I have a car now. Yes, it's true. I have taken to seeing the city on many occasions through the frustrated eyes and the foul mouth (as my occasional co-passengers will testify) of a Bangalore driver. I can roll the windows down to save fuel and hear the hustle and bustle of this mad city; and I can just as easily shut it all out with one press of a button. I can also feign that I'm running late for work and take the car instead of my usual walk, cutting my travel time down from twenty five minutes to five. Groovy.
But wait. What's happened? My senses are completely absorbed in the mayhem that is Indian roads. I find myself unable to capture the snapshots of life I so easily catch on my daily route to work.
Last week when I decided to take that walk, I realised it's been over a month since I had chosen to be a pedestrian. The bus stop had transformed from an over-crowded corner with a few tea stalls to a spanking new covered bus stand. I'll give it a month before the tea stalls reappear. Yesterday, there was already a man selling chai from his bicycle.
And then there is the dhobi on one of the quiet, side streets with his pile of fancy clothes from the fancy apartments that I walk past. I often see him firing up his old-school iron with hot charcoal, and I can smell that familiar smokey aroma.
Also, I pass the construction workers working on the many new apartments that are spilling on to the sidewalks of Indira nagar. My heart aches as I watch a little snotty-nosed girl cry as her mother carries a pile of sand on her head. Her mother probably has nowhere to keep her. And I am instantly depressed.
My car helps me stay away from many things. I am wrapped in my Indigo FM (today's topic of discussion: how bad are women drivers, really?) and my occasional blow of air from the air conditioning (summer is approaching, you see). I am instantly privileged. And I am instantly shielded.
I really need to stop cursing one of these days...
But wait. What's happened? My senses are completely absorbed in the mayhem that is Indian roads. I find myself unable to capture the snapshots of life I so easily catch on my daily route to work.
Watch out for that cow on the left
Watch out for that lady crossing the road
Watch out for that bike about to ride off with your rearview mirror
WATCH OUT!
Last week when I decided to take that walk, I realised it's been over a month since I had chosen to be a pedestrian. The bus stop had transformed from an over-crowded corner with a few tea stalls to a spanking new covered bus stand. I'll give it a month before the tea stalls reappear. Yesterday, there was already a man selling chai from his bicycle.
And then there is the dhobi on one of the quiet, side streets with his pile of fancy clothes from the fancy apartments that I walk past. I often see him firing up his old-school iron with hot charcoal, and I can smell that familiar smokey aroma.
Also, I pass the construction workers working on the many new apartments that are spilling on to the sidewalks of Indira nagar. My heart aches as I watch a little snotty-nosed girl cry as her mother carries a pile of sand on her head. Her mother probably has nowhere to keep her. And I am instantly depressed.
My car helps me stay away from many things. I am wrapped in my Indigo FM (today's topic of discussion: how bad are women drivers, really?) and my occasional blow of air from the air conditioning (summer is approaching, you see). I am instantly privileged. And I am instantly shielded.
I really need to stop cursing one of these days...
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