The Road Warriors an ode to India drivers.
Greetings Gentle readers, it is time for a current report from the country of India. It has been at least two years since I visited this odd country. And I mean odd in a good way if anyone from India, who holds a grudge, is reading this. As usual, I am here on business. Why would any right thinking person come here except for commerce? The title of this piece is “the Road Warriors” because I am going to attempt to describe the drivers in this country. As worldly as I may consider myself, there are no words to adequately describe the horrendous traffic and congestion in India. There are just too many drivers trying to use too few roads in India.
Westerners should never consider driving here. One reason is that they drive on the wrong side of the road. This is very dis-combobulating for the passenger sitting in the front left seat. I keep trying to grab the invisible steering wheel and stomp on the missing brake to help my driver. My Indian driver seems determined to get me to my location with as little of my dignity intact as possible. He must enjoy seeing me scream like a little girl while he shoots the gap between an 18 wheeler and a stalled bus. The last trip I made to India we actually had a side view mirror knocked off in traffic. But these drivers don’t use mirrors anyway so it was not a loss.
There is no way to really appreciate the street activity without visual evidence of what is going on, but you will just have to use your imagination. A typical intersection might have four roads coming together. There are lane markers, and signs but these are completely ignored. If the road was designed for four vehicles across, then the Indian road warriors will make sure there are six or eight cars jammed in that space. And then motorcycles and bikes will fill in the tiny gaps. My driver is constantly shifting gears and honking his horn. He is the most dexterous man I have ever seen. He honks, shifts, steers and gestures at the other drivers; all while careening fearlessly thru a crowded intersection. The horn in our vehicle sounds like someone is strangling a goose. It must be effective because everyone gets out of our way at the last moment. Maybe strangled geese are worshipped in this country.
There seems to be some unspoken communication going on between all these drivers. I’ve never see a wreck but is seems impossible that with all the cars and trucks on the road that none of them ever collide. If I were poetic, I might describe the traffic flow as a symphony of movement but that would indicate planning. Or it could be described as a school of fish moving in unison. But that image would fail to include all the fish frantically swimming in the opposite direction with large barracudas barreling in among them.
To imagine what the traffic is like here you need to think in terms of a “Grand Theft Auto” video game type situation. And in India, just like the video game, it is every man for himself. My driver is determined not to let anyone pass him or get in his lane. It is a matter of personal pride for him to force old ladies, children and motorcyclists off the road. We’ve come within inches of hitting trucks yet he is as cool as a Zen Master. I wish I was so calm. I envy Fred Flintstone. I want to put my foot thru the floor to brake this thing.
The Indians who are the calmest are the pedestrians along the road. I’ve watched men stand right in traffic and text on their cell phone as cars and trucks zoom past them. Maybe they are texting a suicide note. But the champions with ice water in their veins are the road construction workers. I saw two guys today, standing in the middle of the road, turning some large handle which extended in to a manhole. The traffic was blasting past on both sides of them and neither bothered to even look. There were no caution flags or construction cones. But don’t worry. They were perfectly safe. They were each wearing a hard hat.
It rained last night and the water on the road has already caused damage to the “pavement”. My driver seems to know to avoid the water filled chug holes that are all over the place. They look like bomb craters. The “pavement” has been repaired many times and so there are humps of asphalt scattered among the craters. And there are speed bumps installed on purpose! in the roadway, about every hundred yards or so. In the U.S. these speed bumps would be considered Motocross jumps. My driver’s technique is to crawl slowly over the speed bump, and then accelerate like mad to keep anyone from beating him to the next speed bump. All the while he is darting back and forth to avoid the holes and slower vehicles. My neck muscles were aching from the whipping my head was doing. Who knew I’d need a neck brace and helmet for this traffic.
My driver speaks English but it is difficult to understand him. The common language here is Hindu. But there are about 127,000 different dialects of the Hindu language. I, of course, as your intrepid traveler, am fluent in most of them, if you count the ones that sound like English. But I am not about to interrupt my driver by speaking to him. He is having his Moment of Zen as he cuts off another 2 ton truck loaded with steel. Maybe it’s time for me to text out my last will and testament.
Westerners should never consider driving here. One reason is that they drive on the wrong side of the road. This is very dis-combobulating for the passenger sitting in the front left seat. I keep trying to grab the invisible steering wheel and stomp on the missing brake to help my driver. My Indian driver seems determined to get me to my location with as little of my dignity intact as possible. He must enjoy seeing me scream like a little girl while he shoots the gap between an 18 wheeler and a stalled bus. The last trip I made to India we actually had a side view mirror knocked off in traffic. But these drivers don’t use mirrors anyway so it was not a loss.
There is no way to really appreciate the street activity without visual evidence of what is going on, but you will just have to use your imagination. A typical intersection might have four roads coming together. There are lane markers, and signs but these are completely ignored. If the road was designed for four vehicles across, then the Indian road warriors will make sure there are six or eight cars jammed in that space. And then motorcycles and bikes will fill in the tiny gaps. My driver is constantly shifting gears and honking his horn. He is the most dexterous man I have ever seen. He honks, shifts, steers and gestures at the other drivers; all while careening fearlessly thru a crowded intersection. The horn in our vehicle sounds like someone is strangling a goose. It must be effective because everyone gets out of our way at the last moment. Maybe strangled geese are worshipped in this country.
There seems to be some unspoken communication going on between all these drivers. I’ve never see a wreck but is seems impossible that with all the cars and trucks on the road that none of them ever collide. If I were poetic, I might describe the traffic flow as a symphony of movement but that would indicate planning. Or it could be described as a school of fish moving in unison. But that image would fail to include all the fish frantically swimming in the opposite direction with large barracudas barreling in among them.
To imagine what the traffic is like here you need to think in terms of a “Grand Theft Auto” video game type situation. And in India, just like the video game, it is every man for himself. My driver is determined not to let anyone pass him or get in his lane. It is a matter of personal pride for him to force old ladies, children and motorcyclists off the road. We’ve come within inches of hitting trucks yet he is as cool as a Zen Master. I wish I was so calm. I envy Fred Flintstone. I want to put my foot thru the floor to brake this thing.
The Indians who are the calmest are the pedestrians along the road. I’ve watched men stand right in traffic and text on their cell phone as cars and trucks zoom past them. Maybe they are texting a suicide note. But the champions with ice water in their veins are the road construction workers. I saw two guys today, standing in the middle of the road, turning some large handle which extended in to a manhole. The traffic was blasting past on both sides of them and neither bothered to even look. There were no caution flags or construction cones. But don’t worry. They were perfectly safe. They were each wearing a hard hat.
It rained last night and the water on the road has already caused damage to the “pavement”. My driver seems to know to avoid the water filled chug holes that are all over the place. They look like bomb craters. The “pavement” has been repaired many times and so there are humps of asphalt scattered among the craters. And there are speed bumps installed on purpose! in the roadway, about every hundred yards or so. In the U.S. these speed bumps would be considered Motocross jumps. My driver’s technique is to crawl slowly over the speed bump, and then accelerate like mad to keep anyone from beating him to the next speed bump. All the while he is darting back and forth to avoid the holes and slower vehicles. My neck muscles were aching from the whipping my head was doing. Who knew I’d need a neck brace and helmet for this traffic.
My driver speaks English but it is difficult to understand him. The common language here is Hindu. But there are about 127,000 different dialects of the Hindu language. I, of course, as your intrepid traveler, am fluent in most of them, if you count the ones that sound like English. But I am not about to interrupt my driver by speaking to him. He is having his Moment of Zen as he cuts off another 2 ton truck loaded with steel. Maybe it’s time for me to text out my last will and testament.
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