Calcutta was my introduction to India, my baptism of fire, and from everyone I talked to, definitely diving in at the deep end. One of the poorer and less developed parts of India, this definitely hasn’t been dressed up for business visitors or tourists.
The adventure started when I arrived at Kolkata airport around 1am. The airport is pretty much what you expect to find in a third-world country, and was in fact cleaner and more comfortable than the airport in Manila. The passport control was reassuringly bureaucratic, with lots of form filling, stamping, signing, and recording of details in big books.
Like everywhere else in India, the airport was air-conditioned to about 16 degrees. If anyone tells you they’ve been to India and it’s hot, they’re lying. It may be hot in India, but everything here is air-conditioned to the point of being freezing. We walk around in suit jackets all day, the women in sweaters. I thought they kept it cold in Hong Kong, but they’ve got nothing on India.
I met my colleagues off their flight from Frankfurt and we were on our way. Our car arrived, and I got to experience first-hand the mysteries of Indian driving. All the stop lights were red, but that didn’t seem to bother anyone. Our driver never took his foot off the gas the entire journey. A few toots of the horn kept the wandering rickshaws in check, but otherwise the journey was reasonably uneventful.
We finally arrived at the hotel around 3am, and pour ourselves into bed. We were staying at the Hyatt, a 5* oasis surrounded by poverty. Yes, I understand the stark contrasts that this implies, but I console myself by figuring that we’re bringing plenty of jobs to the area – both in the hotel / catering sector as well as in the new jobs our company is creating out here.
Indian traffic — a sort of mechanical ballet
Delivery van, Indian-style
The next morning was my real introduction to Indian driving. Now daylight, and with much heavier traffic, we once again joined the flow, ignored the red lights, and made our way through town. Occasionally, we passed signs that instructed us to “obey traffic rules.” Whichever ministry in India is guilty of commissioning those signs must be the biggest pork barrel of them all – no one follows rules here!
Once you get over the sheer terror of it – cars coming down the wrong side of the road, dodging cows, bicyclists, pedestrians, rickshaws, and the ubiquitous Hindustan Ambassador taxis that line the road, you come to appreciate the elegant chaos of it all. I can’t work out the rhyme or reason of it, but the whole thing comes off as a kind of mechanical ballet, set to the tune of honking horns.
This much I learned. The horn is indispensable in India. You can replace your wheel with a bicycle tyre. You can replace your hood with cardboard. But if your horn goes, you’re stranded. The soundtrack to driving here is incredible.
Our visit was very successful – we were greeted enthusiastically. I’ve been overwhelmed by the hospitality and kindness of everyone we’ve come across, and I’ve genuinely enjoyed all of the people I’ve met here.
Back to the hotel for dinner, then early to bed. We were up at 4am to catch the 6:30 flight to Hyderabad. More on that in my next post…
