A glimpse of modern India
Thirasant Mann
Namaskar. Welcome to India, announced the poster as we disembarked at Indira Gandhi International Airport. The sole escalator was out of order, so we took the stairs down to the immigration counters, queuing up under a low, sorry-looking ceiling. A faint yet distinct smell of disinfectant and urine hung in the air. Papa, mayn,'' whispered my nine-year-old, wrinkling his nose. Ngiap!‘’ papa shushed back.
The customs people were busy with the crowds returning from Mecca with huge cloth bundles tied with string.
``Where from?‘’ one asked.
``Bangkok.‘’ He stamped our Nothing-to-Declare papers and we trolleyed our luggage out into the Delhi dusk. The weather was cool but the mosquitoes insisted on giving us a warm welcome. Quickly ensconced in my brother-in-law’s vehicle, we set off for Punjab. Destination Kapurthala, a journey which took eight hours.
The driver missed the bypass road and we found ourselves caught in the capital’s evening traffic. Congestion and chaos. Normal, praaji (brother),'' the driver said. Maruti and Tata cars and vans, Vespas and scooter-taxis, buses and the odd cow all jostling for right of way. And the honking and tooting. Talk of noise pollution. It seemed everyone was obliging the trucks and lorries, each of which had painted on its back in large letters: Horn Please. OK. Ta-Ta.‘’
The cars had only one side-mirror, on the driver’s side, and those too were bent shut _ to avoid being smashed by passing traffic, I was told. It was a relief they hadn’t done away with rear-view mirrors.
One particularly dusty bottleneck was due to the construction of a skytrain, but once out of the capital the ride was very much smoother. The Haryana and Punjab state governments have to be congratulated for a job well done. I was told they’d given the highway contracts to a foreign company.
We came across several billboards warning against speeding and drunk driving: Whisky is Risky on Wheels.'' If Married, Divorce Speed.‘’
Kapurthala, once a princely state, has seen much improvement. The dust, flies and mosquitoes are still there, but many new posh homes have sprung up. The same is true for most of Punjab; the mud-huts have practically vanished from the villages, it’s now cement and plaster, even granite and marble chips. All this became possible after the Khalistan insurgency ended, I was told. But the more likely reason is all the money sent back home by the hordes who’ve settled down in the UK, Canada and ``Amreeka’'.
Mobile phones are the rage. Anyone with mouth and money has one glued to his ear. Telecom firms, such as Spice, lure customers with huge ads: Spice hai toh Life hai (With Spice, you've a Life).'' Free Incoming!‘’ Calls, that is.
Television, with its numerous cable options _ including crude and garish displays of flesh on Hindi and Punjabi music channels _ keeps the the people thrilled and generally well informed.
One villager asked, ``What’s happening in your country, yaar (friend)? What’s this about Saarus and all?‘’ Saarus? He pointed to a picture of masked people in a Punjabi-language newspaper. Oh, Sars. That’s in Hong Kong and Singapore, not Thailand, I explained.
``But you’re next to next, no?‘’
The war in Iraq also occupies their interest, but somewhat on the periphery of things, a distant second to the Cricket World Cup: the people cursed Tendulkar for not opting to bat first after winning the toss in the final game against Australia, and for getting caught out within a few minutes of his entry; and when a shower interrupted the match, some went down on their knees fervently beseeching the gods they would make merit if the game was postponed, thereby cancelling the score. None such luck.
Nearly everyone I met said the reason for the war against Saddam was obvious. ``The Amreekis only want tail (oil).‘’
Dubyaman'' a cartoon strip in Times of India had Bush replying thus to a complaint about a Baghdad shopping mall being bombed: In war not only the prices but even the customers go through the roof!‘’
- Thirasant Mann is a sub-editor of Bangkok Post
