Indian traffic - outsiders perspective.

Fact 1 a: There is approximately one car accident per minute in Indian traffic.

Fact 1 b: On average, one person dies every 4.4 minutes in Indian traffic.

Fact 1c: In 2008 120,000 people lost their lives in 485,000 road accidents. This doesn't include the non-immediate deaths of the 520,000 injured people.

Fact 2: Indian traffic has more traffic fatalities than China. In India numbers of traffic fatalities are still increasing, while in most countries they have stood still for several years or even begun to decrease.

Fact 3: In India 0.01% lives are lost in traffic each year, while in China the percentage is 0.0077%, in Sweden it's 0.006% and in Iceland and Norway 0.005%.

Fact 4: Drivers cause 74.5% of traffic fatalities. Other causes are cyclists, pedestrians, motor vehicles and bad road and weather conditions.


Amount of time - the according number of traffic casualties
One hour - 13.7
Twenty four hours - 328.8
One week - 2301.4
One month - 10000
One year - 120000



Location in time: Fifteen thousand three hundred twenty two traffic casualties ago.
Location in space: Airport.
Physical condition: Jet lagged. Tired. Excited.

Approximately thirteen traffic casualties after I landed in India, a man came up to me and said: “Taxi, madam?” I ignored him, but he followed me, and soon more drivers joined him. “Taxi, madam?” “Where you go, madam?” I'd heard stories of Indian taxi drivers trying to rip tourists off – which is okay, I can deal with paying an unreasonable amount of money – but I'd also heard extreme stories involving cab drivers having deals with certain hotels or other touristic places which they'll take the tourists to instead of the requested places. I guess you can get anything in India for the right amount of money. And what do the tourists know? Indian streets and buildings certainly aren't well marked. But I had to take my chance.
There began my first acquaintance of Indian traffic. When I got into the cab it was already dark outside. It was pouring rain and the sky was filled with what I choose to call strobe-lightning d(a reference to a certain type of rave flash lights); heat lightning without thunder. I tried to put on a seat belt but the seat-belt attachment seemed to be missing; first sign of recklessness. The driver left the parking space despite not being able to see through the windows from the steam of our wet clothes; second sign of recklessness. He then cut off another driver causing the other driver to blare his horn at him. It didn't seem to matter, he just honked back; third sign of recklessness. When entering the street from the parking lot I saw a bunch of car lights approaching from the right, their noisy car horns intimidated me. What do they mean? Why are they so rude? Stop honking! The driver waited for a while until his patience ran out and he began working that horn, trying to squeeze into the street. The other drivers immediately went crazy on their horns but still slowed down and let us into the traffic. I then made my second attempt to find the seat belt attachment, without any effort, so I grabbed the 'oh-shit' handle (the thing in the ceiling for your hands to hold on to) and held on tight for the rest of the ride. It seemed like they had no traffic rules, patience or politeness. If the car in front was going too slow they honked and passed it, without hesitation, even if it meant driving on the wrong side of the road for a while. All right, to be fair I won't say without hesitation, but certainly with less hesitation than felt safe.


Location in time: Fifteen thousand two hundred ninety four traffic casualties ago.
Location in space: Bus station I.
Physical condition: Unharmed. Nervous.

It was a comfort to step inside the bus, knowing that with the reckless Indian driving, the chance of me being harmed was slimmer in a large vehicle. The big one did not make any less sound though; it had to be even more aggressive in the traffic since it didn't fit in the small gaps the motor pads, the so called Rickshaws (more on them later) and other smaller cars did. He almost constantly worked his horn to get through and keep his schedule. I couldn't wait to get out of the city and the traffic so the constant sound of the loud bus horn would stop whining in my ears. Circa nine traffic casualties later I was finally out of the city – no more bus horn! Oh! But, no! Because the country road seemed to consist only of small turns and was surrounded by lush trees, the driver had to make his presence notable to others by honking before each turn. I realized then that my plan for sleeping on the bus would not go through. What have I gotten myself into? I really should have taken the train.


Location in time: Fifteen thousand one hundred thirty six traffic casualties ago.
Location in space: Bus station II.
Physical condition: Exhausted. Annoyed. Home sick.

The family that invited me to India had given me directions to get to their home via one of those Rickshaws, or autos, as the Indians call them. Walking out of the bus station I spotted a group of Rickshaws. When I approached them they surrounded me in an even more aggressive way than the taxi drivers at the airport. “Dree 'undred, madam!” I knew they were overcharging me. I tried to walk away and find other Rickshaws, but the first driver I spoke to followed me and yelled at the other drivers in Telugu (the local language) before I could say anything. I later found out that they have an Indian system (read: chaotic system which is somehow organized but doesn't make much sense and is almost impossible to figure out, at least for an outsider) for deciding which one takes the next customer and they work together on maximizing each other's prices by not lowering them more than the first driver in line allows them to. I tried to play their bargaining game – laughing at their prices and ignoring them – till I proudly got the price down to half of what they first suggested; victory was mine! I later found out that the fair price is seventy rupees, so victory really wasn't mine.
When riding the Rickshaw I felt quite terrified, even less protected against the crazy Indian traffic than in the small taxi I rode from the airport to the bus station. The Rickshaw drivers don't drive that fast because the Rickshaws just don't have that much power (even though they are extremely polluting; the black smoke coming from the engine is very visible to the human eye), but they certainly aren't more careful than other drivers in India. I might even say that they take more risks than drivers of other vehicles I had traveled in at this point; the reason might be that they feel that they are entitled to the small amount of space they need (because it's small) and so expect other drivers to give it to them. I repeatedly found myself frustrated at the driver for taking ridiculous risks; passing cars when the opportunity wasn't there, cutting off other cars, not stopping for pedestrians, making turns without stopping first, et cetera. I seriously found myself thinking: “There's no point in worrying; if something happens I probably won't survive it – I'll just have to go with the flow and hope for the best.”


Location in time: Fifteen thousand one hundred twenty three casualties ago.
Location in space: Host family's home.
Physical condition: Renewed. Excited. Surprisingly still unharmed.

When I thought of the traffic adventure I had experienced I realized that I enjoyed it. I started going through the journey and the more I thought about it the more the traffic intrigued me. How in the world did I survive this chaos? Why didn't I see at least one car accident? The next planned ride was a Rickshaw ride with the whole family to a market in the city; I felt excited about the ride. The tiny Rickshaw is originally designed for two to three persons and a driver but the eight of us plus the driver 'easily' squeezed into it. No biggie! The ride wasn't as thrilling as I expected, I guess I had already begun to get used to the traffic chaos by that point. The driver of course drove like others in his profession, but I had gained a certain trust for Indian drivers.


Location in time: Eleven thousand four hundred ninety two traffic casualties ago.
Location in space: City bus.
Physical condition: Used to no personal space. Used to amount of insects. Still surprised by society.

I have now for one week used the city bus and it is quite different from city buses I'm familiar with. The seats in front are reserved for women, handicapped people and the elderly. What? Women are in the same category as handicapped and old people? The women's rights movements in India have a long way to go. As a western woman I sometimes go out of my way to do things that are considered untraditional of women to do here in India – because in order for things to become approved by society they have to be seen and done. The first few times they will shock people but increased unusual happenings are bound to make people get used to them. I know that one woman doesn't really do much difference in such a populated country, but if all women think like that nothing will ever happen in the women's movements. I therefore always sit in the back of the bus, where men are supposed to sit.


Location in time: Nine thousand two hundred fifty eight traffic casualties ago.
Location in space: Host family's home.
Physical condition: Frustrated by the public transportation. Enjoying Indian traffic.

I've bought a motor pad! And I'm giving up using the city bus, they are just too inefficient. There are no special lanes for public buses so they get caught in the same traffic jams as other vehicles. Besides that, you often have to take a Rickshaw the last part of your way because the bus routes don't cover the city, just the main areas. It definitely is not encouraging to use the city bus system, which leads to less passengers, which again leads to less money to improve the system. The results is a system that stays inefficient and the citizens keep avoiding it! What needs to be done to improve the system is to see the investment as an environmental one; the pollution in the city is almost unbearable, when traveling around I find myself forced to cover my face with a cloth to prevent too much carbon-dioxide getting in my lungs. The decision to buy a motor pad obviously doesn't support the environmental battle, but like they say: When in Rome...
Being a passenger in Indian traffic for the duration of six thousand sixty four traffic casualties made me realize that their horn abuse isn't rude. It doesn't mean “get out of my way” or “what the hell are you doing”, it means “hello, look out, I'm coming”, “please, let me by you”, “please, I'm in a hurry, slow down and let me into the traffic lane” or “please, I'm in a hurry, wait with entering the traffic lane right now”. The 'please' in the interpretations of the horn is to emphasize that they really aren't being impolite, as it seems at first, they are just expressing their needs. If you are in a hurry, you make your horn sound to let people know and go your way – without being nervous that someone will hit you. Everyone is on their toes, at all times. No one suddenly passes you without the courtesy of letting you know with their horn. You can rely on the other drivers – they won't let you get away with anything stupid, and you won't do anything stupid. Of course, to be able to survive in the jungle that is the Indian traffic you have to be aggressive. All right, you will survive without aggression, but you won't gain from the efficiency of this great system without being aggressive.


Location in time: Seven thousand twenty four traffic casualties ago.
Location in space: University campus.
Physical condition: Relaxed. Used to no personal space. Amused by Indian law.

I began the process of getting a driver's license. In my country the rules of traffic regulations is a book. In India the rules of traffic regulations is a pamphlet which looks more like an instruction guide. My favorite rule is:
No driver shall take a 'U' turn where 'U' turn is especially prohibited […].
No need to explain the controversy in that rule.
The driver of a motor vehicle moving behind another vehicle shall keep at a sufficient distance from that other vehicle to avoid collision if the vehicle in front should suddenly slow down or stop.
A driver of a vehicle shall not :
(i) sound the horn needlessly or continuously or more than necessary to to ensure safety.
You only have to experience the traffic for one minute to realize that no one follows these rules. Of course people follow some of the rules, but I still get the feeling that the rules are more like a guideline.
Anyway, I've mastered these rules but I can't get a driver's license immediately – everything takes time in India. The bureaucracy here sometimes feels extremely random and unnecessary. The answers you get are merely: “It's the rules.”
-Why can't women enter the mosques?
-It's the rules.
…
-Why can't we bring our bags to this convocation?
-It's the rules.
…
-Why does he have to register his Visa and I don't?
-Because he got the stamp.
-But why did he get the stamp and I didn't? What does the stamp mean?
-He has to register.
-But why did he get the stamp?
-He got the stamp.
-Why?
-It's the rules.
Right, I understand?
Regarding the driver's license, I have spoken to several people about it and everyone agrees that I don't really need it. If I get pulled over by the police I just tell them that I forgot it at home and pay them a hundred rupees – and if they aren't okay with that I try to argue a bit until they can't be bothered anymore and let me go. Basic.


Location in time: Two thousand five hundred fifty five traffic casualties ago.
Location in space: Unusual taxi ride.
Physical condition: Tanned. Used to amount of insects.

My motor pad wouldn't start so I took a taxi to school. This taxi ride was different from all others; the driver was a woman. The only female professional driver I have been acquainted with. I immediately noticed that she wasn't the traditional Indian woman; she had short hair and dressed like a man. With her customers' first acquaintance of her often being from the back seat, they would think she was a man until they heard her voice and saw her face in the rear view mirror. She was, like her colleagues, aggressive in the traffic. The other taxi drivers didn't give her much credit and predicted that she wouldn't last longer than one or two years. But she proved them wrong and now she even owns her own cab, unlike most other cab drivers who work for someone else. When I asked her if it was difficult to maintain her identity as a woman in this men's world she said that when she got into the cab she no longer thought of herself as a woman. I hoped that her point was that she didn't think of jobs as gender related; the employee's gender should not matter. But what she meant was that she had to become one of the men to be able to work as a driver. So her opinion was that though she thought women could work where they wanted, they would have to adjust their behavior so it would be more like a man's behavior if they wanted to do a 'man's job'. This opinion is an advanced one (though it is flawed in my opinion) considered that it's an Indian one, but despite that she still had the controversial opinion that the woman's first job was to look after her home – which she did.


Location in time: One traffic casualty ago.
Location in space: Motor pad.
Physical condition: Having fun.

Two girls went out for a drink at a nice hotel near their home. They met really nice guys who offered them to go for a ride in a fancy Jeep. The guys were the definition of spoiled upper class guys who take servants for granted and have never had to wash their own laundry. The girls thought it might be fun to spend some time with them, so with their judgment a little impaired from a couple of cocktails they decided to join the guys for a ride. They opened the sun roof and reached out their heads to get the wind in their faces. They blasted music, sung along and took photos. The guys even offered the girls a choice of marijuana and cocaine – but the girls turned it down, to the guys' disappointment. The girls weren't sure if the driver had also had a few drinks or if he was just careless by nature – he didn't even stay on the left side of the road. Whatever – it was an amazing ride!


Location in time: Zero traffic casualties ago.
Location in space: Undetermined.
Physical condition: Statistic.

With the camera flash in his eyes, the driver of the Jeep didn't see me coming on my motor pad.