"This is India, No Problem."

by Shantih Ma (Canada)

A leap into the unknown India

I sit in a wicker chair at a small table in a bustling bakery in Delhi. This quaint little place in Paharganj, although not the best for service, is a popular tourist spot. With delicious treats and freshly baked bread, the Ajay Guesthouse is my go-to. And although Delhi smells worse than the recycled plane farts I was just breathing in for hours, she always feels like home. I flag down my server, sending back a dish that resembles lumpy, yellow water. The waiter looks unimpressed as he removes it from my table, mumbling under his breath as he walks away. Apparently, I like Dal fry, not dal. A friendly face greets me with a big smile and shining eyes. Surprised to see him so soon I say, “Gopal, you're early!” No one is ever on time, let alone early in India. The waiter plops the new dal fry on the table and walks away with a demeanour of indignance. Gopal replies that he'll be back in ten minutes and that I should "no problem," eat my food. I begin to wonder if he is coming back at all, after an hour and a half passes. My mind starts to play the worst-case scenario game. It wouldn't make sense to leave me stranded in Delhi, would it? I'm their yoga teacher after all. Mid-fantasy, Gopal returns, relieving me of the anxiety I was brewing in my imagination. With a smile, he grabs my bags off the cool marble floor in one fell swoop, and like that, we make our way into the sweltering city heat. Through the bottleneck, our rickshaw struggles to make his way down the street to our taxi. After some skilled maneuvering, we arrive, only to find that I now have to wrestle with two bicycle rickshaws. Overtly blocking my side of the car, they stare blankly at me, unwilling to budge so much as an inch. With a mere half-foot gap, I manage to cram my way into the taxi, trying not to slam the door into the stubborn rickshaw driver, although a little part of me wanted to. Inside the air-conditioned car and out of the humid Delhi air, we begin our journey. Although moving, we poke along at a mere snail speed. Cars, trucks, motorcycles and scooters weave to and fro, cutting each other off while honking their horns relentlessly. As the congestion of traffic crawls, I take note of some impressive scratches and dents. With the way people drive, I imagine fender benders would be common around here. Roads in India are a free-for-all, with lots of expressive hand gestures, shouting, swearing, and intense scowling. Although an often exaggerated and dramatic spectacle, it is a comedy I thoroughly enjoy. It's amazing how millions of people can all manage to drive on the same road, at the same time. I've got to hand it to them, Indians have a special knack for turning madness into a symphony of organized chaos. As I begin to wonder what the statistics are for car accidents in India, I decide to put my seat belt on. Lifting my gaze, I notice Gopal staring at me. With a wry smile and a perplexed expression, he says, “Why you put that on? This is India. There is no need.” He then laughs, as if I just did the most ridiculous thing he's ever seen. “Oh yeah, I forgot that no one gets into car accidents in India!" I reply with a sarcastic wit. His laughter comes to a halt, staring at me intently. After a few moments, I realize he's waiting for me to take my seatbelt off. I say a silent prayer, and then reluctantly, unbuckle my seatbelt. When you find yourself in a situation like this, the only thing to do is look for the humour. Remember, what might seem ass-backwards to you, makes perfect sense to another. That's the thing about travelling: you must have an open mind and hold zero expectations. When we embrace cultural differences and learn to laugh along the way, we only further enrich our travel experience. And although India may be wild, untamed, and slightly terrifying, that's precisely why I love her.