Getting from Here to There in One Piece

Wednesday, April 15, 2010

Okay, so one of my students assured me two weeks ago that she couldn’t find anything about transportation in India for her I-Search report. Why do I find that hard to believe?

Conveyance is everywhere in India. People are moving constantly. Of course, everyone moves on foot to some degree, and people in India have some unusual manners of moving: A few women balance items on their heads, coiled fabric cushioning their burdens to or from local markets Others dutifully scurry behind stern-faced mothers-in-law. The manner in which men walk interests me: Many of the men who wear the traditional Kerala skirt unconsciously grasp the corners of their skirts tied securely to their waists, and pull them higher- probably to allow some air to circulate beneath. Women don’t do that – they must have better ventilation systems. Anyway, many men seem to be particularly fond of tying, retying and flapping the long corners of their lower garments as they move along the streets.

A faster way to move through the crowded street, and one that predominates the roads is by motorized two-wheelers. Motorcycles and scooters are everywhere. I understand that safety is important to the Indian “gumnt” as my friend calls it, so helmets are compulsory in India. Few citizens seem to have gotten the word. At least many times the driver sports a shiny black helmet, but rarely do I see the women perched sidesaddle behind wearing one. And I have never seen the small children sandwiched between Mom and Pop wearing headgear. They are just hanging on for dear life.

Speaking of…..autorickshaws are a slightly safer way to get from one place to another fast. These three-wheeled contraptions are the mice of India, squeezing their way through the tiniest opening in oncoming traffic, beep-beeping their presence and asserting themselves like kings of the road.

The cars are really the kings, though. Autos here tend to be new and small. The roads are filled mostly with Suzukis and Ambassadors. What a contrast: The tiny, shiny Suzukis are crammed with people and move surprisingly fast for their size and eensy weensy wheels, unless they are straining their four-cylinder engines to climb a hill. The Ambassadors, on the other hand, lumber along like the bathtubs on wheels from the 1940’s. Seeing one in pale green or white is all that keeps me from believing I have entered an old TCM film. The few SUVs on the roads dominate the highways. Most vehicles yield quickly for these high-sitting and high-fallutin behemoths.

Bigger yet and more intimidating are the lorries, or trucks, that press their way into the traffic scene. Colorfully painted, some with flowers and other motifs, these trucks are the key to commerce in India. Filled with jackfruit from local farmers headed to the big cities or crammed with formerly wandering cattle gathered and headed for the slaughterhouse, these giant vehicles lumber along the streets and highways, constantly being skirted by the faster, smaller vehicles competing for every inch of the road.

The buses are the most competitive of all the vehicles, though. Local buses compete with government buses and bus companies. The system is a bit confusing to the newcomer, but all drivers share a common goal: Make money. Paid by the hour and by the number of passengers, bus drivers strive to reach their destinations even a minute or two earlier, so they can attract more passengers than their competitors. Free enterprise/ supply and demand is present and mostly healthy on the roads of Kerala. Passengers hang out the windows, probably to get a waft of fresh air

While many Indians us buses for their daily commutes, I understand that trains are depended upon by most working-class people. It is nothing for government employees to be re-stationed in cities distant from their families, so the faster conveyance of government rail service is vital to those who wish to visit their families on weekends or commute to work daily. I have seen evidence of rail service, six or eight tracks side by side underneath a bridge we are crossing, but few trains themselves. The two I have seen have had faded green or red paint and that rounded, bulbous shape reminiscent of the 1940’s. They sway from side to side as they make their way to the next station- no bullet trains here.

By far, the best way to travel is not by train or auto rickshaw, but by auto with a driver. My host does not drive, and who could blame her? If a driver could possible determine where to aim the auto in a roadway system without lane markers, the bigger problem would be one of assertion and risk. It takes a brave man to penetrate the vehicular fray. It also takes a fearless thumb, one that is willing, even eager, to use the horn at least twice per block.

That is not to say that it takes a cowardly heart to be a passenger. Anyone who enters into the streets of India by nature is either very brave … or very stupid. I suspect the stupid ones do not live to tell about their attempt. A wise passenger quickly develops a small arsenal of coping devices, such as small gasps or firm grips on the seat cushion, abandoning any comment or even shaking of the head in amazement, as these reactions would simply be too exhausting or frightening to keep up throughout a ten-minute ride. Experience has shown me that the best coping mechanism is to engage in interesting conversation or to read a newspaper- this best when in a large city, as these actions will completely engross one and keep the perils at bay, at least in one’s head.

Over the past ten days, we have had three different drivers, all of whom were exceedingly competent, avoiding numerous near impacts and a few harrowingly close calls. Each of them wants to continue his education, knowing that being a driver is one of the best occupations achievable without that Standard X diploma and proficiency in English. I am grateful for their proficiency in navigating the roads of India. Without their highly developed spatial intelligence and expertise in intuiting the rules of the road, Rugmini and I would be completely dead in the water.