The Weekly Croissant: India Diaries

Sharing the Road

HELLO CROISSANTS 🥐,

Below is an excerpt from a long story about my very short time in India, called Sharing the Road.

Yours in pastry,

Rachel

Sharing the Road

We are in the car, headed from the countryside into the city of Baglare.  I’m seated in the front seat, since I’m prone to car sickness, and our driver Raju is slowly making his way through the standstill traffic. 

There are 6 motorbikes sharing one lane in front of us.  An emaciated cow is tied to the fence next to the road, and beside that a shiny, new looking building with an advertisement for a university, showing a woman wearing a hard hat. 

Rickshaws weave in and out of the cars.  Raju slam the breaks, and I try not to retch. 

We go to the Palace, he says. 
Oh, I reply, I thought we were going to the Botanical Gardens? I have it my maps here? 
Too far, he says, take too long. 
Okay, I say, looking back at George with a shrug. 

I have my camera sitting in my lap.  It’s a vintage film camera I recently bought at a fleamarket.  My first time trying film, and I still can’t fathom the fact that my dad had to check ISO’s and apertures every time he wanted a photo.  All of the dim snaps of us blowing out birthday candles, or moonlighting as blurry blobs kicking little soccer balls make a lot more sense now. 

I’ve shot my first roll of film, and I’m attempting to switch to a new roll but I can’t get the back open.  I wrestle with it for a while, trying to keep looking out the windows so that I don’t get sick.  

A person walks through the stopped traffic.  They comes up to each car window and clap, aggressively and then hold out their hand for money.  They are wearing a baseball cap and flip flops, and look so angry.  They come right up to my window and clap, I look down, embarrassed. 

She geah says Raju, Not a woman, not a man, geah, that’s what we call. 

I can’t understand if he is saying “Gay” or some other word that sounds like gay but has a meaning more like a transgender or non-binary person.  I realize with embarrassment that I don't even know what Raju’s primary language is.  Hindi, I assume? India has 23 official languages, not including English.

A bell goes off in my head...a book I read once, by Arundhati Roy, which talks about a third gender in India.  The Ministry of Utmost Happiness, it is called….maybe exploring gender is a tradition in India, an accepted expression and cultural role? Maybe it's a more of a marginalized identity than I remember...I didn’t even finish this book, I really struggled with it, but this particular idea stuck in my brain.  I think because that book was one of my early impressions of India, and now here I am, physically in India for the first time, and now suddenly I've come full circle and I am back in the book, with this person being accepted (?), not accepted (?) and explained to me by Raju. 

But possibly, Raju is just saying “Gay”.  Don’t we all love to romanticize other cultures and the way that they treat differences among people.  Don’t we all want to find evidence that humans are not all inherently trash, that someone, somewhere, doesn’t have to be taught compassion and understanding, that some culture far across the globe did it right from the beginning?  But oftentimes, we are disappointed in these lofty expectations.  Oftentimes, your new friend Raju is just calling this non-binary or transgender person “Gay”. 

I manage to open up my camera and get the film changed out.  We pass so many concrete buildings, some just shells of homes.  There are makeshift stores with tin sides, and lean-tos.  Market stalls.  Men standing anywhere taking a piss.  Dogs everywhere. Chickens.  So many cows.  The rickshaws all have personality.  Hanging string adornments, prayer cards, and paintings, the doors completely open to the wild road.  The chaos is energizing, a constant hum of human activity, and a near collision at every stop and start.  Every single thing I can see out of the window is worth taking a photo of.