Driving in New York made me proud of myself; hey, I made it here! It was sort of a symbol of success in general... you know, New York traffic is nuts, New York drivers are mean and tough, yadda yadda yadda, if you make it here, you make it anywhere, etc. Anyway, then I happened upon a memory. Of India. And I thought, Hey, New York is NOT the craziest place to drive in! India is!
I remember once in India my mom and I were trying to cross the street to get to a bank. Like a lot of streets in rural parts of India, there were no lanes, and lots of different kind of... mobile creatures/machines.
My mom held my hand tightly as we saw cars honk and zip on by, bicycles ringing the hell out of their bells, people ambling by, and scooters weaving in and out of the fast-paced two-lane road. We tried to cross the road, but a rickshaw threatened to mow us down.
We stepped back.
We tried yet again, and this time a bus came barelling out of nowhere (the real threat were the people hanging on the sides of the bus).
We stepped back.
We tried yet a third time, but an elephant lumbered by, sweeping its trunk across the road for spare sweets, followed by a crowd of chattering children chasing after it.
We stepped back breathlessly.
Finally, my dad actually went into the middle of the road, held up both hands, and STOPPED traffic for us! I have no idea why drivers and animals would obey a little bald man waving both hands furiously in the middle of a busy intersection- but they did. Maybe they thought he was a wacko. And so my mother and I crossed the road, like first-World spoilt royalty. Which, I admit, I am. =)
Anyway, the simple act of crossing the street astounded my American mind. Driving in India requires a special talent that I doubt I have....
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