While getting a bus across the tarmac at Bangalore airport the driver stopped in front of our plane on an essentially empty tarmac and started honking his horn before driving an additional 20 metres and letting us off. I’m not sure if he really expected the plane to move out of the way but you have to admire his delusion.
Monday, 26 February 2007
India Transport
There are various methods of transport in India ranging from suicidal to suicidal.
1. Walking
2. Motorbike
3. Rickshaw (auto or bike)
4. Car
5. Taxi (distinct from private cars as the drivers seem to have death wishes)
6. Government bus
7. Private Bus (deluxe or semi-deluxe)
8. Volvo (coach)
9. Train
Walking is perhaps the most hazardous transport medium if you’re near a road and the one least undertaken by middle class Indians. There are no such things as pedestrian crossings, sure they are painted on the road but if you are to use one you’d be painted on the road, then painted around by the traffic police. I recently had to cross a busy road and after waiting several minutes for a break in the traffic I almost went back to ask the soothsayer when the next break in traffic would be.
Auto Rickshaws are fantastic concept, most of the time when you want to use a taxi you only need two seats or maybe three so why waste money dragging around additional seats and a boot when it’s not necessary. So the rickshaw is the answer, a three wheeled yellow and black bird cage powered by a lawnmower engine. They can be very scary depending on the driver you have managed to flag down and negotiate either the activation of the meter or a charge you’re both happy with. Rickshaw drivers basically hurl their vehicle through every gap in the traffic they can find. I’m sure several times I’ve been in one that’s somehow managed to occupy another vehicles space time somehow without having an accident.
The rickshaw drivers for reasons only known to themselves mount their side mirrors on the inside of the cab, orientated so that the only thing they can see is the back seat. The mirrors also frequently have written on them “Objects in the mirror appear closer than they are” which strikes me as terribly useless because by the time an object you would like to see in your mirrors is visible it has crushed through the back wall of your vehicle.
A bus provides exactly n – 5 inches of leg room, where n is the distance between hip and knee. A semi deluxe or deluxe bus are really the same thing but when you book the tickets you’re told that the bus is deluxe and yet when it arrives it’s clearly semi. On top of that the deluxe is really a misnomer as the bus is really not deluxe but tolerable. I suggest redefining the classes are tolerable and barely tolerable.
A Volvo bus is wonderful and is equivalent to our coach class. Though it usually involves deafening Bollywood movie, but headphones or ear plugs reduce that to a racket.
In all the transport options only the train is safe and then only if you aren’t taking the class that involves hanging out of the train. In many cases without a molecule of your body inside the actual train as your are literally hanging off someone else.
Space is an important concept, Dr Karl said that of all forms of transport a 747 has the smallest amount of space per person. He obviously hasn’t seen the Indian transport packing solution. Frequently I have seen cars, bikes or rickshaws loaded to the roof with people. A small 5 seater car can easily contain 11 people if packed properly, two people per front seat (including the driver seat) and 5 people squished on the back seat and two additional kids peeking out the boot. In the same manner 8 people + a driver can be fitted in to an auto, a device designed to take 2 in a semblance of comfort.
1. Walking
2. Motorbike
3. Rickshaw (auto or bike)
4. Car
5. Taxi (distinct from private cars as the drivers seem to have death wishes)
6. Government bus
7. Private Bus (deluxe or semi-deluxe)
8. Volvo (coach)
9. Train
Walking is perhaps the most hazardous transport medium if you’re near a road and the one least undertaken by middle class Indians. There are no such things as pedestrian crossings, sure they are painted on the road but if you are to use one you’d be painted on the road, then painted around by the traffic police. I recently had to cross a busy road and after waiting several minutes for a break in the traffic I almost went back to ask the soothsayer when the next break in traffic would be.
Auto Rickshaws are fantastic concept, most of the time when you want to use a taxi you only need two seats or maybe three so why waste money dragging around additional seats and a boot when it’s not necessary. So the rickshaw is the answer, a three wheeled yellow and black bird cage powered by a lawnmower engine. They can be very scary depending on the driver you have managed to flag down and negotiate either the activation of the meter or a charge you’re both happy with. Rickshaw drivers basically hurl their vehicle through every gap in the traffic they can find. I’m sure several times I’ve been in one that’s somehow managed to occupy another vehicles space time somehow without having an accident.
The rickshaw drivers for reasons only known to themselves mount their side mirrors on the inside of the cab, orientated so that the only thing they can see is the back seat. The mirrors also frequently have written on them “Objects in the mirror appear closer than they are” which strikes me as terribly useless because by the time an object you would like to see in your mirrors is visible it has crushed through the back wall of your vehicle.
A bus provides exactly n – 5 inches of leg room, where n is the distance between hip and knee. A semi deluxe or deluxe bus are really the same thing but when you book the tickets you’re told that the bus is deluxe and yet when it arrives it’s clearly semi. On top of that the deluxe is really a misnomer as the bus is really not deluxe but tolerable. I suggest redefining the classes are tolerable and barely tolerable.
A Volvo bus is wonderful and is equivalent to our coach class. Though it usually involves deafening Bollywood movie, but headphones or ear plugs reduce that to a racket.
In all the transport options only the train is safe and then only if you aren’t taking the class that involves hanging out of the train. In many cases without a molecule of your body inside the actual train as your are literally hanging off someone else.
Space is an important concept, Dr Karl said that of all forms of transport a 747 has the smallest amount of space per person. He obviously hasn’t seen the Indian transport packing solution. Frequently I have seen cars, bikes or rickshaws loaded to the roof with people. A small 5 seater car can easily contain 11 people if packed properly, two people per front seat (including the driver seat) and 5 people squished on the back seat and two additional kids peeking out the boot. In the same manner 8 people + a driver can be fitted in to an auto, a device designed to take 2 in a semblance of comfort.
Monday, 19 February 2007
3rd of February
We were planning on leaving this 500000 horse town and heading back to Bangalore but since Kiruna decided to leak amniotic fluid everywhere the previous night we decided to stay until she popped a baby out.
So we waited and waited, I had warned her that the first baby is usually early and that the first labour is usually prolonged but I didn’t realise how prophetic my statement was. After something like 24 hours in labour she finally gave birth to a baby (or as I might have suggested a little monkey).
So we waited and waited, I had warned her that the first baby is usually early and that the first labour is usually prolonged but I didn’t realise how prophetic my statement was. After something like 24 hours in labour she finally gave birth to a baby (or as I might have suggested a little monkey).
As all good celebrations in India call for we went out and bought a packet of sweets. We bought Mysore Pak which was geographically appropriate. As near as I can tell it was 75 % ghee and 25 % sugar which is then fried (probably in Ghee). It was delicious, but after having a finger width slice I’m sure I have heart disease. Simply rising from a chair is now enough exercise to cause angina. But it was worth it.
2nd of February
We went to visit a city called Mysore, it’s in south of India, a nice little town except it has a population similar to Sydney. But it does have small town feel,. We visited a number of people; of note were Kiruna and Rashmi.
Kiruna is of note as she was 39/40 preggers and my cousin and Rashmi is her sister thus require a note as she might get offended if her sibling is only mentioned (hi Rashmi).
Kiruna is of note as she was 39/40 preggers and my cousin and Rashmi is her sister thus require a note as she might get offended if her sibling is only mentioned (hi Rashmi).
Cousins
If you’re my cousin and reading my blog then I’d love for you to drop me a line so I now have your email address. It’s up there in the profiles section.
Thursday, 1 February 2007
30th of January
Khushbu arranged for me to spend a day at the hospital she works in, Escorts Heart Institute and Research Centre. This is a private hospital with a chunk of its patients coming from overseas for the so called medical tourism.
Khushbu took me to see the head of Anaesthetics and Critical Care who the previous day had invited me to spend today observing the anaesthetic side of things in the hospital. In fact he actually arranged for me to spend the day with one of the ICU consultants. Which was fantastic as this is where I would like to end up practising, probably more through physcians training than anaesthetics but that's neither here nor there.
The ICU had equipment about as advanced as they do at RPAH with staff that had the training to use them. The difference between Escorts and IGMC is unbelievable. The doctors and nursing staff actually seem to care about the patients and want them to get better.
In the 6 hours that I was at the hospital I received more teaching than I had during the entire time at IGMC. It was wonderful.
Khushbu took me to see the head of Anaesthetics and Critical Care who the previous day had invited me to spend today observing the anaesthetic side of things in the hospital. In fact he actually arranged for me to spend the day with one of the ICU consultants. Which was fantastic as this is where I would like to end up practising, probably more through physcians training than anaesthetics but that's neither here nor there.
The ICU had equipment about as advanced as they do at RPAH with staff that had the training to use them. The difference between Escorts and IGMC is unbelievable. The doctors and nursing staff actually seem to care about the patients and want them to get better.
In the 6 hours that I was at the hospital I received more teaching than I had during the entire time at IGMC. It was wonderful.
29th of January
I went to pick Khushbu up from her hospital where she works and upon finding her I also found a small dirt ball clutching her. Closer inspection revealed that it was a small child.
Khushbu had been crossing the road to reach her office from the main hospital complex (a hazardous task at the best of times as the concept of pedestrian crossings is very foreign here) and she found an approximately 18 Ð 24 month girl crying her head off in the middle of the road. Seems that this child was lost, but was unwilling or unable to communicate her name or where she lived.
Khushbu took the child to the security gate office, but the security officers there were unwilling to take responsibility for such a child. She received repeated phone calls from her boss asking why the hell had she picked up the child, didn’t she know that she should have just left her there.
After about 30 minutes we dumped the child in the security office in a blanket and started a quick tour of the hospital. It was simply beautiful, especially after compared with what I had experienced in Shimla. The wards were clean, no blood on the floor, walls, bed linen and the equipment worked.
A short while later we received a phone call saying that the police would take over the case and we had to take the child to the nearest police station. The hospitals car was called and a driver, security officer and some random chap accompanied us to the station. The police then declined to have anything to do with her unless we took the girl around to the slum towns to try and find her parents. Fortunately the police agreed to accompany us.
Going through the slums was well worth it, seeing a bit of India that I would have really been a bit worried about going by myself. Each time we stopped we were flocked by horde of people trying to see what the policeman was talking about.
We spent about an hour trying to find the girl’s parents with no success. Whether that was due to not finding them or their unwillingness to come forward and admit to owning the girl. In fact all we managed to find out was that when the policeman yelled at the girl and poked her she would hide in Khushbu’s shawl and wipe snot on it.
We finally left the girl with the police who were going to transfer her to a larger station who would then deal with her.
Khushbu had been crossing the road to reach her office from the main hospital complex (a hazardous task at the best of times as the concept of pedestrian crossings is very foreign here) and she found an approximately 18 Ð 24 month girl crying her head off in the middle of the road. Seems that this child was lost, but was unwilling or unable to communicate her name or where she lived.
Khushbu took the child to the security gate office, but the security officers there were unwilling to take responsibility for such a child. She received repeated phone calls from her boss asking why the hell had she picked up the child, didn’t she know that she should have just left her there.
After about 30 minutes we dumped the child in the security office in a blanket and started a quick tour of the hospital. It was simply beautiful, especially after compared with what I had experienced in Shimla. The wards were clean, no blood on the floor, walls, bed linen and the equipment worked.
A short while later we received a phone call saying that the police would take over the case and we had to take the child to the nearest police station. The hospitals car was called and a driver, security officer and some random chap accompanied us to the station. The police then declined to have anything to do with her unless we took the girl around to the slum towns to try and find her parents. Fortunately the police agreed to accompany us.
Going through the slums was well worth it, seeing a bit of India that I would have really been a bit worried about going by myself. Each time we stopped we were flocked by horde of people trying to see what the policeman was talking about.
We spent about an hour trying to find the girl’s parents with no success. Whether that was due to not finding them or their unwillingness to come forward and admit to owning the girl. In fact all we managed to find out was that when the policeman yelled at the girl and poked her she would hide in Khushbu’s shawl and wipe snot on it.
We finally left the girl with the police who were going to transfer her to a larger station who would then deal with her.
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