Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
The Conductor and My Dog
"Chalo, Go!" the young man shouts banging his hand against the side of the bus. The bus moves away from the stop, and the conductor pulls himself into the bus closing the door behind him. In between stops, he skinnies his way through the sardine packed bus flipping through the wad of rupees with his thumb like a deck of cards letting you know he wants the fare. He puts most of the money in a leather bag he wears over his shoulder and should you need change, you will get it. He always knows who and how much.
Soon he's back at his post announcing the next stop. Some folks are trying to get off at the stop, pretty challenging since everyone's body has become entangled with someone else's, and to create as much havoc as possible, folks are scrambling to get on the bus. The conductor is a master at mob control and soon, believe it or not, people who want off, are off and people who want on, are on. If the stop is an actual stop which lasts a minute or two, the conductor is off the bus hawking the destination, "Durgapur, Durgapur!" so fast that to a foreigner's ears it's indistinguishable.
The conductor can pack a bus. He has his orders to transport a certain number of people during the day, and if he wants to keep his job, he will meet the demand, forgetting all safety precautions. So with people back to back and belly to belly and who knows what else, the conductor urges more people on. "Chalo, Go!" BANG! and we're off.
Standing on the bottom step leaning out into the traffic with his body against the open door of the bus, the conductor shouts directions to drivers of other vehicles, not just cars, but cycles and rickshaws, and using his free hand tells drivers to move over or to come on by.
The driver of the bus is totally dependent on the the conductor. For one thing, he cannot see who's getting on or off. He's in a spot pretty much by himself, separated from the rest of us by a metal divider which is right behind his back. He cannot be watching for passengers and he certainly isn't taking the fare or even directing the traffic, so the conductor's position is prime.
Since the buses are on a schedule, they waste no time at stops, especially in Calcutta. The conductor wants you off quickly and on quickly. He does help the elderly (not me) and mothers with young children lifting the children onto the bus or off the bus, but the rest of us have to have a bit of leapping ability to get a foot on the bottom step, and this step is way up off the ground, and grab the railing as the bus is already moving out.
When I am able to actually see this guy in action, that is when I am not flattened against the throng of people standing on the bus, I love watching him go through his routine.
Agile, athletic, and alert, the conductor keeps India on the go.
My Dog
I've already introduced you to My Dog, but now I want to tell you more about her.
She's still on the skinny side, but not like she was in the beginning when I first met her.
She still doesn't have much hair, and she is still scratching but less feverishly. There are not as many open, raw patches on her as before.
In spite of all this, she's got a spirit about her that's endearing, not a lot unlike the people who live in the slums. They are survivors, at least for the moment, and they are spirited ones.
I think My Dog is clever, smart, and loyal. She can also be stubborn or maybe it's just a language barrier.
To illustrate: One evening I was riding my bike back to my flat from the Center when My Dog decided to follow me. I shooed her back and thought I had succeeded, but when I came to the intersection I have to cross, there was quite a lot of traffic, all kinds of wheeled things with no lights, so I had to stop and wait. When I stopped, My Dog pulled up beside me, sat down and waited with me. What to do? I'm too tired to turn around and take her back, and besides, it is dark. I do nothing. When the road is clear, I take off on my bike with My Dog running along beside me, but not too close so I don't have to worry about hitting her.
As we approach my block, the dogs who hang out at the chemist shop spotted her and came charging after her barking and snarling as they are prone to do. I didn't stop, but I did slow down to listen for the usual yelping and squealing that accompanies a dog attack. There was none. Okay good. Now maybe she's learned a lesson and will not try to follow me again.
The next day I couldn't find My Dog. I asked everyone if they had seen her and no one had. I began to feel very guilty about not returning her to the Center or checking to make sure she had escaped the ferociously territorial dogs in my block.
I started cruising up and down the lanes in between my flat and the Center looking for her body, but I found nothing.
Then on the third day, there she was in her usual spot. "Where have you been?" I asked. A young seminarian doing a short internship at the Center told me he had spotted her on the roof, which is where a lot of the dogs like to sleep.
Soon she started trying to follow me again, and I asked the guard to please keep her behind the gate and not let her out. This lasted only a short time, however, and one evening she managed to slip past the guard and took up her post alongside my bike.
When we got to the chemist canines, nothing happened. I rode right past them and My Dog stayed right with me. We got to my gate and My Dog wanted in, of course. While I was wrestling my bike through the gate, she slipped in. Oh well. My landlord was out doing his nightly laps so there was no way to sneak her in. I parked my bike and began the task of coaxing her back out the gate. The landlord helped a bit knowing Bengali dog talk. On the other side of the gate, she lingered awhile and then left.
This became a routine, and I must admit it was kind of fun having My Dog trotting along beside me, especially one night when it was very late.
Another evening, Mrs. K. and I were walking together toward our homes and My Dog was along as well. When we reached the chemist, two of the canines came tearing across the street in their usual obnoxious, teeth baring way. Mrs. K. and I stopped to see what would happen. Well, My Dog held her ground. She hissed a couple of words at them, her nose twitching and her mouth moving up and down, and those two fat and sassy dogs slinked back across the street without another word.
Mrs. K. and I looked at each other in wonder. When My Dog joined us, we asked her, "What in the world did you say to them?" I'd like to have those words tucked away for emergencies. We got to my flat, and Mrs. K. went on her way and My Dog slipped in through the gate as usual. I got her out, closed the latch, and proceeded to the doors which provide me access to the stairs. I hoisted my bike up the steps to the landing and headed up to my flat. About half way up, I heard something behind me. When I turned to see who or what it was, yes, you guessed it, My Dog! Someone must have come in or left and My Dog seized the opportunity. She knew exactly where the doors were and she boldly came through them and began the climb up. What now? I had my arms full as usual so I went on up to my flat. My Dog followed me in like she owned the place, took a self-guided tour and sat down in my dining area. She wasn't loud, no barking or running. For one brief moment, I was tempted to keep her overnight. Bad idea since we get locked in for the night and there would be no way to get her out should the need arise. Besides, I like my landlord and wouldn't want him to think Americans were a sneaky lot. "Okay, My Dog, let's go." Back down the stairs we went. My landlord, again lapping, just laughed when he saw her.
One morning as I was leaving to go to the Center, My Dog came bounding out of the bushes next door. Together we went to school.
Now that I am spending more time at the Center since I am shifting my stuff here for the last month and a half of my stay, My Dog is a constant companion. If I am painting in a classroom, she is there. If I am working at the computer, she is there. I have even let her in my little one room flat here at the Center. One day when I let her in and then wanted her out, she wouldn't go. Round and round we went My Dog dodging me every which way. Finally I got one of the men to help me. "Heh, Heh" he said, and My Dog got up and left. I've been working on my "Heh, hehs" and sometimes My Dog understands.
It is certain My Dog will never win any beauty pageants, but it is also certain that she's won my heart.
Soon he's back at his post announcing the next stop. Some folks are trying to get off at the stop, pretty challenging since everyone's body has become entangled with someone else's, and to create as much havoc as possible, folks are scrambling to get on the bus. The conductor is a master at mob control and soon, believe it or not, people who want off, are off and people who want on, are on. If the stop is an actual stop which lasts a minute or two, the conductor is off the bus hawking the destination, "Durgapur, Durgapur!" so fast that to a foreigner's ears it's indistinguishable.
The conductor can pack a bus. He has his orders to transport a certain number of people during the day, and if he wants to keep his job, he will meet the demand, forgetting all safety precautions. So with people back to back and belly to belly and who knows what else, the conductor urges more people on. "Chalo, Go!" BANG! and we're off.
Standing on the bottom step leaning out into the traffic with his body against the open door of the bus, the conductor shouts directions to drivers of other vehicles, not just cars, but cycles and rickshaws, and using his free hand tells drivers to move over or to come on by.
The driver of the bus is totally dependent on the the conductor. For one thing, he cannot see who's getting on or off. He's in a spot pretty much by himself, separated from the rest of us by a metal divider which is right behind his back. He cannot be watching for passengers and he certainly isn't taking the fare or even directing the traffic, so the conductor's position is prime.
Since the buses are on a schedule, they waste no time at stops, especially in Calcutta. The conductor wants you off quickly and on quickly. He does help the elderly (not me) and mothers with young children lifting the children onto the bus or off the bus, but the rest of us have to have a bit of leapping ability to get a foot on the bottom step, and this step is way up off the ground, and grab the railing as the bus is already moving out.
When I am able to actually see this guy in action, that is when I am not flattened against the throng of people standing on the bus, I love watching him go through his routine.
Agile, athletic, and alert, the conductor keeps India on the go.
My Dog
I've already introduced you to My Dog, but now I want to tell you more about her.
She's still on the skinny side, but not like she was in the beginning when I first met her.
She still doesn't have much hair, and she is still scratching but less feverishly. There are not as many open, raw patches on her as before.
In spite of all this, she's got a spirit about her that's endearing, not a lot unlike the people who live in the slums. They are survivors, at least for the moment, and they are spirited ones.
I think My Dog is clever, smart, and loyal. She can also be stubborn or maybe it's just a language barrier.
To illustrate: One evening I was riding my bike back to my flat from the Center when My Dog decided to follow me. I shooed her back and thought I had succeeded, but when I came to the intersection I have to cross, there was quite a lot of traffic, all kinds of wheeled things with no lights, so I had to stop and wait. When I stopped, My Dog pulled up beside me, sat down and waited with me. What to do? I'm too tired to turn around and take her back, and besides, it is dark. I do nothing. When the road is clear, I take off on my bike with My Dog running along beside me, but not too close so I don't have to worry about hitting her.
As we approach my block, the dogs who hang out at the chemist shop spotted her and came charging after her barking and snarling as they are prone to do. I didn't stop, but I did slow down to listen for the usual yelping and squealing that accompanies a dog attack. There was none. Okay good. Now maybe she's learned a lesson and will not try to follow me again.
The next day I couldn't find My Dog. I asked everyone if they had seen her and no one had. I began to feel very guilty about not returning her to the Center or checking to make sure she had escaped the ferociously territorial dogs in my block.
I started cruising up and down the lanes in between my flat and the Center looking for her body, but I found nothing.
Then on the third day, there she was in her usual spot. "Where have you been?" I asked. A young seminarian doing a short internship at the Center told me he had spotted her on the roof, which is where a lot of the dogs like to sleep.
Soon she started trying to follow me again, and I asked the guard to please keep her behind the gate and not let her out. This lasted only a short time, however, and one evening she managed to slip past the guard and took up her post alongside my bike.
When we got to the chemist canines, nothing happened. I rode right past them and My Dog stayed right with me. We got to my gate and My Dog wanted in, of course. While I was wrestling my bike through the gate, she slipped in. Oh well. My landlord was out doing his nightly laps so there was no way to sneak her in. I parked my bike and began the task of coaxing her back out the gate. The landlord helped a bit knowing Bengali dog talk. On the other side of the gate, she lingered awhile and then left.
This became a routine, and I must admit it was kind of fun having My Dog trotting along beside me, especially one night when it was very late.
Another evening, Mrs. K. and I were walking together toward our homes and My Dog was along as well. When we reached the chemist, two of the canines came tearing across the street in their usual obnoxious, teeth baring way. Mrs. K. and I stopped to see what would happen. Well, My Dog held her ground. She hissed a couple of words at them, her nose twitching and her mouth moving up and down, and those two fat and sassy dogs slinked back across the street without another word.
Mrs. K. and I looked at each other in wonder. When My Dog joined us, we asked her, "What in the world did you say to them?" I'd like to have those words tucked away for emergencies. We got to my flat, and Mrs. K. went on her way and My Dog slipped in through the gate as usual. I got her out, closed the latch, and proceeded to the doors which provide me access to the stairs. I hoisted my bike up the steps to the landing and headed up to my flat. About half way up, I heard something behind me. When I turned to see who or what it was, yes, you guessed it, My Dog! Someone must have come in or left and My Dog seized the opportunity. She knew exactly where the doors were and she boldly came through them and began the climb up. What now? I had my arms full as usual so I went on up to my flat. My Dog followed me in like she owned the place, took a self-guided tour and sat down in my dining area. She wasn't loud, no barking or running. For one brief moment, I was tempted to keep her overnight. Bad idea since we get locked in for the night and there would be no way to get her out should the need arise. Besides, I like my landlord and wouldn't want him to think Americans were a sneaky lot. "Okay, My Dog, let's go." Back down the stairs we went. My landlord, again lapping, just laughed when he saw her.
One morning as I was leaving to go to the Center, My Dog came bounding out of the bushes next door. Together we went to school.
Now that I am spending more time at the Center since I am shifting my stuff here for the last month and a half of my stay, My Dog is a constant companion. If I am painting in a classroom, she is there. If I am working at the computer, she is there. I have even let her in my little one room flat here at the Center. One day when I let her in and then wanted her out, she wouldn't go. Round and round we went My Dog dodging me every which way. Finally I got one of the men to help me. "Heh, Heh" he said, and My Dog got up and left. I've been working on my "Heh, hehs" and sometimes My Dog understands.
It is certain My Dog will never win any beauty pageants, but it is also certain that she's won my heart.
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