FEBRUARY 17, 2022 – I stayed in Delhi for a week, but took a day trip to Agra, site of the Taj Mahal. On a guided tour, I saw that 17th century wonder close-up from a multitude of perspectives—accompanied by a fascinating account of its design and construction. I didn’t need a guide, however, to be awe-inspired.
According to my letter home, I was equally impressed by the old Moghul fort across the river from the Taj. Yet, my sharpest memory was mowing the lawn. Two laborers were at work on the grass of an expansive courtyard. Their equipment: a buffalo pulling archaic, spinning blades. When the men saw me snap a photo, they invited me to try my hand. It was tough work, and after a few runs, I handed the blades and buffalo back to the amused workers.
Of the scenery between Delhi and Agra, I wrote, “Most of the journey was across agricultural plains. But for the highway traffic, it was hard to believe I was not traveling in the 15th century. The agricultural methods were the most primitive I’d ever seen, and the settlements along the route were products of stone-age building methods.”
Most memorable, however, was the fright factor: traffic. “Indian drivers rarely stay in the [correct] lane,” I told family. “Horse, camel, cow, truck and bus traffic was quite heavy, especially near Delhi and Agra, and horns blew incessantly as drivers overtook one another. Head-on confrontations came every two minutes or so. Our bus would pull out to pass and head straight for an on-coming truck. Horns blasted with no time or space to spare. Our bus swerved left and the other vehicle, right. After a time I lost all count of the close calls, and like the Indians themselves, I learned to sit back and relax. At home a single such incident would’ve drained all color from my face and stopped my heart cold, but here, I lost all fear. After a few dozen ‘head-on misses’ one realizes that guardian angels are on duty [. . .] The return trip was in the dark, and if such an experience doesn’t cause cardiac arrest, no fright will. Every other vehicle ran without headlights, and doubtless the Almighty himself and no common angels guided us through unscathed.”
(My diciest ride was the cab trip weeks later to the airport. “I’m lucky to be in one piece,” I wrote. “Just imagine cruising along at 60 MPH, scraping a teetering bus on the left, sideswiping a honking auto on the right and heading for a big truck head-on. At impact minus 100th of a second, the bus, car, or truck or all three become mirages, or so it seems. By luck alone catastrophe is avoided.”)
That evening, I returned to the “Y” just in time to see the woman remove her sign, basket of cash, and the two kids in a box.
I took stock of my fifth day in India and how much the country had changed me in less than a week.
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© 2022 by Eric Nilsson
