Not quite a New York commute...
So everything goes well here in Bombay. The five of us here seem to be settling in, or at least as much as you can settle into India. While I've mentioned to others that my experience here has been distinct in that it hasn't been nearly as harsh as my previous experiences with Indian cities in terms of noise, pollution, and most notably visible poverty, the truth of the matter is that even these seemingly lower levels don't neccesarily make the experience easier.
Living in a city in the West can wear a person down, I feel, and living in a city in the developing world, as opposed to passing through, is just plain hard, there's no two ways about it. The key, I've found, is to focus on the positive interactions that one has with the culture, and to laugh when you can. Attitude is everything, and a positive one goes a long way here. And so goes the story of my commute.
Commuting in Bombay is always an adventure. Whether it be the seemingly crazy taxi drivers that always somehow get you there without a scratch (though sometimes without your lunch as well) or the overcrowded trains with people hanging out the sides, getting anywhere here requires patience and little bit of city instinct that New York prepared me for well. My choice mode of transport here is the bus. I don't why, but I somehow find it charming.
Today, as I caught the bus going uptown on my way home, it starts to pull away (as Bombay buses are wont to do) as I grabbed the side handle, my body still fully in the street. I had been waiting pretty long for the bus though, and was not going to be defeated. I grabbed, I ran, and I leapt onto the number six bus as it yanked my flying body fully into the turmoil of a Bombay commute.
Mission accomplished, the hard part is over, right? Not quite. A half hour passes, and as my stop nears, I start to slink my way between people towards the front of the bus. Alas, I had not started early enough, and as the bus stopped I was still trying to politely say excuse me in Hindi to the woman blocking my way. My stop long gone, I wrangled myself right to the front door, trying to figure out what to do. The next stop wasn't for a really good while, and I was determined, like a real commuter, to avoid the pricey cabs at all costs.
'What would an Indian do?,' I thought to myself. As the bus approached a pool of traffic and began to decline in speed, I took what looked like my only chance at the slowest point, and jumped off the bus, hitting the ground running as did. I wasn't running fast enough though, as my momentum half a second later hurled me into a tumble in the middle of the street. So I did what any good commuter making the ultimate commuting faux paus would do, I made a quick recovery with minimal damage (just my scuffed jeans) and minimal embarrasment (just a couple of Indians laughing at the goofy Westerner), and determined to keep my attitude positive, smiled and walked on home. Lesson learned: just because an Indian can commute hardcore style in Bombay doesn't mean that I can. Till my next adventure, peace and love to all.
Living in a city in the West can wear a person down, I feel, and living in a city in the developing world, as opposed to passing through, is just plain hard, there's no two ways about it. The key, I've found, is to focus on the positive interactions that one has with the culture, and to laugh when you can. Attitude is everything, and a positive one goes a long way here. And so goes the story of my commute.
Commuting in Bombay is always an adventure. Whether it be the seemingly crazy taxi drivers that always somehow get you there without a scratch (though sometimes without your lunch as well) or the overcrowded trains with people hanging out the sides, getting anywhere here requires patience and little bit of city instinct that New York prepared me for well. My choice mode of transport here is the bus. I don't why, but I somehow find it charming.
Today, as I caught the bus going uptown on my way home, it starts to pull away (as Bombay buses are wont to do) as I grabbed the side handle, my body still fully in the street. I had been waiting pretty long for the bus though, and was not going to be defeated. I grabbed, I ran, and I leapt onto the number six bus as it yanked my flying body fully into the turmoil of a Bombay commute.
Mission accomplished, the hard part is over, right? Not quite. A half hour passes, and as my stop nears, I start to slink my way between people towards the front of the bus. Alas, I had not started early enough, and as the bus stopped I was still trying to politely say excuse me in Hindi to the woman blocking my way. My stop long gone, I wrangled myself right to the front door, trying to figure out what to do. The next stop wasn't for a really good while, and I was determined, like a real commuter, to avoid the pricey cabs at all costs.
'What would an Indian do?,' I thought to myself. As the bus approached a pool of traffic and began to decline in speed, I took what looked like my only chance at the slowest point, and jumped off the bus, hitting the ground running as did. I wasn't running fast enough though, as my momentum half a second later hurled me into a tumble in the middle of the street. So I did what any good commuter making the ultimate commuting faux paus would do, I made a quick recovery with minimal damage (just my scuffed jeans) and minimal embarrasment (just a couple of Indians laughing at the goofy Westerner), and determined to keep my attitude positive, smiled and walked on home. Lesson learned: just because an Indian can commute hardcore style in Bombay doesn't mean that I can. Till my next adventure, peace and love to all.
posted by Rafi at 10:31 PM
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