Flying into Mumbai from Cairo, I was
immediately enveloped by the sights, smells, noise, colour and general
mayhem that is India. Having cycled before in the Southern Indian states of
Kerela and Tamil Nadu, I thought I was prepared....
After spending a day touring Mumbai, and an evening in the company of the
very welcoming members of the Rotary Club of Bombay Airport, I hit the road
north.
And I very soon hit the road. At the risk of losing my street cred.,
I have to reveal that, for the first time in twelve years I fell off my
bike!
And there wasn't a vehicle, animal, pot-hole or person in sight to blame. I
simply mis-judged the depth of a patch of gravel, which took my front wheel
from under me. As I lay on the tarmac, feeling fairly stupid, I was grateful
to find no broken bones. But when I stood up, a stream of blood ran down
from my knee, staining my last clean pair of cycling socks....
It is inevitable that anyone cycling in India will very quickly become
obsessed with the traffic. On my travels I shared the roads with overloaded
trucks belching black smoke, buses heaving with human cargo, plush and posh
4-wheel drive jeeps, a regal rolls-royce, camels pulling carts, horses
pulling carriages, snakes, monkeys, chickens, wild dogs and dead dogs, cats
and rats, auto-rickshaws, cycle-rickshaws, tooting taxis, holy cows,
hump-backed bulls, pigs and piglets, downtrodden donkeys, saree-clad women,
weather-worn men, cheery children, motorcycles carrying families of four,
bicycles ferrying fruit and furniture, and memorably, a corpse, looking
serene on a stretcher, in his own funeral procession.
Lots of traffic and seemingly no rules of the road. But that didn't stop
the Maharashta State Department of Transport doing its best to encourage
good driving habits. Amongst others, I came across the following little gems
of advice on the highway:
"Time is money, but life is precious"
"No hurry, no worry"
"Overtake carefully, lest accident overtake you"
"Fast won't last"
"Speed is like a knife, it cuts life"
Needless to say, no-one was taking a blind bit of notice.
Privacy is an alien concept in India. With almost a sixth of the world's
population crammed into a fortieth of its space, it is practically
impossible to find anywhere not already occupied. In any case, Indians are
the most gregarious people I know. As well as the hundreds of "Hellos" and
waves along the road, whenever I dared stop, I was immediately surrounded by
local onlookers, curious to the the "engleesh and cykil."
One excited young boy enquired was I David Beckham. I let him down gently.
"Better looking but not as rich..."
I saw the best of India. The Gateway which guards the entrance to Mumbai,
built to commemorate the visit of King George V and Queen Mary in 1911; the
fertile post-monsoon hills of Maharashta and the barren, dusty Aravalis
range, desert-like following the fourth failed monsoon in Rajasthan in five
years. In Udaipur, the famous Lake Piccola was also half-dry, but this
didn't detract from the shimmering reflections of the white palaces built
around the lake. The magnificence of the Hawa Mahal (Palace of the Winds),
and the City Palace in the busy city of Jaipur were contrasted two days
later with a visit to the tranquil Keoladeo Ghana Bird Sanctuary and
Wildlife Park - a world heritage site.
The sight-seeing was crowned with a visit to the Taj Mahal; worth every bit
of its reputation and inclusion in the list of modern wonders of the world,
although I did resist the temptation to join in the scrum to sit on the
"Princess Diana bench"....
I saw the worst of India. The pollution, traffic, piles of rubbish, sick
and dead animals, poverty, begging and hassle for the tourist are
everywhere. The western traveller is seen as some sort of saviour for the
poor. Everyone wants something; rupees, food, pens, sweets, gifts, and it is
impossible to even think of satisfying them all.
Ironic then, that I met so many Indians who wanted to give ME something.
From presents of fans, keyrings, books, to food that they could ill-afford
to give away. At various times, biscuits, bread and cheese, nuts, chapattis,
bananas, tea and coffee were all proffered and humbly accepted. It is
certainly a country of contrasts.
I spent 35 days in India, cycling from Mumbai to Delhi, covering 1148
miles and taking 101 hours to do so. I stayed in hotels and guest houses; a
wide variety from the most basic Government-run rest rooms to some lovely
Heritage Hotels built in old Havelis and Palaces. It almost goes without
saying that I had no punctures; surprising that I had only one bout of Delhi
Belly; and inevitable that there were about 400 near misses with trucks and
buses.
|
I
N
D
I
A
I
N
D
I
A
I
N
D
I
A
I
N
D
I
A
|
