I wrote this in India last july and didn’t publish it.  It’s rough but I’m in no mood for editing.  Read it or don’t

This part of the blog-the India part, I mean, is all about sharing experiences. I’m trying to give a reader, for a little while at least, the sense that she’s here. Typically, I do this with straightforward prose–description, dialogue, thoughts, and the like. There’s one big part of my life here, though, that defies such straightforward description, or rather, it demands more than I can supply. Every day, after I wake up and shower, I get on my motorcycle and bike the couple kilometers to work. I drive in India. The following are my thoughts as I drive across town

Get on the bike, rock off the stand.  Hit the starter.  It doesn’t work.  The battery hasn’t been charging while I ride.  I’ll have to go over it with a meter.  Kick the kick starter.  Again.  Cool, it’s running.  Click into first and roll out the gate.  Ride the brakes a bit–there’s a couple cows standing right in front of me.  Duck them, click into second and scoot out of here.  The street’s full of people.  Spilling over from the UK visa center, I guess.  Shift down and weave through them.

Get ready to turn onto the main road.  Gear up and twist.  There’s an elephant in the road.  Avoid it.  That lane is the elephant lane.  Look before I change lanes, there’s three other people on my side.  Check out the elephant as I drive past.  It’s totally painted.  Cool.  Slow to the intersection.  Neutral and wait.

It’s hot and the exhaust fumes are thick.  Waiting for the light.  Everyone senses when it’s about to turn, starts up their engines and shuffles forward.  The thick line of cars compresses, settling down.  Light changes.  Horns everywhere.  Gear up and get out of the noisy madness.  Watch the woman in the middle of the road.  And the rickshaw doing a U-turn in the middle of the four-lane road.  And the stream of bikes going the wrong way in my lane.

The road’s opening up ahead, so click into fourth and gun it for the open space.  Watch for anybody doing anything.  Watch for rocks in the road.  Watch for potholes children could hide in.

Stoplight.  Beggar children walk through the lines of cars, asking for change.  They see me and there’s two or three of them tapping my arms, holding out palms and saying things in Gujarati I don’t understand.  Say “I’m not going to give you anything” with hand gestures.  Repeat it in made-up hebrew.  Spanish.  They don’t care.  A six year old girl is prying my fingers off the handlebars to get my attention.  Her brother is pulling at my arm hair on the other side.  Stop talking and look straight ahead.  God I feel like a shit every time I do this.  Relieved that the light turned

Kind of lost now.  Trying to get to the Barista cafe to meet someone.  No streetsigns anywhere.  Doesn’t matter–the streets aren’t named.  Whoops–look out for the camel.  Ask someone, that guy!  Bhaiyya! Barista kya che? Turn off engine.  Take off my helmet.  Nai, Nai.  Barista!  Kya che? yes.  USA.  He’s pointing to the left and saying things I don’t understand.  I’m pretty sure it’s not to the left.  OK, thank you.  Kick the bike into life and drive off .  Ask someone else.  Barista kya che? He’s pointing to the opposite direction.  I think this guy understood me better.  Shift, U turn and head out.

Crap.   Huge herd of water buffalo in the road.  Man with a turban and stick is herding them along.  They just poop as they walk.  The road’s covered in their shit.  Steer through them.  There’s huge animals with horns next to me.  They can smell my fear.  Don’t let them!

Ah!  Up there’s the coffee shop.  Pull up.  Shift to neutral.  Whoops.  I’m still in first.  The bike stalled.  Oh well.  Nobody saw, right?  Park it and go in.