Driving in India is quite an experience, but I think I've managed to calm myself into a semi self-anaesethetized state whenever I'm riding in a car here.
After the first night's wild ride from the airport to the hotel, I tried to use the second car trip to figure if there was a "method to the madness". And there is - sort of.
But first a word about roads in India. I've never experienced anything like it! When you're traveling in it, it's like being in the eye of a kicked beehive -- motorcycles and cars and trucks and buses and rickshaws and bicycles swarming behind and ahead and all around, honking and beeping and gears grinding. And add to that a swarm of hornets shooting directly at you, in the form of more honking and beeping motorcycles, trucks, rickshaws and buses.
Our driver the second day spoke a little English and I picked up some 'tips'. First, everything is the opposite from us - you pass on the right - and that can be unnerving. And while it's even more unnerving that no one seems to follow traffic lanes, that's because it's next to impossible in the urban areas where a road is an obstacle coarse. Pot-holes, road construction, dumped garbage, buffaloes, and throngs of people.
Drifting was also common on the relatively open highway, but here I saw the driver --going at least 90 mph-- would always swoop over and halfway behind an overtaking car even if there was plenty of room to pass in the open lane, honking or flashing his lights or frequently both. This is so the driver will see you in his mirrors before you the driver move into the 'blind spot'.
After that first trip, I've been fine. Here's why - I think - No Road Rage. With all that honking and tearing and swooping and crowding, you would think the bullets or maybe the fists would be flying. Not so. It's a fact of life here - Get Over It.
I am starting to take small sightseeing trips in the morning before work, and I have the same driver, a slight, small guy with a little mustache who drives me in his white "tourist vehicle". His name is Krishna -- "Name-of-GOD!" with a stab to the sky. I point at things and he tells me what it is. I pointed at a Skoda car, which I've never seen before (looks like a Saab), and Krishna said "Volkswagen". I pointed at a life-sized gold-colored statue and Krishna said "political poster". On our drives, Krishna now points out "Hospital" "Mall" "Temple" "Police" on a regular basis.
It takes approximately an hour to get to downtown Pune and Krishna has to stop and ask for directions for the places I'm trying to see. I haven't mentioned my little trips to some people because I know they'd think I'm crazy getting into a car with someone who doesn't speak much English and doesn't know where he's going.
I think that's part of the charm. Taking a wrong turn somewhere, I've seen more of Pune than I might ordinarily. I just sit back and watch the neighborhoods and look at the buildings as they go by.
But I'll tell you what, Krishna is a very good driver. After we smoothly passed a truck facing down a squadrant of beeping rapidly-advancing Rickshaws on a two-lane overpass and downshifted back into the lane behind a steady stream of cars, I said "Good job." and Krishna smiled a huge toothy white smile.
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Sunday, October 12, 2008
Building the Future
At the company I'm working, I'm helping train four young people, three 'ladies' and one man. On the second or third day here, they asked me what my favorite thing about India was so far. I don't know if I quite answered their question, but I told them how I was interested in their architecture.
The buildings are interesting; I haven't figured out what I mean yet. It's really a second-world situation, where many unique or interesting-looking buildings are, when you get close to them, more facsimiles or imitations of the Modern - high technology in looks pitched together with duct tape and rusting iron. Peel back the glass and metal-paneled skin and you will find hand-kilned bricks and hand-poured concrete casts.
A current popular style, whether office building, hotel, apartment complex or school, resembles a sort of mid-century Art Moderne: Clean lines with clearly delineated geometric shapes for detailing, usually around the entries (triangles, circles, trapezoids), assymmetrically-placed square windows, an emphasis on the horizontal, with flat roofs and parapets or cornices with geometric shapes cut into them like swiss cheese.
At first I thought these buildings with their dingy and spackled concrete were holdovers from the 1950s and 1960s, only to see cornerstones with dates within the last ten years. Evidence of both India's explosive economic growth and its sub-tropic weather, a nearly new building appears moldy and cracks as if it has existed at least fifty years in no time at all.
I'm fascinated by the construction - which is everywhere. Teams of workers work the rebars by hand to create a shell of columns, floors and ceilings, and stairs. It takes them a long time to do, and they work from sun-up to sun-down, all seven days. Columns and walls are held by metal and those are also made to fit by hand. THen they hand-pour the concrete, and smooth it into place and let it dry for several days. Ceilings are held in place by tree-twigs, so thickly placed as to create its own impenetrable thicket. Scaffoldings, too, are of the flimsiest-looking, top-heavy and imbalanced limbs, held by twine.
Once the concrete sets, the concrete infrastructure is filled with brick. Brick wraps the concrete columns, fill the interior walls, and but for windows, fills the exterior walls between the floors. Building materials give off the feeling of perpetual damp - the concrete never fades from a dark grey and the bricks look a wet red.
Over the top goes the 'skin' - concrete or stucco skim. I'm particularly fascinated by the corporate headquarter buildings - how a bulky bunker of a building can transform into an airy confection by adding a glass, enamelled-panel and brightly-painted skin.
Being in this outlying village that is transforming itself overnight into a Silicon Valley, I haven't seen the type of urban proverty you read about India having since leaving Mumbai. By American standards, great proverty exists here too, but the shacks made from corrugated metal with earth floors and no water and surrounded by piles of stinking garbage are populated by the hordes of construction workers and their families. When I watch the men carrying by hand pails of wet concrete up the stairs, women squat by pyramids of bricks around the foundation of the future headquarters, tin cooking pots buried in twig fires, children chasing each other nearby.
"When we have asked others what their favorite things was about India," says one of folks, "They always mention the mountains. They did not mention the architecture." And they look at each other as if they think me odd. Which is probably true.
The buildings are interesting; I haven't figured out what I mean yet. It's really a second-world situation, where many unique or interesting-looking buildings are, when you get close to them, more facsimiles or imitations of the Modern - high technology in looks pitched together with duct tape and rusting iron. Peel back the glass and metal-paneled skin and you will find hand-kilned bricks and hand-poured concrete casts.
A current popular style, whether office building, hotel, apartment complex or school, resembles a sort of mid-century Art Moderne: Clean lines with clearly delineated geometric shapes for detailing, usually around the entries (triangles, circles, trapezoids), assymmetrically-placed square windows, an emphasis on the horizontal, with flat roofs and parapets or cornices with geometric shapes cut into them like swiss cheese.
At first I thought these buildings with their dingy and spackled concrete were holdovers from the 1950s and 1960s, only to see cornerstones with dates within the last ten years. Evidence of both India's explosive economic growth and its sub-tropic weather, a nearly new building appears moldy and cracks as if it has existed at least fifty years in no time at all.
I'm fascinated by the construction - which is everywhere. Teams of workers work the rebars by hand to create a shell of columns, floors and ceilings, and stairs. It takes them a long time to do, and they work from sun-up to sun-down, all seven days. Columns and walls are held by metal and those are also made to fit by hand. THen they hand-pour the concrete, and smooth it into place and let it dry for several days. Ceilings are held in place by tree-twigs, so thickly placed as to create its own impenetrable thicket. Scaffoldings, too, are of the flimsiest-looking, top-heavy and imbalanced limbs, held by twine.
Once the concrete sets, the concrete infrastructure is filled with brick. Brick wraps the concrete columns, fill the interior walls, and but for windows, fills the exterior walls between the floors. Building materials give off the feeling of perpetual damp - the concrete never fades from a dark grey and the bricks look a wet red.
Over the top goes the 'skin' - concrete or stucco skim. I'm particularly fascinated by the corporate headquarter buildings - how a bulky bunker of a building can transform into an airy confection by adding a glass, enamelled-panel and brightly-painted skin.
Being in this outlying village that is transforming itself overnight into a Silicon Valley, I haven't seen the type of urban proverty you read about India having since leaving Mumbai. By American standards, great proverty exists here too, but the shacks made from corrugated metal with earth floors and no water and surrounded by piles of stinking garbage are populated by the hordes of construction workers and their families. When I watch the men carrying by hand pails of wet concrete up the stairs, women squat by pyramids of bricks around the foundation of the future headquarters, tin cooking pots buried in twig fires, children chasing each other nearby.
"When we have asked others what their favorite things was about India," says one of folks, "They always mention the mountains. They did not mention the architecture." And they look at each other as if they think me odd. Which is probably true.
Saturday, October 11, 2008
I'm being watched - Food
I can't believe I've already been in India almost a week. But already I have somewhat of a routine - and people have taken note.
Since I am working second shift (2 p.m. or 14:00 to about 11 p.m. or 23:00), when I get up in the morning I have a leisurely breakfast in the hotel dining room, and watch the television and read the paper. The television this past week has been set to the Test Match, India's Cricket championship. The paper is the complimentary Times of India which is the serious paper, with a gossip-y tabloid-y type insert. Both are fun to read, and I will sit there for over an hour.
The hotel has a breakfast bar, divided about in half with American food on one side and Indian on the other. I've been there long enough so that they know I have a usual from the American side - "Eggs scrambled, Mr. Smith?" - and then I bee-line for the Indian side where there is usually something different every day to try.
"What will you try today, Mr. Smith?" the waiters say, and I will point to what I've gotten from the buffet. "Oh yes, that is very good," and then they will tell me more about it. I've really liked something called Parantha, which I'm told is from the North of India, and is very heavy and is "why Indians from the North are fat". It is close to what I would have called Nan from the Indian buffets, and I've had different varieties every day. You dip it in chutney or pickle. The favorite thing I've had so far in India is the pickle, which is so unlike anything I would ever eat in America. It's very tart, but mixes well with the Parantha.
Another regular breakfast item is "Idli", steamed rice patties, that you dip in this Lentil / vegetable soup thing. On my first day here, I caused a giggle-fest with the Waiters because I ate something called a "drumstick" whole. A drumstick is a reedy vegetable and you're supposed to cut it open and scrape out the "meat" - which tastes like peas - but instead I crunched down on the reeds and had to surreptitiously pull them out of my mouth. "Oh no Mr. Smith, I show you how." giggle giggle
Today another waiter asked, "Are you going on walk today, Mr. Smith sir?" which tells me there has been some discussion among the staff about my habits because how else would they know?
"Yes," I said, "I thought I would go see that building on top of the hill over there - is that a temple?"
"Oh I don't know," he said. But it was. I will write about some of my walks in another entry. And try to post some pictures.
Since this entry has been food-themed, I'll close by saying I've not had any food problems at all, and am finding most everything I'm eating tasty. The only thing I haven't liked is the fruit papaya.
Since I am working second shift (2 p.m. or 14:00 to about 11 p.m. or 23:00), when I get up in the morning I have a leisurely breakfast in the hotel dining room, and watch the television and read the paper. The television this past week has been set to the Test Match, India's Cricket championship. The paper is the complimentary Times of India which is the serious paper, with a gossip-y tabloid-y type insert. Both are fun to read, and I will sit there for over an hour.
The hotel has a breakfast bar, divided about in half with American food on one side and Indian on the other. I've been there long enough so that they know I have a usual from the American side - "Eggs scrambled, Mr. Smith?" - and then I bee-line for the Indian side where there is usually something different every day to try.
"What will you try today, Mr. Smith?" the waiters say, and I will point to what I've gotten from the buffet. "Oh yes, that is very good," and then they will tell me more about it. I've really liked something called Parantha, which I'm told is from the North of India, and is very heavy and is "why Indians from the North are fat". It is close to what I would have called Nan from the Indian buffets, and I've had different varieties every day. You dip it in chutney or pickle. The favorite thing I've had so far in India is the pickle, which is so unlike anything I would ever eat in America. It's very tart, but mixes well with the Parantha.
Another regular breakfast item is "Idli", steamed rice patties, that you dip in this Lentil / vegetable soup thing. On my first day here, I caused a giggle-fest with the Waiters because I ate something called a "drumstick" whole. A drumstick is a reedy vegetable and you're supposed to cut it open and scrape out the "meat" - which tastes like peas - but instead I crunched down on the reeds and had to surreptitiously pull them out of my mouth. "Oh no Mr. Smith, I show you how." giggle giggle
Today another waiter asked, "Are you going on walk today, Mr. Smith sir?" which tells me there has been some discussion among the staff about my habits because how else would they know?
"Yes," I said, "I thought I would go see that building on top of the hill over there - is that a temple?"
"Oh I don't know," he said. But it was. I will write about some of my walks in another entry. And try to post some pictures.
Since this entry has been food-themed, I'll close by saying I've not had any food problems at all, and am finding most everything I'm eating tasty. The only thing I haven't liked is the fruit papaya.
Thursday, October 2, 2008
Getting Ready
Testing testing this is my first post. I'm traveling to India for three weeks and plan to record some of my thoughts and observations here. We'll see how that goes.
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