As the bright sun lit up the morning sky, the streets burst into life with a chorus of motor engines roaring, birds chirping and trees hustling. I stood on the balcony, eleven stories above ground, looking out into the city of Bangalore, India. The horizon a mix of buildings, tall, short, finished, unfinished; trees, coconut, banana, palm, whatever else was there, placed sporadically in between buildings and houses. The color was a mix of green, yellow, red, concrete, wood, against the backdrop of blue sky and little gray-white clouds. I took a step back, sat on the bench and soak in the sun and the slight breeze of a typical morning. The temperature was probably about 27-28 c, just right.
What happened the night before, I could only recount in memory. But being there, seeing all those things, what a totally different world some of us live in.
An hour later on the bench, thinking a million thoughts, Tim, my German colleague came out to the balcony, told me it was time to go. We got up and walked out of the luxurious 3 rooms apartment down the elevator and into the street. We called for a cab, but the line took forever. The gateman managed to secured us an automatic rickshaw. His name was Ashan, if I read his license card correctly. The tattered three wheeler, a hybrid of a motorcycle and a roof and an extra wheel, was a quick alternative to the common cabs here in India. No meters to measure distance, only power of negotiation. Ashun asked for 350, we said 250, he said 300, we said ok. 300 rupees seemed cheap enough for 75 km, even if it might be a rip-off by the local’s standard. We got on the rickshaw. The engine sputtered into life as Ashun pulled some strings on the vehicle.
Tut-tut-tut-tut-tut, the three wheeler wheeled off onto the main road. The traffic wasn’t too bad this morning. The road occupants consisted of cars, trucks, motorcycles, automatic rickshaws, pedestrians and of course cows. The rickshaw might not be a speedstar but its maneuverability was insurmountable. Ashun made a show of his expertise as he snaked through the myriads of vehicles and animals in a jumbled mess of the glorious Indian traffic.
On the sides of the roads, building of all sizes and color and developmental stage came into sight. Houses, office buildings, temples, markets (people sitting under giant umbrellas with their plethora of fresh fruits and vegetables), can be seen all over. I took a few deep breaths, the air reeked of fumes and stenches and pollutants emitting from cars, garbage dumps and rotten meat stalls. There goes ten days of my natural life span. Every time the traffic stall, a chorus of honking horns responded. Horns are probably used more every second here in India than probably for a whole year in Canada. Some of the horns even got a musical sound.
People are building, selling, buying, worshiping, walking, running, road crossing, chatting, everywhere I turn was full of life. I’m not sure whether it’s the struggle for survival, or the ruggedness of life, but there is something about this place that gives a whole new dimension to what it means to really live.
An hour later, I was back at the Infosys campus. Six gate entrances, surrounded by high wall and men in uniform with assault rifles protects the IT heart of India. I was relieved that I made it back alive, although that might be an over statement, but having just arrived in India for a week, I was completely at the rickshaw driver’s mercy. Stepping into the campus was like stepping into a completely different world. Beautiful ponds, fountains, trees, and amazing buildings marked Infosys’ giant headquarter here in Bangalore. The Employment Care Center, the place where I’m staying is more or less a four star hotel with daily cleaning service. Life here is nice and sweet.
We talk about poverty gap in Canada. I see it for real in India. The disparity between the rich and the poor marred by luxury and struggle for survival spell out the facts of life here. Within one day, I’ve been to the huge mansion, a big shot’s house with several servants, in a Mercedes. Next I’m cruising down the road in a torn up rickshaw, giving a guy probably most of his daily earning. If it’s true that one day, the meek will inherit the earth, I pray to God that when that time comes, I can at least sweep their streets.
