this is normal – indian edition

In late April I made a post about common sights in southeast Asia. I even started, but never completed, a follow-up. But after 6 weeks and 2 days in India it seems time for an Indian edition.

This is a country where driving requires honking. This isn’t to say that there is always a reason to be honking, simply that there is constant honking. At times we can be driving along, seemingly peacefully, and the driver simply starts honking for no apparent reason. Other than, perhaps, that he feels he just hasn’t honked recently enough. The ensuing cacophony along every street is oh-so-special.

On the subject of driving, the right-of-way is very clear. Whatever is biggest has it. Everybody yields to the trucks, autorickshaws yield to cars, bicycles yield to everything… except pedestrians, for whom nobody yields. But you can’t forget about the cows. Yes, I said cows, for which everybody always yields. So as you’re walking down a busy street – in the middle of a big city, even – and you stop and gawk at the cows, you may get run over by a bicycle or honked at mercilessly by motorbikes, cars or rickshaws.

Did you get that bit about cows? They’re everywhere. In the villages, in the cities, on farms, on the roads, everywhere. We’ve come to the conclusion that if you are going to be a cow, India is the place to do it. People leave food scraps for cows, sometimes more than that. Despite wandering the streets, you get a pretty good life. And, since cows are sacred to Hindus, and some 85% of the Indian population is Hindu, nobody eats cows. Haven’t seen beef on a menu once. So basically, cows in India get to go wherever they want, eat well, get treated like royalty and eventually die happy after a nice long life.

Yes, this would be a pair of cows under a (severely) damaged train car at the Bhuj station. And why wouldn’t cows be on the tracks? At a station. Somehow this conveyed the prevalence of cows even better than a cows-on-the-street picture. But we’ll share some of those soon enough.

Throughout India, although particularly noticeable here in Delhi, are these handy “public conveniences.” You can find them along major roads or even in alleyways. Usually built of stone and tile, they are readily identifiable. If you have trouble spotting one, you can always just follow your nose. Ah yes, these would be public urinals. Very public. And very, very smelly.

Speaking of bathrooms in India, most people arrive with a fairly romanticized vision of the Indian railway system. Riding the trains in India is a must for any traveler, but it’s not the utopian world most people have in their heads when they arrive. Like everything else in India, the trains are a sea of humanity, dirt and culture. Learning this culture can be interesting and even quite enjoyable. Learning to use the train bathroom, however, leaves much to be desired. First of all, naturally, train toilets are simply squatters. All metal, so in that way they aren’t so bad. But the smell builds as the trip continues. Which would make more sense if there was a tank collecting your refuse. But that’s not how it works. There are signs asking you to not use the toilet while the train is in a station. Why? While, if you look carefully while the train is moving, you can see the tracks zipping by underneath. Because yes, the squatter merely funnels your waste down and out onto the tracks.

Speaking of tracks, you can’t go very far, especially near stations, without seeing numerous people on the train tracks. Sometimes they are from the slums that build up next to the tracks. Other times you just can’t tell where the people are from. But it’s as if there’s some sort of supernatural pull bringing masses of Indians to the tracks.

Then again, it’s not like train tracks are the only place you see lots of people. There are 1.2 billion people in this country. That’s a sixth of the world’s population. It’s a big country, yes, but not that big. Imagine what would happen if there were four times as many people in the USA – an extra 900 million people. There would be people anywhere and everywhere. Well, that’s India. You go into the small village of Rayan near the farm and loads of people are milling about. The small village – a nothing on India’s maps – has nearly 8,000 people. It’s no wonder that there’s no concept of personal space here. Privacy simply doesn’t exist.

Yes, let’s talk about personal space. India is a land of queues – lines – and you find yourself needing to form a queue frequently. So as you stand there, minding your business, waiting your turn, you suddenly feel somebody breathing down your neck. Or perhaps their belly is sticking into your back. Or maybe they’re looking over your shoulder, reading whatever is in your hand. This is, of course, if they’re not simply cutting right in front of you, jumping the queue.

There’s jft, waiting in one of many Indian “Qs.” This one is to buy 3 rupee platform tickets. That would be tickets to go out onto the train platform to meet a passenger.

Another harsh reality of India is its poverty. It isn’t always a stark image of poverty in front of your face, but as a white person, it’s impossible to go anywhere without encountering beggars, often a woman with her baby, a crippled person or a young child. Back home, seeing people asking for money on the streets isn’t uncommon – walking in Chicago you’ll find plenty of beggars. But in Chicago they hold their ground, hold out a cup, and if you walk by, that’s the end of it. Here in India, the beggars walk up to you. Wherever you are. And then they follow you. They may ask for “just one rupee,” or for some “chapatti (Indian bread).” They may tap you, hold onto your arm, or if you’re sitting down (on the train, for example), sit on the floor and hold onto your leg. As a general practice we don’t give out any money. For one, we don’t want to encourage the begging. It can be a nuissance, and at other times it can be kind of scary, especially for rIAm (there are also some creepy looking guys on the streets). But we also feel that any resources we have to donate are better utilized if they go through an organization. We will, at times, offer some extra food we may have, especially to children. But there’s no doubt that the poverty of India often, literally, follows you around.

One refreshing alternative to the above comes from a group of “women” comprised of cross-dressing men. Some of these men are gay, others simply cross-dressing, some transexual, some hermaphrodites and others eunuchs (yes, they’ve had their bits and pieces cut off). In any case, they all wear women’s clothes (usually saris) and mostly beg for food and money. But they’ll come up to you, clap their hands, put on a big smile and happy voice, proclaiming “give me money!” It’s rather funny in the moment, although the rumored possibility of getting a little “show” if you fail to produce any money is less humorous. In any case, it always seems to lighten the mood for us.

India is also a country of brilliant colors. Everywhere. Especially on India’s women. The bright yellows and reds and blues and saffron or gold or green, not to mention purples, cranberry and pinks – as if this were an exhaustive list of colors – are simply stunning. The rickshaws always stand out with a bright yellow top, and in many cities are further punctuated by the bright green frames. Seemingly wherever you look your eyes are filled with the amazing hues of India.

I would be remiss to not mention the Indian bobble head, though. Intially I thought this side-to-side and somewhat up-and-down (but on an angle) head motion always meant some variant of “yes” or “maybe,” but that’s not so. Maddening in its simplicity and yet complexity, this head motion can mean almost as many different things as there are Indians in this country! Sometimes it means “yes,” other times “maybe,” further still it could mean “no” or “I don’t understand.” Other times it could mean the person is agreeing or saying yes, but they really shouldn’t be. For example, we asked a rickshaw driver if he knew where Moti Mahal restauarnt was in Old Delhi. Naturally, he bobbled a yes, we agreed on a price and climbed in. Along the way he asked for directions no fewer than 5 times.

One thing that is completely normal about India that we will never, ever dream of complaining about, though are the mangoes. Becaue in India, not only are mangoes very, very cheap, but they are very, very good. Better than that. Better than any mangoes you have ever dreamed of eating. And there isn’t just one kind of mango, there are many. Around a thousand. And we’re doing our best to sample every one of them.