On the Road with Julie

Time to Read:

India is not a place where anything goes. It is, like any other country, a place filled with its own mores, rules, customs and regulations. But, with all that in mind, from the perspective of an American, being used to the things I am used to, in my short time here so far, there is sure a lot more that seems to be in the realm of possibility than what I am accustomed to seeing.

And, of course, just because I’m in the country of India, doesn’t mean that what I’ve seen so far, is a reflection of the whole country. Maybe some of it is, maybe none of it is. I’ve only seen portions of New and Old and South Delhi and the drive from there to Agra. Someone who has visited NYC certainly can’t make any sweeping generalizations about the whole of the USA or even the state of New York. 

With all that said, in the parts of India I have yet seen, here are a few things that have expanded my sense that I am in a place where, well, not anything goes – but, a lot.

Might you see a  person strolling alongside the highway casually chatting on his cell phone like he’s taking a stroll in the park (no stranded cars nearby, no looking around in panic, just strolling).

You might.

Might you see a handwritten sign on a piece of cardboard hung by a tack on the gated entrance to a massive national monument indicating in marker that it is “closed” for the day and need to peak in the gated door to find out from security that the whole monument is closed to the public today because there is a VIP inside?

You might.

Might you see a young man riding his bicycle on the side of the expressway…riding against the flow of traffic.

You might.

Might you see a couple of cows chilling out by the barrier splitting up a busy 4 – 6 lane thoroughfare?

You might.

Might you see a man cutting rebar with an electric circular saw, the orange sparks rising from its busy teeth as he holds the rebar steady with his foot – a foot that is clad in the flipping flop of a flip flop?

You might.

Might you see a man wander casually across the expressway at dusk and weave his way in and amongst honking cars to get to the other side?

You might.

Might you see three people crammed onto the back of a motorcycle, only one of them with a helmet…that he is holding in his hand?

You might.

Might you see a man in a large helmet riding a motorcycle with a woman in a sari casually riding side saddle in the seat behind him with no helmet, speeding along past you in the left lane on the expressway.

You very likely will.

Might you need to take your life in your hands everytime you cross a street knowing that every “crosswalk” is a game of chicken between you and whatever wheeled vehicle is careening towards you?

Oh, you definitely will. There is no other way to get across the street.

And my driver seemed to have an awareness of it all as he got a kick pointing out some of those things.

“Bike, wrong way on expressway!” He giggled, pointing and looking back at me with an entertained smile. “Not in your country?” He asked, delighted by what he knew was a certain bit of ridiculousness that was normal to him and probably not so to me.

The rules of traffic here appear to be survival of the fittest. The primary form of management between all modes of transportation as they navigate each other is neither lane lines nor stop lights, though both technically exist. It is intimidation and insistence. The car horn is not for emergencies only – it is for crossing paths and determining who’s insistence will win that particular moment. 

My driver said to me when we first dove headfirst into Delhi traffic, “We have joke for driving. Good horn, good brakes, good luck.” He said laughing as our journey began. I laughed along with him as I double checked the security of my seatbelt.

I know that not anything goes here in India. It’s a just a different set of what goes than what goes in the world I am used to.

At the same time, we passed through a toll road on the expressway where there were some kind of official looking men, not in police uniforms, but a relaxed navy blue linen looking ensemble. They were casually holding some kind of gun that was a good 1.5 – 2 feet long, just holding it by the head as it dangled casually to the side.

There are rules here. I don’t know what they all are and I am not interested to find out the wrong way.

I have already seen 4 men peeing outside in various public places. They were being discreet. Just not so discreet that I didn’t see them. 

I don’t mean to portray that public peeing is encouraged here, nor that everyone does it. I saw a man peeing next to a building in Florence, Italy too. I’m just saying, after 4 months in Europe, that was my one and only discreet, but visible incidence of public urination in the whole continent. I’ve been outside of my post-flight Marriott in India for less than 12 hours and my count is already at 4. 

Oh – make that 5. 5 people peeing. This time, I saw the stream. 

And being white and/or American here has some kind of either novelty or cache. I can’t tell if my skin color and/or country of origin has bestowed upon me a celebrity quality or more like the excitement of an exotic circus attraction or oddity. Whatever it is, it has definitely induced giggles and excitement by young folk that want to see me and take a picture with me. My driver asked to take a selfie of me while driving. “My daughter said, Daddy, please send me a picture!”. Then he called his family during the ride so they could all see me themselves. They didn’t have a conversation. He just called them so each one of them could get a gander and a smile at the white girl in the backseat.

As my tour guide took me to see the India gate, a massive, imposing piece of architecture honoring the fallen Indian soldiers in World War I, there was a group of boys dressed in uniforms from the school they attended, clearly there on some school field trip. One approached and asked if he could take a picture with me. I said, “Sure!” A bunch of his friends got in the picture with the kind of excited giggles that preteens and teens are wont to have when something novel has tickled their fancy. I have no idea if they were giggles of excitement or giggles of mockery. I didn’t really care either way. Happy to be the butt of the joke if it can bring a little joy. I caught another boy, standing about 6 feet in front of me and 3 feet to the left getting his picture taken “in front of the arch”. I could tell, from the way he was standing and a look back at me, plus the angle of the camera and the look on the face of the person taking the picture, they were trying to play it cool while using the angles to get a picture of the foreign girl. I smiled and waved at the camera to let them know I was onto them and no espionage required.

I am very aware that there is a whole context and experience going on here that I know a whole lot of nothing about.  

I feel more like a foreigner here than I have yet on this trip, and not just because, to get into the monuments, I had to enter through the line that said, “Foreign Tourists” so they could charge me 600 (about $6) rupees compared to the 40 rupees for the locals (about $0.40) .

India one of the few stops on my trip where, not only am I not here to study the language, I have not spent anytime learning or studying any language that is spoken here (other than English, of course) in my preparations. Without that linguistic intent, I have no way of forgetting that I’m anything but purely a tourist passing through. I don’t yet have a sense that I really understand what makes this place tick. How could I? I know that. But, studying a language in a place gives me the opportunity to peer just a teeny bit deeper into the heart and soul of a place, even though the reality is, even when I am also a student, I am still only a little more than a tourist peering into something of which I am not truly a part. Still, with the intention and effort to learn the language, so many bridges open that I am aware I am not able to attempt to cross here in my pure sightseer mode.

So far, I’m just here staring and gawking, and being stared and gawked at in return. That’s still a pretty neat place to be, and as good a place to start as any on the path to expanding my horizons and trying to see the world through different eyes and cultures.

I have 2.5 more days in India to see how much I can have a chance to grasp about this land that is, to me, so different and exotic from what I know, and in which I seem to be as much of a mystery in return.

Here goes nothing! Or, here goes anything!