On the Road

If I taught creative writing, here’s an exercise that could daunt would-be authors: describe a complex dynamic system in terms that allow the reader to appreciate the seeming chaos that somehow ends with appropriate functioning. The system boggles that mind, overwhelms the senses, and seems to defy any sense of logic and order. You should depict chaos in motion. 

Well, I’ve given myself this assignment in attempting to describe to you, without graphic aids, how the streets of India work. And yes, they do work, despite my initial reaction that we would not survive 15 minutes of our first car ride in India.

Off to do some shopping, our driver, Sangram, is behind the wheel of his sub-compact Chevy. Sangram is an extraordinary driver in Jaipur because he doesn’t honk his horn every 10-15 seconds, which otherwise appears the norm here. He drives slowly down our lane, avoiding pedestrians and parked cars, weaving a path down the narrow lane, letting the impatient, beep-beeping motorcycles go around or past us. We come to the intersection with the busy main road, where he proceeds to turn left without stopping. I’ve yet to see a stop or yield sign in Jaipur, and here the norm is to enter the roadway as if you were entering I-80 via the on-ramp. No stopping, just melding. The other vehicles move to the side to let you in (while of course, honking horns at you). I’ve stopped looking for oncoming traffic by this time, as it’s not something that any driver here does, and what good would it do? Sangram gradually moves from the far left land (such as it is) toward the middle of the road, never signaling his intention or receiving signals other than an occasion hand-gesture (arm straight out doesn’t signal a left turn, it signals ‘I’m going to do something, figure it out’.) To our inside, next to the curb, a motorcycle passes by us, using the couple of feet between us and curb as his (or her) passageway. Motorcycles here seem like mice that can fit though even the smallest crack to gain entry into a coveted space. And they seem at times to swarm like bees. Of course, I think that those cyclists ought to be more careful because the cows, which are not frequent, but which are somewhat unpredictable, may be down from their perch in the narrow median to lay down next the curb, serene as statues. 

Sangram drives a bit more slowly than many others on the road (at least those that are using a gasoline powered vehicle—the pedaled delivery carts, tuc-tucs, and camel carts don’t go all that fast). We’ve traveled far enough now to have arrived at our first traffic circle, where the veneer of lanes has been stripped away to allow the pandemonium to fully display itself. The rule of the road seems to be that one defers to the larger vehicle, unless you’re on a motorcycle, in which case you find a way around everything. The traffic rarely stops but tends to ebb and flow like water running through a mountain stream, sometimes faster in the straight, wide open spaces, but slowing when other vehicles act like rocks that slow the flow. 

There are a few traffic lights, but they are rare and loosely interpreted. 

When we arrive at our destination, having driven on this side of the road (left) and some on that (the right), we have again successfully traversed the gauntlet. I no longer emerge from the car amazed at our safe arrival. In fact, now having been in India for three weeks, I have yet to see a collision! 

Oh, yes, adding to the confusion is the fact that they adhere to the British practice of driving on the left side of the road. The legacy of British domination of India is a complex and varied topic that fills books. However, on this subject I’m sure: the Brits did the Indians a real disservice by teaching them to drive on the left side of road. I say this even as I try to set aside for my American prejudice in favor of the right side (double-entendre intended).

Namaste