Indian drivers don't look behind...

That's what Peter told me when he was giving me advice about the challenges of bicycle riding in New Delhi. "They don't look behind." I didn't quite get it. I heard the words; I thought I understood.

But there is nothing like a first-hand, visceral experience to crystallize the intellectualisms into something pure and understandable - something that you just know. Like "Duh - now I get it!"

This is what happened when I took the wheel for the first time in India. We had been looking for a vehicle to purchase and I had gone for "test rides" as a passenger. But even though the price of taxis is probably as low as it can get anywhere, the desire to get out of the city and drive is starting to catch up with me. Also, taking taxis all the time does have it's drawbacks. Each time a new driver. Will it be "the Zen master" (quite, careful driver, never available); or will it be "grumpy old man" who only speaks Hindi and never knows where anything is; or will it be "Suicide Sanjeeb on Speed and Chew" a young driver who's naturally aggressive driving habits, amplified by lack of sleep and addiction to chewing tobacco, made it so that the taxi company never send him out alone - that is until he became our de facto daily chauffeur.

Alternatively there are other concerns in a driver so important that you may not wish leave to chance. For instance, will the driver have his pants on? This is no joke - it happened. Thank God my daughter still prefers to speak in French. As we were sitting in the back seat of the cab, Laodice piped up and laughed "Regarde maman, le monsieur n'a pas de pantalones!" After living in India for a couple of months you no longer questions these things - kinda like "Oh, of course, today is a no pants day." The reason is believe it or not quite explicable and, viewed from the "India perspective" not unexpected. It lies in the fact that the majority of these fellows live at their respective taxi stand under make-shift lean-tos and on traditional Indian farmer beds. Washing, cleaning and toilet facilities are about as sophisticated as they are in your favorite rustic camp site. And just forget about that "wardrobe space" - just does not exist. So what does a working fellow do when he has to wash his pants?

All this means that, cost of transport apart, there are other considerations that strongly favour (1) having your own vehicle and (2) a good, courteous driver - with a superior command of the English language; and (3) a pair of pants.

We are at step 1: getting the car.

So, our first test drive was on a Mahindra Bolero. A cheap Jeep-like vehicle with high ground clearance and a price tag that won't make you cry when the car gets its first nick, scratch, dent, etc. I say cheap because in addition to being inexpensive, it is cheap. Not luxurious, but all-Indian, easy to repair and supposedly rugged. However, the finishing touches are indeed "cheap"; the a/c only barely adequate and the radio probably not worth it - best to put in one's own. But then these are the reasons to take a test drive.

So off we went to test drive the car. The salesman took a fellow with us and he drove to get some fuel. Just afterwards it was my turn to drive. Now you have to understand that I've never driven on the left-side of the road. But that is really only a minor issue when it comes to driving in Delhi. You see, driving in India is like a dance of mutual adjustment and ego management - Brownian motion in action but not with molecules but with heavy metal vehicles, dancing in the less than perfect Delhi streets along with other vehicles, motor cycles, scooters, bicycles, motor rickshaws, bicycle rickshaws, tractors, people, horses, camels, cows, sheep, goats, elephants, donkeys (and I'm just talking about what I've seen in Delhi) - trust me - it gets "better" when you leave the city.

Of course what you can't miss, as a western driver, when you take the wheel is the fact that the side-view mirrors are folded up. This is so they don't get torn off by passing vehicles. Indeed on a "good" traffic day, two lane divided roadway (with a breakdown lane) fits anywhere from 4-6 vehicles across. I now know why the Indian's like the cars with sliding doors - you just can't get out of your car when stopped in average Delhi traffic. If there was enough space, it would be quickly filled with a scooter or motor cycle or whatever vehicle or animal would fit. Hence, the folded side-view mirrors.

The next experience I had was navigating in the flow of traffic. You see, unlike in Europe and North America people tend to stay in their lanes - a concept the Indian's refer to as "lane discipline". In India the concept exists but the practice does not. You find this out quite shortly after driving in the streets. This is where the mutual adjustment comes in - and it is awesome. What I mean to say is that Indian drivers are probably the most responsive and careful that I've seen. I'm not kidding. To be able to drive the way they do (i.e., no "lane discipline") with anything less than major road accidents is nothing short of a miracle. I know that all the cars are banged to hell, but would you expect any less?

Anyway, the point is that either Indian brains are evolutionarily adapted to sophisticated and challenging driving conditions or they are like the rest of us and they make sacrifices elsewhere. I believe the answer lies in the latter - they just do not use the rear-view and side view mirrors like we in the West do. Indeed all their attention is forward and to about 45 degrees to straight ahead. This focus allows them to successfully navigate in the "flow" (a.k.a. chaos) that is Indian road traffic.

As for the Bolero, we found it too "cheap" a car and kept on looking. And looking forward to the next test drive.

Trout Mask Replica goes well with India

It's a little after 11:00 am on a Sunday morning here in Delhi. I've put on some music to listen to whilst playing cards with the little one. Bébé Lily (one or my daughter's favorites) has been repeating for the last hour or so. As my daughter is now watching Sunday morning cartoons (OK they are 24-sur-24 here on the Cartoon Network). Yet another impact of globalization on our former cultural references... So, I'm now checking updating some photos, checking e-mails and wanting to listen to something different; time for a change...

I start to browse the Squeezebox web menu for the what music we have available. Unfortunately, since I've now got the system setup on a Linux workstation, I've not yet quite figured out how to get the library to be recognized like it was under Window$.

So, that means I have to browse the music folder for the CDs we have. I've organized our CDs by artist - alphabetic order. First page pops up and Captain Beefheart catches my eye. I have Trout Mask Replica. If there was ever a Captain Beefheart album to have, it's this one. Just ask Roger.

Anyway, I put this on and continued reading e-mails and getting photos in order. And then it happened. It slipped out of the air, into my ears and struck my brain. It was clear. If there was ever a place where this music "fit in" (if Captain Beefheart can fit in anywhere) it would be here - in Delhi. I can't explain it. I just know it. Like a philosopher who proves that a concept is innate, a priori, I know Captain Beefheart was made for Delhi.

15 August 2007, Kathmandu, Nepal

Kathmandu is a much cooler place than Delhi. Even though it is raining, I'm immediately attracted by the cooler temperature, the more human scale of things (only 3m people vs 16m for Delhi). The buildings are quainter. I have not yet seen one person urinate in public - and I've been here for three days. There appear to be lots of quaint little shops scattered here and there. And... The surrounding mountains (even through largely blocked by clouds) look inviting. Such in the initial impression of Kathmandu.

After three days, I ready to leave. Student protests are planned for the day of departure. We had planned on leaving shortly after noontime; however, our colleagues listening to the radio confirm that the altercations between student groups are heating up and it is decided best to leave for the airport as soon as possible...

We leave the safety of the office compound and we find police at intersections with rifles and canes. We move on further and the road is "blocked" with tires burning in the streets. There are lots of people in the streets - many with bandanas covering their faces; some are menacing passers-by and vehicules with rocks and bottles with an unspecified clear liquid inside.

We're in a convoy of three vehicules heading out of the center of town towards the airport - the most barricaded route. This is the big "au revoir" from Kathmandu.

As I see a rock hurrled at the lead vehicule, I'm hoping that we get out of the city without incident.

I'm also hoping that the flight to Delhi is not cancelled; otherwise we may have to return on the same route back to the hotel in the city-center to stay the night until we can take the next day flight.

At last in the safety of the airport, we wait... Flight delayed... Finally... we board... we take-off...