Directing TrafficA regally dress policeman

The following is an extract from the travel book A River of Life: Travels through Modern India.


Mysore, second city of the state of Karnataka, is a pleasant city, spacious, undemanding. With its old-fashioned ambience and the unpretentious charm of its street-side life, it is the nicest Indian city so far on my travels.


It is also one of the very few I have encountered which has made provisions for pedestrians: not in the form of pavements - many cities have those along major roads, albeit in such a state of disrepair, or else cluttered by stall holders' wares, as to make them impassable - nor in the form of road signs - Kochi had had those, making it an easy place to get around, and Chennai and Calcutta too - but rather in the form of traffic policemen at the junctions between main roads and major walkways. The sore taxing of patience that springs from trying to cross busy thoroughfares and the thrill of taking my life in my hands are both obviated by these regally dressed fellows, who hold back the tide of would-be crossers with the upraised cuff of a starched white uniform, or a malevolent glare in the case of those massing on the far side of the road, until the time is right for them to cross.


There is one outside the Sayaji Rao Road entrance to the Devaraja Market. He is operating at a set of traffic lights, but he is vital nonetheless: without his authoritative presence, none of the drivers would have stopped for anything as trifling as a mere red light. Traffic lights, too, are something of an innovation: I had seen them in Delhi, Calcutta, would see them again in Bombay and other large cities, but by and large, there is no system of control in operation. And it is probably better that way. Rules can be a hazardous thing for the foreign visitor to India, especially if he knows those rules. At moments when preconditioning took over I would set out across a relatively quiet street, looking only in the direction the traffic should have been coming from, momentarily forgetting that cyclists, scooters, and autorickshaws depositing their passengers, are all entitled to be going along at the very edge of the road in the wrong direction. Two lane traffic is turned into four by these fringe vehicles. Even the relative safety of an autorickshaw carriage can prove hairy as the driver dodges about through traffic, not minding which side of the road he is on, or goes the wrong way along the edge of a one-way street in order to effect a short cut. It is the smaller vehicles which are the worst offenders, minnows slipping through the net of regulations. While buses and other large vehicles will almost always obey the traffic lights in large cities, cyclists, often pedalling precariously balanced cargoes through the streets, tend to coast straight through the red lights and sail round the corners. It is a commonplace occurrence. It is accepted. Only unsuspecting Western tourists are in any danger.


That is the trick though: to stick to the very edge of the roads, a no-man's-land where the rules are in abeyance, where the laws dissolve into suggestions and aren't flouted, merely ignored. When India finally catches up with the 21st century, perhaps some time towards the beginning of the next, it will be a much safer (if somewhat more sanitized) country to visit; in the meantime, it is perilous, hair-raising, made bearable only by the religiously-inspired hopeful acceptance of its people that infects the visitor with an ill-judged feeling of safety and security.



Go back...

Read the previous article about sunset on the Keralan backwaters.

We approach Alappuzha just as the sun is setting. It is a wonderful sight, marred only by the other passengers and their photographic gadgetry. The Japanese lady leans out of the window in front of me and spoils my view. Just as at the start, the effects of the light inspire me to set my pretty thoughts down in my notebook: a nacreous shimmer, carnelian-red splashes. I move to the other side of the boat, where the view, though duller, is more pleasurable - nobody is trying to photograph it.




Available for purchase now

Sheldon's account of his overland travels around India, A River of Life, is available for purchase now. Buy the e-book from Amazon.com or Amazon.co.uk, or the paperback from Amazon.com or Amazon.co.uk (also available in other countries, search Amazon for more information).


The first instalment, A River of Life, Book 1: Travels in the North, is available separately (e-book format only) via Amazon.co.uk or Amazon.com. The second instalment, A River of Life, Book 2: A Tour of the South, is available via Amazon.co.uk or Amazon.com.




Navigation  

Below are the main areas of the site.

Newsletter  

If you would like to receive a newsletter for the site, please fill out your e-mail address and details below.

 

E-mail:

First name:

Surname:

  

Contact Info  

Feel free to contact me, about the website, writing, academic English, life in China, or anything that takes your fancy. You can reach me at contact@sheldonchsmith.com


Sheldon C H Smith Website Copyright © 2012-present by Sheldon C H Smith.