Arrival in Kolkata - Now I understand Why there are so Many Words for "Crazy"

Cheryl and I landed at the airport and everything seemed as it normally would be at an airport. Granted, it was smaller than we had anticipated and there was an old cat that lived there, but otherwise, normal. Outside we were greeted by the sight of tiny little picturesque vintage taxi cabs that looked like windup toys at Christian Anderson's store. The drivers were running about attempting to convince everyone that their cab was the best, the cheapest, and that they knew exactly where people needed to go.

Cheryl and I knew the cab driver we were talking to was charging a bit much but we were swiftly becoming anxious to get into town so we took his offer, secured ourselves into the taxi, and then we were away for the ride of our life.

When we arrived in Thailand I thought people were crazy way they drove. Then our friends that have visited India told us that the driving in Thailand was nothing compared to the driving of India. Man oh man were they not kidding. Riding in a taxi cab in Kolkata was a crazy maelstrom of horror and delight. It was, by far, the most interesting driving experience I have ever been in in my life (and that's saying a lot because I have totaled a motorcycle before). The cars weave in and out of each other taking every pull-position they can until there is not an inch unoccupied. It made me think of that experiment where you fill a cup with rocks and ask "Is it full?", and then proceed to show it isn't by pouring in fine sand, and finally, water. The streets of Kolkata were just that efficiently filled with traffic. where there wasn't a car there was a cart, where there wasn't a cart there a tuk tuk, and where there was one more foot of space, somehow there was a wedged a cow! "Oh, haha" you say? You think I am exaggerating? I see you have not been to India my friend.

Our cab driver proceeded to pummel his way through traffic with his horn as a constant reminder that he was playing his own lead role in the cacophonic symphony of C-broken-and refuses to be diminished. Indeed, every car on the road sounded like it's horn was stuck in the on position. If ever there was a raging herd of wild cabs, this was it.

After three near misses of hitting other vehicles (not too close, merely 1-3 cms) our driver finally managed to bottleneck himself into a position and slam into the side of another cab. Cheryl and I silently watched to see what would happen. Will they quietly get our, observe the accident, and exchange insurance information? No. The other driver leaned out and hollered, to which our driver hollered back. I don't speak Hindi, but I am good at listening to voice tones. I believe our driver's tone was around the lines of "Aww come on you big baby, if it's not your fault then it's only a scratch anyhow. Go home to your Momma!" To which the other driver seemed to think that was a good idea and then decided to avoid our particular cab for the remainder of the roller coaster ride.

Once out of the cab we then had the challenge of crossing eh street. One gentleman helped lead us across the street by no easy means. The process involved simply placing one's self in front of a vehi8cle and then praying to the Gods the driver will choose to stop. I followed none too tentatively, for to do so with reservation would mean imminent danger, as opposed to the negligible danger of simply getting 'nudged' by traffic. It appears the only way to cross a busy street in India is to do so with reckless abandon ala-Gonzo-Muppet-Movie style; just fling yourself in and hope your maker is looking in your defense at the time.

Editors note: The picture of the taxi cab is cut from a shot by Jay Ewert. The second picture is a great over-the-roof-of-the-taxi-cab-in-the-streets-of-Kolkata shot by Cheryl Bates.