When we landed in India, despite all the preparation, I found some of my senses invaded in a way that is hard to understand and explain.
People said that as soon as you land you will notice the smell. We have not found that at all apart from wandering past the local shop grinding spices with flour and the aromas from occasional eateries along the roadside. Generally the smell has not challenged us.
The thing that has got to me most is the noise. I remember back to Gate 43 at Changi Airport, Singapore and the volume at which people spoke. Well, take that 200 voices and multiply them by 10 and you have the population of the schoolchildren outside our front door. Add to that the 70+ staff members and 20 ancillary staff plus the morning and afternoon sound of three very old 60 seater buses (that transport 110 children each) and two 40 seater buses (that transport at least 70 each), with horns blaring summonsing the children for their trip home.
Get the picture – it is not like the dead end street that I used to live in at home in Brisbane.
Despite all this noise, it is the school ground which we have found to be a paradise. You step through the school gate and you have a narrow road (4 metres wide bitumen sided by 3 metres of dirt (yes that famous Indian Mega-Dirt) on one side and 1 metre on the other side. This is better described as an 8 metre racetrack occupied by large trucks, buses, large cars, small cars, autos (the small 3 wheel taxis), motorbikes, push bikes, ox carts and pedestrians.
In peak hour (4:00 am to 10:00 pm) there are generally four lanes of traffic negotiating this road. They use the tidal flow system which is controlled by bus and car horns to determine which lane is travelling in which direction. So as you stand outside our front door all you can hear is 2,000 children’s laughter and shouting being outblasted by the horns of the traffic – an incredible experience which strangely enough you get used to.
Across this 8 metre wide super-highway is a little shop that sells veges (half of which we don’t recognise), fruit and all sorts of useful stuff. I stand at the edge of the dirt with the shop only 8 metres away, beckoning me to come and see its wares.
Normally a simple crossing, but in India the old Aussie look-both-ways (right then left then right again) just does not work because the cars closest can come from the left or the right depending on the path of least resistance and which vehicle has the loudest horn.
I have not mastered the one person crossing yet but Lynn and I have developed a technique of working together to be able to cross any thoroughfare with a reasonable amount of safety involved.
In the initial part of my ‘horn investigation’ there seems to be a hierarchy of horns that helps this process. Trucks and buses have loud, monstrously deep horns, cars have similar horns to home, motor bikes have high pitched squeals, autos have a variety but most have what appear to be cut off bugles with a rubber bulb attached that sound like the apparatus that clowns use, push bikes have maintained the time honoured standard of the bike bell, ox carts have an assortment of bells tied to the ox’s horns (so they ring all the time) and pedestrians have no tidal direction change device and so are defenceless except for their native cunning and agility.
So it does not take long to work out from the sound just what is about to run you over, and this done, you can make your life decision by the sound.
My sense of humour longs for the day when I discover the push bike that has been fitted with a truck horn so that it can change the tidal flow of traffic. Also, seeing that pedestrians are defenceless in this ordered mayhem we are tossing up the idea of a battery powered horn to assist us.
I don’t think either of these things will occur because as in all things Indian, there is an order that assists all and the community seems to stick to that.
PS
I have learned from this that it is better to tackle difficult situations with someone you trust.
DISCLAIMER
Lynn would again like to warn readers re the truth of the facts quoted in this story
DISCLAIMER REBUTTAL
Gary maintains that the above story is a factual recollection of his time so far in India.
People said that as soon as you land you will notice the smell. We have not found that at all apart from wandering past the local shop grinding spices with flour and the aromas from occasional eateries along the roadside. Generally the smell has not challenged us.
The thing that has got to me most is the noise. I remember back to Gate 43 at Changi Airport, Singapore and the volume at which people spoke. Well, take that 200 voices and multiply them by 10 and you have the population of the schoolchildren outside our front door. Add to that the 70+ staff members and 20 ancillary staff plus the morning and afternoon sound of three very old 60 seater buses (that transport 110 children each) and two 40 seater buses (that transport at least 70 each), with horns blaring summonsing the children for their trip home.
Get the picture – it is not like the dead end street that I used to live in at home in Brisbane.
Despite all this noise, it is the school ground which we have found to be a paradise. You step through the school gate and you have a narrow road (4 metres wide bitumen sided by 3 metres of dirt (yes that famous Indian Mega-Dirt) on one side and 1 metre on the other side. This is better described as an 8 metre racetrack occupied by large trucks, buses, large cars, small cars, autos (the small 3 wheel taxis), motorbikes, push bikes, ox carts and pedestrians.
In peak hour (4:00 am to 10:00 pm) there are generally four lanes of traffic negotiating this road. They use the tidal flow system which is controlled by bus and car horns to determine which lane is travelling in which direction. So as you stand outside our front door all you can hear is 2,000 children’s laughter and shouting being outblasted by the horns of the traffic – an incredible experience which strangely enough you get used to.
Across this 8 metre wide super-highway is a little shop that sells veges (half of which we don’t recognise), fruit and all sorts of useful stuff. I stand at the edge of the dirt with the shop only 8 metres away, beckoning me to come and see its wares.
Normally a simple crossing, but in India the old Aussie look-both-ways (right then left then right again) just does not work because the cars closest can come from the left or the right depending on the path of least resistance and which vehicle has the loudest horn.
I have not mastered the one person crossing yet but Lynn and I have developed a technique of working together to be able to cross any thoroughfare with a reasonable amount of safety involved.
In the initial part of my ‘horn investigation’ there seems to be a hierarchy of horns that helps this process. Trucks and buses have loud, monstrously deep horns, cars have similar horns to home, motor bikes have high pitched squeals, autos have a variety but most have what appear to be cut off bugles with a rubber bulb attached that sound like the apparatus that clowns use, push bikes have maintained the time honoured standard of the bike bell, ox carts have an assortment of bells tied to the ox’s horns (so they ring all the time) and pedestrians have no tidal direction change device and so are defenceless except for their native cunning and agility.
So it does not take long to work out from the sound just what is about to run you over, and this done, you can make your life decision by the sound.
My sense of humour longs for the day when I discover the push bike that has been fitted with a truck horn so that it can change the tidal flow of traffic. Also, seeing that pedestrians are defenceless in this ordered mayhem we are tossing up the idea of a battery powered horn to assist us.
I don’t think either of these things will occur because as in all things Indian, there is an order that assists all and the community seems to stick to that.
PS
I have learned from this that it is better to tackle difficult situations with someone you trust.
DISCLAIMER
Lynn would again like to warn readers re the truth of the facts quoted in this story
DISCLAIMER REBUTTAL
Gary maintains that the above story is a factual recollection of his time so far in India.
Gary,
ReplyDeletemaybe you should get one of those clown horns so you at least sound like an auto!
Enjoying your blog
Alan J
just think of it like a game of frogger.
ReplyDeleteAnd I thought our street was loud chaotic!! How silly of me. Perhaps you should invite a few thousand of these folks over here to Grand Rapids to show my people in the hood how it is done :)
ReplyDelete