Indian Justice

Last Sunday, Anand (I’d previously called him Ajit to hide his real name. He was displeased at that courtesy), Tulsi, and I drove back to Channapatna, the toy capital. Tulsi works there as a buyer and distributer, and also has done some cool design work in a workshop there. She was going to show us how things work. A tour of sorts. Unfortunately, we never made it to Channapatna because we hit a dude on a motorcycle.

Some primer is in order. Although we were on a "highway," this isn’t much like highways in the US. There are occasional formal on- and off-ramps, but most of the stretch is pretty open. When it goes through towns, people just sorta hop on the highway. The same applies to areas that are just a few roadside food stalls. People are constantly getting on and off. The shoulders in these areas are one with the sidewalks and parking, all the way up to the storefronts. Picture a highway where the shoulders are full of broken down cars constantly rejoining traffic.

Obviously, we were driving on the left, but I’ll translate this into American drive-on-the-right to make it clearer for you all. We were on a four lane highway, and were in the left lane of our two lanes. There was a rickshaw in the right lane, probably 3 car-lengths ahead of us. This blinded us to the motorcycle trying to cross the highway, making a left-hand turn across the median to go the other direction. It also blinded him to us. He staled before the median, planning to wait for a break in that traffic, leaving him stopped right in front of us. Anand slammed the brakes, but there was nothing we could do–we hit his rear wheel, he spun around, and his helmetless self flew off the bike. This was 100% the biker’s fault.

What happened next is all a blur. I recall just staring straight ahead, motionless, as Anand and Tulsi rushed out to deal with things. Eventually Tulsi rushed back and said "Areyouok?stayinthecar!" Anand would later say that the only reason he wasn’t beaten up by a mob at this point was because Tulsi was there, and Indians won’t fight in front of a woman.

As it turned out, the guy was mostly fine. A few scratches. Nothing major. This helped cool the situation down, and we agreed to drive the guy a nearby hospital, because that’s what good people do. Anand followed him in, and it became clear that despite his limited injuries, this day was far from over.

The man demanded that the doctors give him lots of bandages. They didn’t want to put anything on him, since all he had were a few scratches, but he insisted. The man was also demanding an Rs.50,000 bribe from Anand, lest he file a police report. We decided we’d file the report ourselves. Anand also called for backup, and several well-connected friends of his showed up. While we were waiting for them, as well as the police, the man walked away from the hospital with his family, largely unscathed.

At this point we were a little confused about how to proceed. We didn’t want to file a report if we didn’t have to, as that would mean impounding the car for at least a day, possibly a week (all of our knowledge of the law was hearsay). But we also didn’t know what he’d be up to, and again, we were fearful of being accused of a hit-and-run. Even though we’d have proof to the contrary at the hospital, just being charged is way more of a hassle than we wanted to deal with. We decided to drive back to the site, find the guy’s license plate number on his bike, use Anand’s friends’ connections to run that number, and find out where he lives. Tulsi and I laid back for this venture. We left it up to Anand and his gang of cronies.

What Anand found on arriving was that his side was hopelessly outmanned, as well as out-armed. While he’d amassed a handful of sharp, well-connected friends, the other guy’s family had summoned a gang. With sickles. Anand described one drunk guy waving his sickle around at him, dangerously close. Anand responded by getting his friends to summon their own gang, who showed up in an oversized van called a Tata Sumo. This just made me think of the scenes in Hotel Rwanda where truckloads of mercenaries with machetes are driving down the streets.

With both sides equally backed up, they negotiated things down to Rs.4,500, or almost exactly $100. A hefty fine, but one we were reluctantly willing to pay. Why not just take things to court, you might ask? We weren’t at all at fault, and wouldn’t a court certainly find that? There were several problems with court. First, like I mentioned, we didn’t want the car impounded. If this thing went to court, the car could’ve wound up impounded for quite a while. Second, we discovered when looking up their address that this guy’s family was a powerful minority family in the area, and courts tend to bend over backwards to protect minorities. The "oppressive majority" line apparently plays really well here. Anand’s friends said they could easily drag the litigation on for at least a year, if not several, and that this stress and hassle would eventually cost us well over a few thousand Rupees. Finally, they had control of the local witnesses. They were already claiming that we hit the bike in its rear end, rather than side, making it seem like we just sped into it. Forensics on the car could prove otherwise, but that’s probably more CSI than real-life Indian law. So even though it wasn’t our fault, courts wouldn’t necessarily agree.

Anand finally rejoined us with the good news (and rounding up cash from us–nobody runs around with 4,500 Rupees). We then took off to hang out with his friends who had come to our rescue. They own a small, very self-sustaining farm in the countryside. Anand said that everything they have they made themselves. I think this means they have their own proprietary software on their homemade computers, too, but I’m not sure. We wound up having an incredible homemade meal at their home, very simple but easily one of the best veg meals I’ve ever eaten. I didn't get a photo of the appetizer plate, which was homemade chips, a sort of raisin blondie/brownie thing, and some other Indian fried thing. It's hard to justify dosas and stew being this good, but they were.



I’d commented to Tulsi on what a waste that day had turned into. It was supposed to be awesome, and had just turned into a total bite. Then we got that meal. And I also got a look at this sweet family photo of theirs. And I got more good blog material. Not a good trade-off, but at least we got something out of the deal.

Photos

I'm not the best photographer, so when I take photos, I tend to go for volume and hope a few turn out. So the Flickr stream's a bit crowded. By request, I've compiled what I think are my best shots so far: http://www.flickr.com/photos/41957090@N04/sets/72157625629777870/.

I'll try to update that page as I keep going.

Imperialist Food: Taco Bell

With much fanfare, they just opened a Taco Bell in my neighborhood. It’s kitty corner to the Sony World store after which the intersection is named, but I predict that within a couple of years, they’ll start calling the intersection "Taco Bell." It’s that gaudy.

This place opened at some point when I was in Dharamsala, and it’s been packed ever since. Based on my limited contacts here, Indians really seem to dig Taco Bell. I keep telling them how odd this is, given that Taco Bell is the single lowest grade food among major American fast foot chains, but I think part of the appeal is just the Mexican food aspect. There’s no Mexican food here, so Taco Bell is as close as they get. Plus they have the free fire sauce packets, and we all know how much Indians love free fire sauce.

In a way, I knew what I wanted when I walked in: as much variety as possible. So I didn’t really care what I was eating as long as each item was different. But for an Indian with NO idea what any of this food is, it’s a daunting process. Somewhat like the "Fahita" stand at the Iroquois County Fair, both sides of the cash register were pronouncing the J in Fajita. They do have a large poster explaining exactly what’s in each menu item, which I sorta wish they had in the States, too, just so you can tell if they’ve exhausted all permutations of the same 7 ingredients.

Anyway, about the food. Unlike the Dominos, this stuff was all pretty similar to what you get in the States. By which I mean: generally nasty, but with just enough good options to make it good comfort food. I hate a potato taco, which was basically tater tots, sauce, and toppings. It failed because the cold ingredients (everything but the tots) won out, and despite being eaten first, it was cold.



I also partook of the nachos, which were flavored in themselves, in addition to the toppings. So rather than just nachos, it was basically topped Doritos. While a pleasant surprise, I don’t think I’d go for the nachos again, for reasons that should be clear when you look an inch below this sentence.



The side item with my potato taco meal was a "snackito," which is basically the world’s most tightly wrapped tortilla. It enclosed a very small amount of, basically, salsa and cheese. Forgettable.



The burrito, however, worked great. Nice and soft, with all of the right stuff inside of it and none of the garbage. The chicken was at least acceptable, and everything else worked. It probably worked, for me, because it was exactly what I’d get in the US. It was not Indianized. When I go back, I’ll probably just get a couple of burritos. And a refillable diet pepsi. I’ve mentioned the dearth of diet pop in this country, but Taco Bell represented. When my brother was in Germany, he described the lack of Mountain Dew, and the eventual craving for this. When he finally found it at a Taco Bell next to a military base in Stuttgart, he parked himself there and downed it all afternoon. His heart’s still beating, and I can only hope the same is true for me when I get done with this place.

One note about the refillable pop, though. In the States, this phenomenon emerged because it’s cheaper to waste pop than to hire someone to pour it. The margins on pop are through the roof, so give out however much it takes to get people to pull the trigger on it, right? Here, you get the "best" of both worlds. A refillable pop from a fountain in the dining area, but poured by an employee standing next to it. They seriously have people standing next to each of the two fountains who take your cup and pour in your drink of choice. Ridiculously cheap labor strikes again.

Stats

I get some interesting stats from Blogger's dashboard. Today's was discovering that a Russian had found my site while doing a google search for "how to marry with banana tree." Glad to see that post is useful to someone.

Adventures in Tibet Part V: It’s 234 kilometers to Chandigarh

We’ve got an empty bladder, two packs of weird sandwich cookies, it’s cold and the bus is air-conditioned. Hit it.

When I booked my flights, I had serious concerns about an early morning flight out of Delhi. The overnight buses from Dharamsala don’t get into Delhi until 8 or 9, and with an hour trip to the airport, plus a minimum of 45 minutes of lead time, I didn’t think it was going to work. But Sanju had to get back in time for a wedding that day, so the upshot was I traveled back from Dharamsala solo. This was an adventure all on its own.

I was able to buy my ticket for a nice, state-run, "luxury" bus two days in advance. I wasn’t taking chances with the buses all selling out from an exodus of Russian Pilgrims. The bus arrived on time, was neat and tidy, and was mostly empty. Or at least it was mostly empty when it departed. As soon as it pulled in, a bunch of Russian Pilgrims rushed on board while the Indian conductor was pleading with them to stop so he could check their tickets to make sure they were on the right bus. They weren’t. So after my travels, I think the order from most to least orderly travelers goes:

Germans -> Americans -> Indians -> Russian Pilgrims

We picked up some people along the way, but only briefly was there anyone sitting next to me. I’ve concluded that lateral space is far more important than leg room for comfort. The seats on these buses recline like hell, to the point where the seat in front of you is only a few inches from your face unless you also recline. That didn’t bother me. But I loved the side space. Perhaps airlines should see if they can’t focus on that instead of leg room.

Once in Delhi, I took a rickshaw to the airport and found my driver not only speaking English, but also being quite chatty. It was here, actually, that I first learned of the cold snap and ice storm in the US. This was the weirdest of sources for my emergence from living under a rock in Tibet, but it was neat to have that sort of a threshold to jump over. That news ended the trip. I still had to get through a delay-stricken, poorly laid-out Delhi Airport (the taxi to the runway was 15 minutes, AFTER we bused to the plane itself). But at that point, I was back to news, and the trip was done.

I’ll get back to posting non-travel-blog stuff very soon. I realize these posts weren’t my best, but they were pretty much necessary. Some teasers: my review of Taco Bell, a "best of" photography post to sort through the hundreds of bad and repetitive photos I took, and more adventures with the law (this time with an angry mob). I’m also now bringing a camera with me whenever I go to the grocery store. There’s too much good stuff there.