Caution Hitting the Road Written by Robin Pascall

Horns sound, pulses of hearts beating, the rhythm of life in absolute constant melody that dare i say could even be described as peaceful.  This is after all my first taste of India, and I have not been here long enough to say whether road rage is in fact a thing, for the most part these horns are not sounded in anger the tones are as much an expression of existence required for those who take to the road.  It might in fact be a challenge, if not impossible for the deaf to drive a vehicle here. Myself, with all five senses intact, together with a former confidence of ability to drive abroad in chaotic places where rules of the road are mere suggestion would find no pleasure in attempting to drive in this land.  Speed is partially limited by traffic density and volume, but the moment road becomes available speed escalates, inches are maximized by all vehicles, pedestrians, bicycles, motorcycles headed fast in every direction. In this land a U turn, is more of an ‘I’ Turn as decision is made that ‘I, am turning here”, at which point the only option from both oncoming and descending traffic is an immediate yield.  For in this town airbags will not save the un-anointed.

We knew this before, as you patient reader probably do also.  The roads and driving in India are insane. My words can not really scratch the surface of describing what is common place here, even a picture, or film would not really portray what is going on, because its chaos from every angle, 360 degrees of ducking and weaving merging and head on avoidance the way ants navigate the colony the kind souls of Mumbai navigate the roads.  Everyone smiles and life goes on, for the most part.

Possibly there is a boiling point.  I turned my head after crossing one such road on the walking tour that was about to take us into the slums of Mumbai as Cynthia directed my attention to the man beating another with a very large slab of wood.  There had been a small disagreement between the two; difficult to tell whom was at fault, and the lashes continued with strokes wider than those of a common cricketer, and probably the matter had nothing to do with the roads or traffic, nevertheless it was unfortunate that there were not two slabs of wood available or an adjudicator as handicap was made reality.  The slab of wood was justice.

The police officer seemed uninterested as the SUV who’s driver mistook the length of an inch making contact with the heavy truck ahead.  P O L I C E were the letters on the fender of the motor bike of which the driver looked like just another citizen of the hundreds and thousands of citizens presently all blowing their horns.  That singular note the pulse, the blinking cursor that indicates all is well.

Some chickens crossed the road and I remember a few cows, barefooted children would run by and wave, exclaiming “HI” and some more confident would seek a handshake or high five.  A genuine sort of courtesy, that would for the most part be cautiously returned, but if engaged thoroughly might lead to a reduction of one’s own Rupees.

An astute eye would find men lounging in the back of box trucks atop a load of cargo titled “India is great” above the plate registration numbers.  Under the parked bus in the extremely busy narrow street the observant might witness the fine Persian rug laid out for the street kids to sleep comfortably in the shade of the rear axle, under the parked bus.

Travelers here must remove western notion flat road or the safety barriers that might warn of uneven pavement or holes in the sidewalk.  All the sidewalks are uneven, there are random holes everywhere, the probability of twisting an ankle is high. This however does not happen, the same god that saves collisions from occurring on the streets, keeps the machine oiled, flowing and functional failure here is simply not an option.

We crossed the narrow bridge over the railway tracks our walking tour party of seven where we paused for our guide to give a little backstory and mental preparation for what we were about to experience.  At the same time some pre teens tried to intimidate and engage one of our tour members who was clearly caught off guard, the situation dissolved as we descended into the ‘slums’. That however is another story.

Robin Pascall