Indian traffic – surrendering into the flow

The taxi I am sitting in on this Delhi morning on my way to the Ghandi memorial and the red fort feels sturdy, a hardy bulwark, the constant, loud honking is in concert with all the other vehicles, pedestrians, bicycles, rickshaws, tuk-tuks, busses, trucks, vendors. The ring road is well-structured, organized, manicured, somewhat predictable.  Then we turn into old Delhi.

A smaller road, commerce, businesses, goats being sold on the sidewalk, carried over the shoulders of small men and smaller boys, led through the traffic.  Men cross the street, indicating to rushing, oncoming cars to slow down – they do or they push other cars out of the way to flow around the men.  The men rush or slow down but never stop and they don’t seem worried.  I wonder how often accidents actually happen.

Then we turn into a back street, of course against oncoming traffic and I am being transferred to a bicycle rickshaw.  Now immersion really begins.  My driver is so hardy, so small, so tenacious, so sinewy.  He is right in the middle of everything bigger than he is, than we are. Motorbikes honk, busses stop apruptly and jump lanes in front of us, cars squeeze us in from both sides, hardly leaving room, just millimeters so as not to get scratched.  The traffic gets denser and denser and the variety of traffic participants increases. Now a camel joins, motorbikes, taxis, SUVs, more vendors and goats crossing.

At first, I feel so heavy, so colonial, so big behind that small driver.  I feel as if everybody is looking at me and judging me.  I feel in the way. Glad to be dresses in long pants and a conservative shirt. And, I feel so vulnerable but that eases. Then, I amaze myself, my feet are not pushing the imaginary brake pedal, I don’t clutch anything. Making sure no body part is leaving the imaginary boundaries of the rickshaw. Planting my feet very solidly.  I am relaxed, trusting whatever flows outside us, around us, to continue doing so without crushing us.  It has been this way and will continue to be this way for a long, long time.

I look around and notice so much.  The passengers in the bus are so crowded, carrying bags, holding on with blank expressions, the goat vendors, people sleeping on the sidewalk, some covered completely by tarps or cloth, some curled up without anything. A man is retching, another weaving his way unsteadily around broken pavement. Tourists are buying peanuts and cool drinks.

And then I just am, with this moment. I sit up straighter and my confidence sets in. It is what is is. This is not taking place for the first time – what a release to surrender, to yield. What enjoyment, a bit of giddiness, a bit of serenity.  This trip to and fro is more memorable to me, more etched into my being than any of the tourist attractions I am heading for.