My first exposure to Bangalore was the taxi ride from the
airport to my flat. Bleary-eyed after 36 hours of travel, I meandered up to an
“airport approved” taxi service, told the driver where I wanted to go, and got
in. What happened next was like combining the chase scene from FrenchConnection with the crazy boat scene from the original Willie Wonka and the
Chocolate Factory and sprinkling that with the animals from Dr. Doolittle. It
got real crazy real quick.
It started off smooth enough. We pulled away from the curb
and slowly picked up speed. Next thing I knew we were on the Indy 500 track
from hell. Left. Right. Cross three lanes. Back over two. STOP! Go. Dodge the
cab. Pass a scooter. Cut off a truck. Cut off a cab. Get cut off. Double cut.
TRIPLE cut. HONK! Motorcycles whiz by. Honk! Faster and faster and faster. Honk
honk honk! Around a corner. Under the bridge. SCREEEEEEEEEECH! Thankgoditisaredlight…
…I catch my breath. I realize I’m clutching the door handle
with a strength that would make Hulk Hogan jealous. I unclench. That wasn’t so
bad I say, lying to no one in particular. How much longer til we’re there? I
ask. “An hour,” comes back the answer…
And we’re off! Speed bump. Down a ramp. Pothole. Around the
bend. Pothole. COW! Slow down. Speed up. Another pothole. Faster. Honk! Speed
up even more. Honk honk HONK!!! WATCHOUTFORTHESTRAYDOG!
Noticing that my face has gone from a healthy pink to a
ghastly white, my cabbie tries to make small talk. “Where you from?” The
states, I reply. “Where?” THE STATES! I shout, not because I’m upset, but because
we’re about to hit a family of four nonchalantly driving on a moped. As we pass
them, they look at me like I’m the crazy one. “How long you here?” he says as
he takes his eyes of the road – HE. TAKES. HIS. EYES. OFF. THE. ROAD! – to dial
a friend. Two months, I reply as I do that imaginary breaking thing your
parents do when they think your going to hit something. “Nice.”
Around a bend. ANOTHER COW! Stray dog. Rickshaw. Honk! Stray
dog. Honk Honk. Rickshaw. Vroom. Pow. Whiz. Scooter. Honk honk honk. HELP!
Vroom. Truck. Cut off. HONK! Red light. Green Light. Go go go…
We arrive.
I pay the man 300 extra rupees (or was it more?) because
what’s a few extra rupees when a man risks saves your life 1,000 times
in an hour? They say that there are no atheists in foxholes. I think that also
applies to passenger seats in Bangalore. After kissing the ground, I fumble
with my key, enter my flat, find my room, sit down on my bed, and…
“Now what?” I ask myself. I had arrived and had a weekend
filled with nothing to do…
Next Post: The Life Bangalorian (part 2)
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