by Jessi Marlatt
Cows have the right of way, donkeys laden with building supplies trot along, often taking up an entire lane, and motorbikes weave in and out of traffic. Blinkers do not seem to exist in India, horns are tooted as a warning while one vehicle passes another on blind corners through mountain passes.
“It seems like they are honking just to say hello,” said Cas Foste, 25, WSC Alum, upon arrival in New Delhi in early February. “I think the driver used his horn more during the 20 minute cab ride than I have in my entire life.”
Lanes mean nothing; cars drive with dotted lines straddled between tires. At times a supply truck will drive on the shoulder to pass a passing car.
“The only time officers ask for papers is when you hit something,” said Tope, the go-to man for Ramana’s Garden, referring to a driver’s license. His license has only been given to an officer one time in his life.
Walking is scarier than driving. Footpaths through neighborhoods have motorbikes speeding past. Stepping into driveways is the only way to keep from being run over.
Rickshaws, three wheeled taxis, clamor up steep hills with passengers packed so tightly that people sit on one another’s laps. There are no laws regulating pollutants put out by motor vehicles, black smoke hangs in the air after cars pass by.
“Anyone can drive as soon as they are 18, no classes or tests are given,” Tope said.
I have had my license since I was 16 years old—driving on the farm since I was 7—but would never dream of getting behind the wheel in this country. Drivers don’t seem to be paying attention, but there are so many obstacles that complete concentration is important.
Women in saris, traditional Indian dress, sit elegantly upon the back of scooter with both legs dangling off one side.
Monkeys and stray dogs run away from honking drivers as tourists scurry to safety. The streets of India are scarier than any extreme skiing imaginable.
Western State Writers Spring 2009 