Ok, so I know it's been a while, but suddenly I've had so much to write about that obviously I haven't written about any of it. Tomorrow is India's Republic Day (when the constitution came into effect), and as a national holiday I have a day off from classes! I'm hoping to catch up on sleep, get organized for my next trip (to the Ellora caves), and update my blog, so be ready for some posts in quick succession. To tide you over until I actually accomplish all of this, here's something I wrote in the train station at the start of my very first train adventure to Khammam. (PS- A month ago today I flew out of JFK for India. I'm not sure where exactly the past month has gone.)
India is a different country in the early morning. If it wasn’t for the constant smell of I’m not actually sure what, and the music coming from my cab driver’s radio, I might not have recognized it. As we drove towards the train station, the roads were silent, nearly empty. There was no need for the constant swerving of typical Indian driving because there was little to get around. What was really missing, however, were all of the people. One or two food vendors were open for business, serving breakfast to early morning customers, but for the most part, India’s multitudes had yet to get out of bed. The sun—the ruling force in India—had yet to rise, and so had the people who lived under its heat.
As the horizon began to turn from a blue to a pink to a pale yellow, India began to regain some familiar qualities. The traffic on the road began to get heavier as the rickshaws started to pick up their first fares. Bus stops had commuters waiting to catch their bus. Most importantly, my taxi driver began using his horn. He had already flabbergasted me once when he flashed his high beams to pass a bus rather than using his horn. As Shiva (a lot of Indians have names of deities) swerved into oncoming traffic to pass a truck while leaning on his horn, I breathed a sigh of relief—I hadn’t woken up in a completely different country. As we approached the train station, pedestrians sauntered across the street, with their seeming indifference to the vehicles racing towards them. We reached a standstill as the combination of traffic attempting to move in three different directions forced everyone to inch forward bit by bit. Finally I got out of the car and into the crowds of Secunderbad Junction. Streams of travelers shuffled and pushed past the people lining the walls who were waiting for their trains. A steady roar of voices enveloped me. The sun had risen—India was back to normal.
India is a different country in the early morning. If it wasn’t for the constant smell of I’m not actually sure what, and the music coming from my cab driver’s radio, I might not have recognized it. As we drove towards the train station, the roads were silent, nearly empty. There was no need for the constant swerving of typical Indian driving because there was little to get around. What was really missing, however, were all of the people. One or two food vendors were open for business, serving breakfast to early morning customers, but for the most part, India’s multitudes had yet to get out of bed. The sun—the ruling force in India—had yet to rise, and so had the people who lived under its heat.
As the horizon began to turn from a blue to a pink to a pale yellow, India began to regain some familiar qualities. The traffic on the road began to get heavier as the rickshaws started to pick up their first fares. Bus stops had commuters waiting to catch their bus. Most importantly, my taxi driver began using his horn. He had already flabbergasted me once when he flashed his high beams to pass a bus rather than using his horn. As Shiva (a lot of Indians have names of deities) swerved into oncoming traffic to pass a truck while leaning on his horn, I breathed a sigh of relief—I hadn’t woken up in a completely different country. As we approached the train station, pedestrians sauntered across the street, with their seeming indifference to the vehicles racing towards them. We reached a standstill as the combination of traffic attempting to move in three different directions forced everyone to inch forward bit by bit. Finally I got out of the car and into the crowds of Secunderbad Junction. Streams of travelers shuffled and pushed past the people lining the walls who were waiting for their trains. A steady roar of voices enveloped me. The sun had risen—India was back to normal.
I really enjoyed this post Becca. Missing you!
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