Living on the Thin Line

The thin line between love and hate

In a relatively short period of time, what seems so abnormal becomes normal to our physical senses. Sight, smell, and sound become immune to dissimilarities of our sensual being. After this time when our primary senses have been on overload, our physiological senses become acutely aware of the new chaos that has become our surroundings. Where I’m going with this? I’m not quite sure. But I have a feeling it has something to do with trying to operate a cell phone in India. Well, that's what started my rant anyway. Then again, it could be something much more than a nation wide dysfunctional cell phone system.

It could have started at the airport where we waited 5 hours at the Air India gate for our flight to Bombay.
After multiple excuses about our failed departure, they finally confessed that the plane was broken and would attempt a flight sometime the next day.

More frustration comes when landing on the ground, with hazardous driving through out the country. Vehicles act as if pedestrians were gate poles, on some giant slalom race course. The crowded bus, overloaded truck, and motorbike are the racers. They don't want to be slowed up, so they just brush by those pedestrian poles, bending them without taking them out completely. Then again, I don't know if it is safer to be on the street or in /on one of these population reducing vehicles.

It's a dangerous, but common occurrence to see a family of 5 (or six if there is an infant) balancing without helmets on a single motorbike. A hard sight to witness, but we've seen too many busses slam into a motorbike, then slow down enough to see if the sprawling person moves on the ground. After movement is observed the bus speeds away, trying to keep on schedule.

When inside a rolling mosh-pit bus, you can find yourself literally cheek to cheek with a garbage picker. A modest and elegantly dressed woman wrapped in a silk sarree, has to hold herself upright by clinging her bum cheeks to your hip as the bus makes scary tipping turns. If you are awarded a seat you still have to shield your face, as there is no glass to protect you from trees and signs that the bus will graze into. But then again where else can you get so close and personal except, in sharing a life threatening experience. We met many of our new local friends on our commutes to the city.

With so many new friends to teach us the culture differences, we started with trying to understand this thing they do with their heads. It's kind of like a wagging from the neck up similar to a dog's tail when you ask him if he's been in the garbage or wants to go for a walk? Completely non-communicating to us, it replaces the Indian words for yes, no or sure. We are left to interpret each 'wag' as we see fit. It can be very confusing as this side to side motion, is recognised in most languages as a definite 'no.'
This is especially frustrating when standing on a train platform in the middle of the night trying to get a simple yes or no answer. When asking the conductor if the train in front of us is bound for our destination, all we get a 'wag.' "Is this train is going to Goa?"- Wag! "Get on train?" -Wag! "No?"- Wag! "Yes?"- Wag! You have 1-2 minutes to make a decision and push through a crowd to leap on the moving train while weighted awkwardly with your luggage. The train goes somewhere, and anywhere is better than being stuck in a dodgy train station.

The train themselves are quite cheap and luxurious compared to other modes of commuting. Even if it's a dirty second-class non-air condition carriage, there is usually a place to rest your weary body. Sometimes you have to kick a nice poor family out of your pre-paid seat, but remember... Even a lion, must run faster than the slowest dear to survive in India.

Travelling on a train, is our favorite and a relaxing way to see India. It's like having a big screen travel channel in front of you with Sally Struthers, "Save the Children" infomercials going by. Except, playing a part of this reality show, is where the overload of primary senses begins to take over.

The travel channel doesn't show you the real squaller that people live in either. This screen comes full-color, with high-definition smells of the garbage pits as children pick through looking for their next meal. Out of necessity, the rails are used as open toilets for the slums and this is when you'd like to have a remote to change the 'Chanel Eau De Toilette.'

There's more to the Reality Train, than Survivor episodes. There are also stunning sights to behold as the train rolls through varying landscapes with plunging waterfalls, green rice paddies, palm lined beaches and quaint family farms. But ultimately, we always arrive at another destination city, full of poverty and despair.

Get ready for a full indulgence of the senses, when pushed off the train and immersed in the city streets.


The fragrance that follows your nose is distinctively Indian. Large markets sell incense, spices, jasmine, curries, sandalwood and coconut oils. Within a few steps you can be emerged in the good, the bad, and the smelly. The nicest restaurant will invite you in with fresh chai and masala, but once inside you'll find the sound of patrons snorting and hocking their mucus up, while at the dining table.
Some things we never grew accustomed to

Step out, but proceed with caution through the lanes of spewing toxic unfiltered carbon monoxide that burns your nostrils and smothers your lungs. There is no such thing as a Department of Environmental Quality, but this country of over a billion commuters has its own DEQ. The Devour Energy Quickly policy is coating the cities with unchecked pollution and congestion.

The noise pollution department also has a DEQ-Don't Exist Quietly plan. Every truck, bus and motor rickshaw have the words 'Sound Horn' painted on the rear end. The horn is the most important accessory on a vehicle, as it's used twenty times more often than the brakes. Sounding the horn can mean, "I'm coming, hello, I see you, bring me bread, or get out of the way."

There is no escape from the perpetual noise. Even in the most remote parts of the country, people have tied huge speakers atop the car, so they can drive around pitching their propaganda. You can expect to be awaken in a crowed city by roosters, holy cows or the blood curdling scream of a baby goat.

Before sunrise, miles of penetrating amplifiers reverberate mosque chants or church hymns in any of India's fifty or so languages. Try if you will, figuring out why in a Hindu temple, they would light an M80 bomb every 45 seconds? The different decibels of tones become so deafening normal that you don't even notice them anymore.


Except the few I do remember well, like the sound of a school yard, bursting in chorus. You can rely on a shopkeepers hymns, to put a smile on your face as you pass through the morning markets. There's also the soothing sound of a woman's song as she does her chores. Her cheery voice softens even the roughest days.


As a spoiled 'first-world-er' there are so many cultural adversities to overcome. I'm humbled by the people who can survive in this ancient, over populated, partially polluted, unjustly caste, democratic society. The friends that we have made will be in our hearts until the end of times. We thank them for showing us how to endure so many strange obstacles.

And amidst the chaos, learn to love it all!

"Pardon me, but since my primary senses went on overloaded, my physiological senses may have over analyzed the fact that my overpriced cell phone is under repair again. But thanks for listening anyway. "
-Brian