Here to There

There are many ways to get from point A to point B in this city, and how you make that journey most certainly shapes how you see and experience this place. Take for example, the auto-rickshaw. In this low-riding, open-air, three-wheeler, you feel every pothole, inhale every belch of exhaust from neighboring cars and busses, interact with every stoplight beggar, and haggle over the fare with each and every driver. The buzz of the engine, the sheer amusement of swerving in and out of traffic, and the personality of each auto is something not to be missed when visiting India, however, when I am riding in one with Kaia, I often wonder if I am committing some minor form of child abuse…or at least pushing my luck that he’ll not develop some acute asthma or funky rash. After any ride longer than 10 minutes in an auto and you’re tasting the Indian streets with each breath, wearing the grime of modern transport, and left feeling the bumps of the road. Usually Kaia responds to such rides in the most appropriate way: he falls asleep.

Another common mode of transportation is the ever present Ambassador taxi. Ideally suited for the Indian road, it runs in all seasons—from the monsoon’s flooding to the high temperatures of summer—and can be repaired quickly and cheaply by just about any mechanic. While you would never confuse the tight suspension and annoyingly low ceiling with anything luxurious, it is nevertheless a good way to get around in the heat of the day. But unlike the way that being in an auto rickshaw puts you in intimate contact with the road, the Ambassador is just a bit more separated. Dark tinted windows and the positively chilling air from the AC (not to mention the padded walls and ceiling, sometimes with flashing lights!) effectively shield you from much of what goes on outside of the vehicle. Beggars take less time to try to look in through the windows and you can hardly smell anything, what with the sub-zero air swirling around the cabin. Yet, the sturdy and resilient Ambassador is typically not well equipped for city travel with an infant. Kaia enjoys sitting on my lap and, when parked, playing around with the Ambassador’s dashboard and steering wheel, but the lack of seatbelts make it a poor solution for day-to-day travel.

Because we need a vehicle on a regular basis, and we have child safety concerns burrowed deep into our outlook, we decided to purchase an Opel Astra. I wont get into the crappy situation that we got ourselves into with the purchase of this vehicle (although, replete with adultery, deceit and swindling, it does make for good conversation over a beer), but for the purposes of this entry, it was a smooth, safe option that (at the time) made good sense. Now, with the purchase of this car also came a full-time driver with over 15 years of maneuvering the madness of the Madras street. A very kind and quiet man, Lingappan—or at least his ability to avoid accidents—reminds me frequently why I have no interest in getting behind the wheel in this country.

Perhaps what symbolizes more than anything the way that having a nice, private vehicle in this city does to your interaction with what is going on around you, is captured on your glasses, in the moment that you exit the car. After being ensconced in an air conditioned environment, with padded seats and a nice suspension, it seems far away from the visceral experience in riding in an auto rickshaw. But the moment you open the door, the temperature difference surrounds you and your lenses become as foggy as can be—you cannot see anything but blobs of color, effectively you are blind to what is happening around you. This is one of the tensions that you grapple with here on a regular basis as a foreigner who can afford certain luxuries far out of the reach of most Indians. For us the decision was determined almost entirely on Kaia’s safety. After crossing my fingers every time I stepping into an auto, to see him buckled into his Britax Roundabout, overcomes any sort of guilt that might creep in. Yet, this is not to say that it isn’t there. As I said to open this piece, how we get from point A to point B in this country says a lot about who you are. I guess in my case it I am telling others that I am obsessed with Kaia’s safety….if they only knew what they tell us in the States….

Why I Love this Time: Puppet shows.