Delhi Commute

Hot, dry, dusty blazing sun and blaring horns are a feature of morning rush hour in Delhi . Every morning I venture out with trepidation after looking over my third floor balcony at the chaos below. Men stand in crowds on the corner waiting for work. They have got up from their sleeping places on the concrete places between the cars, three wheeled auto-rickshaws and motor bikes are stormed as people stop to find a workman for the day. The school buses and the pedal rickshaws pile up behind them blocking every possible space and good natured horn blowing begins. Occasionally a stranger is seen off by the waiting men in the same way that the chipmunks see off a rival in the tree. There is much posturing and chirping, arm waving and gesturing but no real violence.

Sometimes the parakeets, mynahs, chipmunks and crows join in the cacophony from the tree outside our house. How I value that tree’s link to a less urban environment.

I hail a green and yellow bumble bee (auto rickshaw) for my twenty minute assault on Delhi traffic. The price quoted can be anything up to 100 rupees. I steel myself to walk away laughing if the price exceeds 50. It usually does the trick and if not there will be another one along in a minute.

We hurtle along through the side streets and on to the main highway at what seems to be suicidal speed with no regard to anything coming up behind.

When we stop at traffic lights – amazingly they do that now in Delhi – I hold court to interesting supplicants. One morning it was a turbaned man in yellow and orange robes with a snake wrapped round his wrist. He proudly pointed and said “Snake.” When no donation to the wellbeing of his reptilian friend was forthcoming he smiled and drifted off into the heaving mass. Often young children come up begging and that is hard to ignore. Everyday for a week I have given away my plastic water bottle with remnants of water in it. These scruffy urchins may be part of a begging gang or may be just unfortunate homeless souls. The problem is to know which; also it is technically illegal in Delhi to give to those who beg in the traffic. Eventually I have resorted to making joking faces at the more persistent ones and we have tongue sticking out competitions. It does make me wonder about working in a pleasant office with fans, cool water on tap and hot sweet Indian tea delivered to my desk in the Deaf Way Foundation.

Cows, Delhi ’s famous, revered residents, are another of the traffic hazards, good naturedly slalomed past by speeding trucks, buses, cars, motor bikes and bumble bees.

At one point in my journey I searched for a glimpse of Cinderella as a coach and six white horses appeared from a side street. No Cinderella inside just some mysterious packages. Another of the daily puzzles.

Water being poured in a steady stream from a silvery container caught my eye. The sun glinting through the stream revealed a saree clad woman praying to her household god. I watched in fascination as she clasped her hand in a greeting and then turned round three times on the spot before disappearing back into her house.

Hot, dusty, tiring and dirty but daily something new and fascinating to compensate.

At least I don’t have to catch the bus like Allan. He has about one hour each way to his office but he does have air con in it so doesn’t have to work in 40 degree temperatures. Pluses and minuses on everything.