| Controlled Chaos Ranjit wipes the sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief that he keeps in his back pocket. He does this every so often, as he has no air conditioning in his small, cramped yellow cab. Ranjit's large body takes up most of the front half of the cab, with his belly touching the steering wheel as he navigates the streets. From a distance he looks like an imposing figure, but up close his warm smile and squinty eyes make him seem a little less intimidating. Ranjit has been a cab driver in Calcutta for 15 years. With his thinning hair and smoky voice, he appears to be in his late 30's. Like every other driver in India, he navigates the road with no lanes and with amazing precision. Most roads have no center divider or painted lines. Street signs are hard to come by, so drivers must follow the roadmap that is laid out in their head. I meet Ranjit on my first day in Calcutta. I need a ride to the local train ticket office and he offers to drive me there. Immediately I am impressed with how well he speaks English. He seems to have a good grasp of language, even cracking jokes now and then to kill time. What most impresses me though about Ranjit is how he, and the other hundred cabbies who are whizzing by us, seem to drive without crashing into one another. There are so many obstacles ahead of and around Ranjit that it's amazing we move at all. Women in bright orange and red saris are dashing across the street trying to make it to work on time or catch their train. Street vendors are yelling and shouting, and pushing carts in and out of the narrow alleys. An occasional cow, goat, or sheep casually crosses the street. Aside from all of this, there are the other cars and cabs that Ranjit must navigate around. Cars here follow no laws. Green light means go and red light means stop. That's it. Cars weave through the streets constantly cutting each other off and blocking traffic. Cabbies will even occasionally drive against the flow of traffic, as this sometimes proves to be a faster way to go somewhere in rush hour. Ranjit rolls down his window as he lights his cigarette. Immediately my ears are blasted with the sounds of a thousand horns blaring. Ranjit joins the orchestra of horns and starts honking too. He wants to turn left, and this is how one signals a turn in India. Honking is essential. You must pester the other drivers around you in order to move in the desired direction. If you pester them enough with your horn, they will relent and let you pass. Other times Ranjit honks just to remind the cabbies next to him that he is there. People in India drive so close to one another that it looks like they're playing a game of bumper cars. In this game though, the cars never seem to touch or hit one another. It's almost as if there is an invisible cushion around each car that prevents them from bumping one another. This is driving in India. This is life for Ranjit the cabby. As I leave the cab I thank Ranjit and tip him 40 rupees for getting me to my destination in one piece. He smiles and drives back to the main road, joining the sea of yellow cabs whizzing down the street. |
