Sunday. 1/24/2010.
J and I spent the day doing some shopping for household items and a scooter for his sis. She had gone to the beach with friends so we thought we’d get a head start on scooter hunting. We perused the motorcycle market. One dealer after another offered us the “white-man” price. (A price for a commodity much higher than any native would pay). Why? You ask. Because to most Indians, white man=money.
With empty hands we cruised home to pick up V. It would be her job to pick out the scooter of her liking. At around 6p, we were on our way back to the moto market with sister in tow. J and V on the bullet. I, on the scooter. Traffic at this time of night is always horendous. It’s stop and go on windy, narrow roads. Battling buses and cars. I drowned out the noise of blaring horns with my ipod. The music is a lifesaver. The sweet sound of my favorite songs puts me in my own world. Keeps me calm in the chaos. This thick traffic makes my hand stab with pain from clutching so much. I see J flicking his left hand from time to time as well. He must be feeling the burn too.
We stop at one point to check google maps on the iphone. Its better to verify your destination then get lost at night in India. “We have to do a u-turn here,” Jason says. Since we had stopped along the side-walk, on the left hand side of the road, this meant we had to cross traffic to the median and then continue with our u-turn. I waited until J started going so it was more likely to be safe. I revved the engine and followed his lead. I could see headlights coming towards me on my right, but I knew I had plenty of room to pass. And even so, a person with common sense would break to let me pass anyways. No person in their right mind would continue or speed up if they saw a person crossing in front of them on 2 wheels. I could see a set of headlights out of the right corner of my eye but I thought I had just squeezed by. Suddenly, I felt the back-end of my scooter being pulled to my right… and right from under me. Within seconds my scooter and I were slammed onto our left sides. My helmet cracking against the pavement. It all happened very fast but I remember thinking, push away from the scooter. Get out from under it and get away. Like a reflex, I did just that, as fast as I could. I looked behind me as I stood up to see a van had run me over. Jason was at my side already. “Are you ok?! Who did this?!” He was yelling at the van and letting loose every four-letter word he could think of. Intermittently, he kept asking me if I was ok. A nice Indian boy picked up my scooter to push it off to the side of the road. V still sat on the back of J’s bike trying to balance it in the middle of traffic. My toe had spilled blood all over my foot and sandal. I couldn’t tell if it was a bad cut or not. I just knew it didn’t hurt. (Which is a good thing). My knees hurt and my elbows hurt but a quick mental examination gave me the clear that I was actually ok. I could walk. No dislocated knees. No broken bones. Only a bleeding toe.
The van drivers never came over to apologize. Never came over to see if I was ok. I watched them get into their vehicle and drive away. I felt my blood boil at that moment. I was pissed that they would just drive off without any concern for the person they had just scraped across the pavement. Interrupting J’s “Are you sure you’re ok?” I spit ever four-letter word I could think of at the deserters. “I’m fine,” I said to J, “Just pissed more than anything that they purposely hit me. There is no way that they couldn’t have seen me. And what sane person would keep going? Speed up? And hit a person on a scooter with their van??” (Yep. I was yelling this to the heavens. To the Hindu gods. In the middle of Indian traffic. To whoever was listening. Literally, cursing this country and all of its stupidity, at that moment). I felt positive, that at some point, this country would be the death of me.
To add to the matter, V had just witnessed this whole ordeal while we were on our way to buy her a scooter, which she would have to drive home tonight, in this traffic. She was shaken up. It was pretty obvious. I put on my tough girl face and we pushed on.
We arrived at the moto-market. One long road of adjascent 2-wheeler dealers with their merchandise proudly displayed in front of their stalls. Each dealer’s “store” is about the size of a dorm room. Just enough space to cram a desk in the back and all their bikes at closing time. As we walked the line I found myself glancing at my toe repeatedly. I kept thinking to myself, I wonder how many Indian street germs are infecting my open wound at the moment? I couldn’t wait to get home to bathe my foot in peroxide. After 40 mins of cruising the market on foot, we had found V’s gem. A 1998, white, TVS scooty. No gears. Electric start. Easy to operate. (Slower than shit. But hey, it works for her). It even had a “Kiss” sticker faded on the front end. A hippie mobile for a hippie.
J and I put V in between us as we drove off. I kept a close eye on V since she’s never driven a scooter before. It was easy to see she wasn’t quite sure of the balance yet. I could see her movements weren’t fluid yet. And it would take her some time to learn to lean. She did very well after our eventful ride to the market.
We stopped at the Manhattan Bar on our way home. I was still shaky and needed a beer. The Manhattan is a rooftop bar that overlooks the city lights. Its a middle-class place only filled by men. And it also happens to be the place where I saw a giant rat scurry across the floor last year. Nevertheless, its a decent place, with cold beer and good eats. It was a relaxing end to an eventful evening.
