02/25/2020
How this chicken crossed the road in Mumbai
The scariest part of Mumbai was not the risk of illness , terrorism or street crime. It was crossing the street.
With very few lights or stop signs to control the gush of motorcycles, small cars, three-wheeled tuk tuks and the occasional shiny BMW, I felt I was taking my life into my hands. I would wait for a break in traffic, look the wrong way because their lane directions were dictated by colonial masters, then grip the arm of my more confident companion Christa. Inevitably, when I was mid-street, a vehicle would come barrelling at me.
Christa would tell me to run, which I don’t do well at 67, actually never did well. By magic, the match-box car would veer around us, not stopping, and I’d make it across the street in one piece.
Days later, when we joined our tour group, we were told not to run. In their veering plans, motorists estimate your walking speed. If you absolutely need the car to stop, forcefully extend the palm of your hand and give the evil eye to the driver.
The mystery isn’t how a such chaotic system is allowed to continue, but how fewer people aren’t killed.
The system works because drivers indicate their intentions by honking. What’s more, drivers make way for each other, rather than aggressively compete.
In car-choked Toronto, honking a horn is usually an angry act. Get out of my way, as***le. Ignore the cyclists or pedestrians or oncoming vehicles and make the turn, old lady. Road rage reigns.
But in the parts of Mumbai, Goa and southern India I travelled to people paid attention and accommodated each other. Road chaos, yes, but rage no.
Sure, the Indian government has passed laws to quell the madness. With motorcycle helmets mandatory, many drivers wear them, but rarely the women and children seated behind them. Drivers routinely ignore the scant traffic lights and stop signs. And don’t get me started on the confusion of roundabouts, another British legacy.
Yet, it works better than it should. The traffic is orchestrated chaos, with the silky strings of flow backed by the rat-a-tat of horns.
The traffic was frantic not only in Mumbai, but almost everywhere. I would gauge its ease by the number of cows lolling on the side of the road.
Although they may not obey laws, Indians do abide by some rules of the road. For example, when a tour bus struck a scooter, the locals insisted it was the smaller vehicle’s fault because he was passing on the wrong side. Additional rules remain a mystery.
The other road problem is the pollution. The air was so thick, the skies so overcast, that I assumed there were no emission or fuel standards. To my surprise, there are. But it appears that most vehicles are too old to meet the greener standards. And an increasing number of new vehicles run on diesel, not the reformulated gasoline. So bring a mask. And a puffer.
Although most vehicles have seat belts, few use them, tourists included. When I first left Mumbai airport in a taxi, I automatically fastened mine. But when I continued to try to use them, or clutched the grab bar on the peppy golf-cart-like tuk tuks as they careened through sudden turns, my fellow travellers looked at me like I was not man enough to confidently handle the Indian traffic.
Take note that these same people, who included a public health physician and two nurses, could be downright paranoid about food and drink.
I knew better than to eat uncooked vegetables, unpeeled fruit and street food. Yet, as the vacation progressed, and I discovered my mild intestinal flashes could be controlled by over-the-counter meds, I took chances, unable to resist the peeled cucumbers on a boat tour in Kerala and figuring street food of Madurai was safe because the guide said so. I paid the price, but recovered quickly.
No lives were lost to diarrhea or coronavirus. But I swear we had some close calls on the streets.
Let me stress that India is safer than most countries in Africa and the Middle East. These countries, coloured in shades of blood red on this map from the World Health Organization, have been scraped from my bucket list.
Although few people were wearing masks when we arrived in Mumbai early January, many were when we returned at the end of the month. Coronavirus panic, also in Toronto. I’m sure the risks are much higher for traffic accidents. Yet, this is what struck travellers’ nerves.
I liked India so much that I’m planning to go back next year to see some of the sights I missed. The trouble is the tour I have my eyes on begins in Delhi, which has more accidents and pollution.
The good news is that traffic safety and air quality levels seem to rise with income levels. So maybe the burgeoning middle class will assure safer roads. Eventually maybe. But not next year.
After all, India is worth a few risks. And I’m too old to wait for change.
