A Potpouri of Thoughts & Observations

This will serve to download some thoughts & observations that I've been collecting in my head & notebooks for a while, and now seems a good time to get them out of my head & notebook and into the blog. So here goes: 

Motorcycles continue to amaze me. I have been searching for the best metaphor to describe how motorcycles behave in Jaipur traffic. My initial attempt likened motorcycles to water running down a mountain: relentlessly continuing without pause, stopping only when they encounter a great rock, and then only long enough to find a way to flow around the obstacle. Motorcycles hate to stop. They will overflow on to the sidewalk if the curb is low enough (much to my chagrin when I’m walking on that sidewalk), and they will challenge cars and trucks, always finding the least sliver of room to sneak into a gap in an attempt not to stop. Occasionally, they stop when faced with an impenetrable obstacle, but not for long, and those behind will surge around and forward.

While I thought the mountain stream metaphor was a pretty good description, last week in Delhi, while enjoying a dinner with Iowa Guru’s supervisor and her husband, the husband came up with an even better metaphor: ants. Like hungary ants seeking a food source, motorcyclists swarm. Like ants, motorcyclists are driven by purposeful behavior, unlike the cascading water. They just seem to keep on coming. In any event, I hope this gives you a sense of what it’s like with so many motorcycles on the streets of Jaipur. And, oh yes, they often drive down the wrong way to arrive at a more convenient place. 

Why do Indian drivers hate to downshift? On numerous occasions and with several different drivers, I’ve noticed this tendency. I’ve conjectured that they think it saves fuel, but I think it really just drags the engine. There are number of times I’ve wanted to shout out: “Downshift and goose it!”

Saris and curtas are still worn by number of women here, and they are a very stylish way of dressing. These clothes flatter most ages and body types.

One style that did puzzle me was that of young women who would wear blue jeans, a T-shirt, and then a scarf wrapped around their head and face, leaving only their eyes visible from the neck up. I initially thought this was a way for young Muslim women to compromise between a very modern look and a very traditional look. However, our driver (and our guide to Indian culture) informed us that this was not the case, but that was just the style. Given the amount of dust, smoke, and other pollutants in the air, it’s undoubtedly a good idea.

I’m getting a failing grade in Hindi. Well actually, no, I’m not, because I’m not learning very much Hindi and I’m not taking any lessons or a class. Why do I say this? The honest reason is that I’m a bit lazy, but it’s also significant that I can afford to be lazy. At Mind Merchants, where I work, everyone speaks English to some extent, from near perfection to decent. Iowa Guru has the same thing at her work. Our driver speaks English well. Our landlady and her husband speak almost as if they were to the manor born. It does get a little rough with some of the tuk-tuk drivers, whose English is very marginal, but knowing our home address, our work address, and how to point with our fingers gets us to where we need to go. I don’t know if I will rectify this. I’m kind of disappointed in myself, but this truly is a multilingual nation.

I must say am having old bit more difficulty than usual getting into the Christmas spirit because the climate and decoration cues that I normally receive are missing. The weather here is gorgeous. The highs during a day are in the 70s and low at night in the 40s, but by the time I’m up and out the door, it’s perfectly nice without a jacket because of the sunshine. The locals are describing this current weather as “cold”, but I just scoff. I have Christmas tracks on my playlists to help get me in the spirit, but nothing will help so much to establish appropriate Christmas cheer as their arrival of the two daughter units.

The Indian equivalent of Christmas was Diwali. Diwali was a combination of the Fourth of July (for the firecrackers) and Christmas (for the lights and gifts). I did learn from Diwali that when given a firecracker, virtually every Indian male becomes a 15-year-old boy. This infatuation with firecrackers is crazy. During the height of Diwali (which runs several nights), firecrackers went off as if we were in a city under siege. I mean M-80 & Cherry Bomb level firecrackers. (Readers of a certain age will recognize these designations; others just need to know that these create a very loud boom.) During some of the Diwali festivities we attended, I saw grown men running around setting off firecrackers with unabashed glee. I can tell I’m getting a little old and cranky because after a while, I thought “enough already”. However, here, they never seem to have had enough.

The one universal complaint in India seems to be corruption. I don’t go many days without somebody new complaining about some aspect of corruption.

While motorcycles are everywhere and quite challenging, bicycles are the real lurking menace No bicyclist here has any lights or reflectors, so when you’re crossing a busy street and you’re looking for those fast approaching motorcycle and car headlights, all of the sudden you will realize that a bicycle completely in the dark is almost on top of you. They are the silent predators. As yet, none has nailed me, but they do scare me. They are very stealthy.

You know that you've become a true Jaipuri when a motorcycle comes up silently behind you without honking (very odd), passing within inches of you, and you neither jump nor curse. I have attained that level of bliss--sometimes.