Incredible

 

As we speak, India is rushing by outside.

 

In time, if I am skillful enough,
I will at least partially convey,
to someone who hasn’t been here,
what an absolutely unceasing bustle of activity
India is.

  

The never-still throng of people, and motorcycles, and cars, cows, water buffalo, taxis, and the thousands-upon-thousands of the three-wheeled “auto-rickshaws” run through the streets, swirl around the round-abouts, and pour into the neighborhoods like a great, rain-swollen river, rushing, jostling, bending around obstacles, and flowing on, doing anything but stopping.



Photo by Mark W. Laughlin

 Now and then, we run into our hotel rooms and hide from it for a while. But since, after all, we didn’t travel this far just to take a nap, we again steel ourselves, and leap back out into the action. Whether meeting or eating, or riding in the car, looking out the window, captivated by all we see rushing by, we can smell, and hear, and taste all that is happening around us. 

Worn out from travel, or work, or jetlag, we want to close our eyes, but cannot tear ourselves away from watching, afraid to miss the incredible that India is.

 

 



On the other hand, sometimes, there is quiet.  I am in Mumbai this morning.  I'm usually awake early when I travel, and this morning was pleased to hear the call-to-prayers from a nearby mosque drifting through the neighborhood at 5:00am.  Another thing one notices here in India is the birds.  They have one that is about the size of a crow, and though the sounds are different, the amount of noise they make is similar to a crow.  One can hear them calling, from various treetops nearby, making clear to all just exactly who owns those trees.

 

Photo by Mark W. Laughlin

Goa

 

For the weekend, we moved to a coastal town, called Goa.  The Portuguese held it as a colony for 200 or 250 years, until the Indians “suggested” in the 1960’s that they leave.  They did.  Our hotel is on a multi-acre seaside site, full of palm trees, thatched roofs, and flowers.  Here too, the bustle continues. 

 

Our bungalow is near the pool, so of course the kids are splashing and playing.  But just next to my room is a grassy area.  For some time now, a raucous game of stickball has been going on.  Looks like maybe a dad and his brother, and several of their kids, nieces and nephews.  The group includes one particularly noisy little guy of about 6 or 7, cheering and calling loudly at every bit of action in the game. 



Photo by Mark W. Laughlin

But the noise isn’t irritating, it’s more musical...a melody of kids having fun with their uncles and cousins.  During a short rain shower, the game continued, as all are of course in swimsuits in this seaside, poolside place.  Of course, with the chill of the rain, and that added element to the game, the little guy was even noisier for a time. 

Their musical voices drifted around and through the palm trees, until like all little guys exerting such energy, he has eventually tired.  Quieted down temporarily, he will no doubt reemerge later, and play another, more distant part, in the never ending bustle, of India.

 

Horns

 

Of course, tires are important…and an engine…no motorized vehicle will motivate without a functioning engine.  But in India, no component of the vehicle could possibly be more important to forward navigation than, yes…the Horn.  Sure, in America, we use our horns too, but, it’s different.  If someone steps off a curb in front of us, absent mindedly, we jam on the brakes, and then we lay on the horn, as a protest, while we’re waving our arms, and shouting something about their mom. 

 

India is different.  There, when a driver sees a person, or another car, or a cow (…or dog, or water buffalo…) moving into his path, he taps his horn to say “…don’t do that…you will be run over and killed, most probably by me…”  It’s not a question of being angry.  There doesn’t seem to be any anger in it, for the honker or the “honked-at”.  It’s a warning that you’re coming…it’s a conversation between drivers, or between driver and “person-dog-car-cow.”    

Photo by Mark W. Laughlin

Trucks and busses even invite honking.  Many tucks and most of the “auto-rickshaws” have “Horn Please” painted on the back.  It’s an invitation, a suggestion, to honk if you would like them to pull over a little and let you by.  I’m not sure why they would paint it there, it seems to me that ALL Indian drivers are already familiar with the system, and are honking as a “polite request” to move over already.

 

This honking system of communication became known to me over my several drives through various cities in India, but no place more clearly that standing in the Pick-Up Area at Mumbai Airport’s International Terminal.  The people trying to get into the area to pick someone up, or honking to get the attention of that someone, or honking to say they are now trying to pull back out into traffic and leave, results a cacophony that is pretty difficult to ignore.  It even inspires some people to write about it.  ;-)

-Mark

Photo by Mark W. Laughlin