Thoughts from Meghalaya state, in the mountains. My random
thoughts from our visit.
We arrived at the airport in Guwahati. Stepping out of the
airport into the morning air, the experience immediately reminded me of a trip
to Miami in June (friend’s birthday, we were not crazy). The air was heavy and
muggy, the countryside a lush green. I thought that we were going to the
“Northeast”, with an emphasis on north. However, I failed to look at my map. We
were at about the same latitude as Delhi (and Shillong with Jaipur). The big
difference lay in the fact that this place receives rain, a lot of rain, unlike
arid Jaipur (until the arrival of the monsoon).
Our trip took us south into the hills and then mountains of
Meghalaya (we’d landed in Assam). The winding around mountains magnify the joys
of Indian road travel, as you can imagine. I also note that we come upon road
improvements here and there, as if it’s one never-ending project. Between the
projects to widen the road, we travel over road that often badly needs
elementary repairs. The sides of the mountains frequently collapse, as the
engineers and builders seem to ignore that fact that this might happen. We
later learn that this is significant earthquake country, and I shudder at the
thought of those roads when a quake hits. There will be lots of red clay and
heavy rocks where people won’t want them.
Shillong is one of those three-dimensional cities with as
much going up and down and over and across. It’s disorienting to a guy who
thought the hill north of Shen on Highway 59 was quite the vista. (Well, I
still enjoy it.) However, much more than the hills or the greenery, the
multi-ethnicity of the city grabbed my attention. With Bangladesh and the “cow
belt” of India to the south, and Assam and Bhutan to the north, into the
Himalayas, one sees a real mix of people here. The diversity here is much
greater than what I see in Jaipur, by far. Interestingly, English is the
official language here, only one of three states in India where this is true.
Shillong was a British hill station that allowed the Brits to escape the
sweltering temperatures of the Indian plains to the southwest and the heat and
humidity of the Ganges delta around Kolkata (Calcutta). This accounts for the
strong linguistic presence of English here, but I assume that the linguistic
diversity that accompanies the ethnic diversity also creates a strong case for
English as the lingua franca (a bone the French).
Dinner last night with C’s host colleague proved
interesting. A member of the Khasi ethnic group, she strongly identified with
the Khasi culture, and she’s also an active Presbyterian (among Brits, the
Scots seemed to have the greatest presence in this area). It appears that the
Khasi people may have a relation to the peoples of Laos. Our hostess traveled
and worked in Cambodia and others countries in Southeast Asia, and she noted
many similarities. She bears a physical likeness to those peoples. We in the
U.S., at least among most whites, have only a loose sense of ethnicity and no
sense of “tribe” in any formal sense. Here, these markers still play a role.
Locals don’t feel a strong connection with the rest of India because of their
different languages, ethnicity, physical isolation, etc. Indeed, I haven’t seen
any written Hindi here, and very little spoken (although many visitors appear
to have come from the south).
In conversation, what’s the biggest problem or challenge for
India? Here, as just about everywhere I’ve heard the subject addressed, the
answer is “corruption”. The answer here points to an expensive new mansion
built by the local Chief Minister (governor).
During our stay, C and I experienced a bit of a joy ride—well,
more like a Hitchcock ride. We’d gone to a different part of town for supper,
and we needed to catch a cab back to the hotel. (Cabs are much more common here
than auto-rickshaws.) After about 10 minutes of failing to hail cab, we finally
got one. But once in, his slurred speech and hiccups indicated that he might be
tipsy. He then proceeded to wind down the narrow roads with his lights and
engine off. C reminded him of the lights and he turned them on for a while
before turning them off again. I’m reminded of the scene in Hitchcock’s North by Northwest where Cary Grant
careens down a winding mountain road, heavily intoxicated and without brakes.
Ok, it wasn’t that bad, but still, an
experience I wouldn’t want to repeat voluntarily.
On our return trip to Guwahati, I saw something that I’d
never seen before: a dead, bloated cow in the road, stiff-legs up. It’s
noteworthy for two reasons. First, I’ve been surprised that we don’t see this
all of the time with the number of cows that we have roaming streets and roads
here (Jaipur) in the cow belt. Cows on the road are like other vehicles, and
probably considered by drivers as no less rational or predictable than their
fellow drivers. Second, I can’t imagine a dead cow allowed to remain anywhere
to bloat in the middle of a busy public road. If live cows are a challenge,
dead ones in the middle of road are no less—and perhaps are a greater—hazard than
live cows. It reinforces my perception that a lack of public authority and
service (like dead animal removal) is sorely lacking in most of the country.
C has posted some wonderful photos, including a couple of great
photos from Cherrapunjee, where we enjoyed a beautiful but rainy stay. The
hotel where we stayed was new and in pretty good condition, but after taking in
the gorgeous vistas, there wasn’t much to do. The opportunities of greater
tourism are here, but it would require some planning and infrastructure.I hope to post some, too, but not now. Internet is down, even here @ home in Jaipur.
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