August 28: Transportation

I took a rickshaw into town by myself today to do an errand, and then had to get into another one to get to the BMS campus for the symposium. It was my first outing all alone (I have to admit that I, um, put the hippo into my backpack for company) but being out on my own was fairly uneventful, with the exception of the fact that the drivers don’t always know where everything is. The first driver pointed at a building I knew full well was not the building I wanted, but I got out anyway, since I was on the right road and I only had to walk a couple blocks. The second driver, however, took me to a completely different university, and I had to go through some lengthy descriptions to help him figure out where I was really supposed to be, way across town.

Being lost, however, is always said to be one of those things travelers are supposed to delight in (Oh – I just have to put an aside in here. I talked to a friend from Germany today who knew exactly nothing about India ahead of time, an experience he prefers when traveling so that he can make his own opinions. He will then go back and read about the country afterwards. “The better to get a culture shock,” he said. And a beat later: “I’ve certainly had one.” Now, while I refuse to read the backs of books ahead of time – this not knowing a thing about the place you’re going . . . wow. There’s a situation in which this girl is never going to find herself. All of which is to say I did, of course, have to take a deep breath and remind myself that it’s ok to be “lost” on a rickshaw, but then it became An Adventure and therefore Alright.) so I leaned back and just enjoyed the ride. I knew we were again on track when I recognized a huge billboard I’d seen on the first day: “Traffic rules are for your safety. Please follow them.”

Which gave me my adventure. . . I started watching the signs. Because the signs on the side of the road, coupled with the actual behavior of the drivers, now there’s a pretty stark contrast. One of my favorite signs is: “Buckle Up! It’s a law!” It’s not “the law” mind you. Just a law. One of them. One you might consider following, perhaps, if it’s not too much trouble.

Stenciled onto the sides of cubbies set at various intersections – cubbies wherein officers sit during rush hour to manually change the traffic lights, because the traffic is so bad that someone needs to oversee the process to keep the roads moving – are the basics like: “Don’t drink and drive.” They also remind one to please “not overtake on the left” – something that only the cars, if that, are following. There are far more motorcycles and rickshaws on the road than cars, and these weave in and out of the rest of the scene with impunity. “Please don’t cross the yellow line” shows up repeatedly, which would be of more use if the roads HAD yellow lines. I haven’t seen any. As it is, the weaving in and out of traffic regularly takes place on both sides of the street, oncoming traffic not withstanding. Just where that imaginary yellow line dividing the road is seems to be a fairly fluid construct.

I have to speak out against the “No Honking” signs, because how else would the other vehicles know you’re flying through an intersection at 90 miles-an-hour without even looking if you didn’t warn them? Thankfully many of the trucks have printed in bold blues and reds across their backs: “Sound Horn OK.” I am not sure if this means you should let them know if they’re in your way, or if it’s just a general suggestion, but they certainly get lots of takers. Also written on the backs of cars – i.e. you can see it when you are starting straight at its exhaust pipe -- “Please don’t pollute the air.” I can’t even begin to comment on that one.

My favorite of all, however, stenciled in large red letters on a piece of white-washed wood: “Accident area, drive slow” with a huge, red death’s head across the top. These aren’t merely accidents zones mind you, but areas being overseen by the skull-and-crossbones. Thankfully, my driver actually obeyed that sign, though I think this had more to do with the fact that we were going uphill and his Little Rickshaw That Could was having a hard go of it.

Regardless, I am still a big fan of the rickshaw. After asking other motorcyclists where the college was, we finally got there in one piece after a 25 minute drive . . . and I forked over $1.70 – including tip.