traffic jam

Man, I never want to have to go back to Meena Bazaar. The place itself is awesome; there are amazing fabrics, vibrant colors, truly breathtaking embroideries, etc., but it takes at least 45 minutes to get there during rush hour. Rush hour in Hyderabad is possibly one of the most ridiculous things that one could ever participate in. There are millions of people in all manner of strange conveyances--guys pedaling bicycles and balancing bundles of six-foot poles on the back tire; autorickshaws packed with eight people; small motorcycles with two grown men, or a man, a woman, and their three kids; huge, overcrowded public buses; and everywhere, hordes of pedestrians crossing in the middle of the street, usually with their hands outstretched like makeshift stopsigns. Our drivers like to make left-hand turns from the right-hand 'fast' lane, which is always entertaining, since they inevitably have to cut off the five motorcycles who are all merging into the other lane.

The best thing about traffic in Hyderabad, however, is the constant honking. Everyone honks at everything, and yet it rarely seems to be the 'anger' honks that I hear (and occasionally indulge in) in the States. The honks mean something more like 'hey, I'm over here, and I just wanted you to know that'. I also haven't figured out the ways in which they use their turn signals, why they flick the highbeams on their lights in the middle of the day, and why some of these things happen at certain times, while the horn-blowing happens all of the time. The turn signal is the most confusing; the drivers will use it when they're just going around a curve that they seemingly have to follow, but then won't use it when they're actually turning off of the street that we're on. The highbeam technique is also confusing, since it's often used when no one can really see the lights anyway.

The upshot of this deal is that I will not be driving here, although I desperately miss my cute little car with the sunroof, the CD player, and the Pacific ocean less than an hour away. Do you remember in 'Pirates of the Caribbean' where Captain Jack Sparrow talks about how his ship is freedom? That's what my car is--the freedom of knowing that you can go someplace else. Here, I can't go anywhere else without coordinating with the head driver, and so one of my most basic freedoms is denied to me. Actually, it's more like a gilded cage--they take fantastic care of us, but we can't do anything ourselves and are completely dependent on them for everything.

But, whatever, I don't miss my freedom so much (and that's how fascism is able to take hold in people's hearts--it's just so much more convenient to let someone else tell me where to go than it is to try to figure it out for myself). Back to Meena Bazaar. The process there was actually really quick; a tailor measured me, and my lehnga and my sari blouse should be done by next week. However, I clearly had absolutely no idea what I was doing; she would ask me questions, like 'do you want a zipper, or a fixed belt?', and I would just respond with the thing that sounded most familiar. So, we'll see how this little exercise turns out; hopefully it will be good, since I have to wear one of the outfits to a wedding on Friday.

Okay, I was falling asleep while writing that last paragraph, so it's time for bed!