in the city once known as Bombay, but as I strolled around Colaba, the shopping and night-life district at the city's southern tip, the hyperactive horns, the Friday-afternoon heat, the rollercoaster sidewalks, the indefatigable vendors and the children pleading for change all made me want to sprint back to my overly air-conditioned hotel room and hide under the covers.
I was about to do just that when I stumbled upon the Modern Juice Centre, a little stand that sold fresh fruit juices and chicken shawarma. I ordered a custard-apple milkshake, and with the first pull on the straw, the throbbing stopped and my world expanded.
Around me, I could now see, were gorgeous Victorian houses and quaintly run-down concrete buildings, sidewalks shaded by knobby-trunked tropical trees, shopkeepers and passers-by engaged not in ferocious arguments but in cheerful banter. I was cured of my headache, and it had cost a mere 35 rupees (about 81 cents at 43 rupees to the dollar, the exchange rate when I visited in mid-April).
Just to be safe, I dropped another 30 rupees on a ganga jamuna (orange juice with sweet lime) and surveyed my prospects. I was planning to live the Mumbai high life, a weekend-long party of shopping, eating and luxuriating, and I was hoping to do it on a budget of $500, or 21,500 rupees.
Let's be honest: in a city like Mumbai, that's a phenomenal amount, enough to sustain a backpacker for a month or one of the city's seven million slum-dwellers for a year. The idea of blowing it all in 48 hours made my stomach queasy (no, it wasn't the tap water), so I'd arranged to offset my indulgence with altruism: Sunday morning, I'd teach an English class for the Bombay Leprosy Project, a nonprofit group that helps victims of the disease.
The challenge was not staying within my budget, but doing so while chasing luxury, a tough prospect in a city where a decent hotel costs upward of $200 a night, a culture of private clubs breeds exclusivity and opportunities for throwing money away abound.
Still, I'd discovered the Ascot Hotel, an ultramodern hotel well-situated on a quiet street in Colaba. My deluxe room had pale marblesque floors, free Internet and more space than I could possibly use. For 4,500 rupees a night (plus 10 percent luxury tax), it was worth every penny — or rather, every paisa.
After my fruit shake, I wandered up Colaba Causeway, which was lined with vendors selling everything from — well, just everything. In the span of 30 minutes, they cheerily offered me bangles, shoes, pashminas, flashlights, marijuana, opium, Lonely Planet guides (bootleg and legitimate), ear cleaning (uh, no thanks), girls, boys and a horse. A horse?
I weaved my way to Bombay Electric, a spotless boutique that sold 900-rupee T-shirts and 5,000-rupee silk scarves by trendy Indian designers. I left empty-handed, and made my way to Michele Boutique, a custom tailor recommended by a friend. Up on Michele's second floor, I gave the head tailor one of my favorite shirts to replicate, then sifted through hundreds of rolls of fabric before I settled on two bright but refined stripes at 900 rupees apiece. The shirts, I was told, would be ready by Saturday evening.
Afterward, I wandered over to the tourist-clogged Gateway of India, the seaside arch that mixes Indo-Saracenic architecture with British monumentality. Just behind the Gateway was the Taj Mahal Palace and Tower, a similarly massive hotel in the same style that symbolizes Mumbai luxury.
I certainly couldn't afford to stay there, but I'd arranged to meet two friends — Aditya, the son of an Indian steel baron, and Dave, an American consultant — for a drink at the Sea Lounge inside. My gin and tonic cost 620 rupees, and no lime!
Normally, the Frugal Traveler's strategy is to save on Friday and splurge on Saturday, but since I'd already cracked open my wallet, I figured I'd switch things around. So, for dinner, we hit Trishna, a well-known seafood restaurant. Aditya, Dave and I powered through spindly king-crab legs with butter and garlic, lobster meat in an emerald sauce of pepper, basil and mint, and Hyderabadi fish tikka. When the bill came, I braced myself; surely I'd be eating plain samosas the rest of the weekend. Instead, it was 1,300 rupees each, the price of two cocktails at the Taj.
It was still early, so we descended deeper into high-end Mumbai, popping into Busaba, a bar in Colaba so slickly international that I thought I was in Singapore — except a Tiger beer cost 300 rupees, about triple the price in its homeland.
Next up was Privé, a hot club in Colaba. It is members only, but if you say you know a member, you'll probably be allowed in. This was decadence: private booths floated in pools strewn with rose petals, and the men and women were not just beautiful but expensively beautiful. As a budget-conscious tourist, I felt terribly out of place, so I fled. At 5 a.m., Dave told me later, the Bollywood star Shahrukh Khan showed up. I was already asleep in my Ascot bubble.
In just one day, I'd spent 15,785 rupees (about $367), which meant Saturday would require some belt-tightening. Unfortunately, leaving my hotel took me again to Colaba Causeway, where this time the vendors had their way. I wound up buying two pairs of camel-leather sandals (850 rupees) and two boxes full of bangles (700 rupees) for my wife, Jean.
I also found “Ten Heritage Walks of Mumbai,” a new guide to the city's older neighborhoods (355 rupees at Search Word). The guide took me past the 1920s Y.W.C.A. International Guest House and the banyan-lined sidewalks around Oval Maidan, where Indians of all ages were playing cricket. But then I was hungry.
I knew exactly what I wanted. The night before, Aditya had been rhapsodizing about thalis, the vegetarian Indian meals, from Gujarat state, so I flagged down a black-and-yellow taxi and simply told the driver, “I want a good Gujarati thali.”
The Golden Star was low-ceilinged and packed. I found a seat next to a faux-Ionic column, and the feeding began: Waiter after waiter stopped by to fill my metal platter with curried chickpeas, spinach, spicy mashed tomatoes, a tart sambar soup, a variety of breads, tamarind chutney, mint chutney, a cucumber salad, a smear of chili paste, a pile of rice, a bowl of puréed Alfonso mango — any time I seemed to be making progress, another waiter would refill my plate.
“That's Indian hospitality,” the hefty man to my left said.
Cheap, too. With tip, the lunch cost 230 rupees. There was only one problem: I was so full I couldn't eat again all day.
In the spirit of frugality, I caught a 4 rupee commuter train to Mani Bhavan, a house where Gandhi once lived. Today it's a museum, with his room preserved nearly as he left it (i.e., nearly empty). Entrance was, unsurprisingly, free. As I walked back to the train, my phone buzzed with a text message: Dave inviting me to the red-light district with an Indian couple, Amit and Aparna.
Nothing illicit was planned. They were going to see mujra, a quasi-erotic dance (think belly dancing, not Scores). This mujra parlor was hidden down a back alley in a damp apartment building. In a linoleum-lined room, we settled on floor cushions as three overly made-up dancers in sequined saris gyrated before us, mimicking moves from Bollywood hits while musicians maniacally pounded drums and harmoniums. It was fabulous, weird, deeply unsexy (especially when I got up to dance) and fairly cheap: 1,150 rupees with a bottle of beer. (Dave and I split the bill.)
Saturday night ended early. I wanted plenty of rest if I was to teach the next day — in my new, perfectly tailored shirt, of course. But the leprosy project called in the morning: one of the students was sick, so class had been canceled.
I tried to assuage my despair with a hedonistic meal at Indigo, a Colaba restaurant whose brunch buffet would have shamed Trimalchio. But as I tucked into tamarind beef salad and sipped the first of many bellinis, I felt a little queasy. Yes, the room was cool, the tables populated by Mumbai's elite and the food delicious. But it felt too self-indulgent.
As I plunked down 2,000 rupees to cover the bill, I had an idea. I totted up what I'd spent so far: 2,541 rupees remained in my budget. When I got back to Manhattan, I vowed, that cash would go to the Bombay Leprosy Project. It wasn't much, but I knew that in Mumbai, it would go a long way.
Total: 21,500 rupees.
VISITOR INFORMATION
WHERE TO STAY
Ascot Hotel, 38 Garden Road; (91-22) 6638-5566; www.ascothotel.com; doubles from 4,000 rupees.
WHERE TO EAT AND DRINK
Busaba, 4 Mandlik Road; (91-22) 2204-3779.
Golden Star, 330 Raja Ram Mohan Roy Road; (91-22) 2363-1983.
Indigo, 4 Mandlik Road; (91-22) 6636-8999.
Modern Juice Centre, Arthur Bunder Road; (91-22) 2281-2457.
Privé, 41-44 Mon Repos, Minoo Desai Road; (91-22) -2202-8700.
Sea Lounge, Taj Mahal Palace and Tower, Apollo Bunder; (91-22) 6665-3366; www.tajhotels.com.
Trishna, Birla Mansion, Sai Baba Marg; (91-22) 2270-3213.
WHAT TO DO
Bombay Leprosy Project, 11 V. N. Purav Marg; (91-22) 2522-0608; www.bombayleprosy.org.
Mani Bhavan, 19 Laburnum Road; (91-22) 2380-5864; www.gandhi-manibhavan.org.
WHERE TO SHOP
Bombay Electric, 1 Reay House, Best Marg; (91-22) 2287-6276; www.bombayelectric.in.
Michele Boutique, 21 Shah House, Mandlik Road; (91-22) 2287-0116.
Search Word Book Shop, Metro House No. 7; 23-25 Saheed Bhagat Road, Colaba Causeway; (91-22) 2285-2521.
