Brushes through India

National Review, March 10, 2008 by Jay Nordlinger

'WHAT'S playing in India?" asked a friend of mine, before I took off. Oh, nothing in particular: just India itself, for two weeks of exploration. My friends and I begin in Bombay, or, as we're all supposed to say now, "Mumbai." I ask a local lady about this; she is a sharp and savvy schoolteacher. She says that "Mumbai" has been forced on everyone by a certain political crowd; she prefers, when speaking English, to say "Bombay"--and why not?

Bombay is a very, very populous city in this very, very populous country. People are everywhere, tucked into every nook and cranny. If traffic is moving--which is a very big if--they fly about on motorcycles, without helmets. There are children on those bikes, too, carefree, as well as helmet-free. You hear that India is a heavily regulated country. Yes, but it's interesting what they choose to regulate, and what not. Here's a little political-economic note: I buy a packet of cracker-like things, and it says, "Less taxes = more biscuits." Oh, lower taxes mean a lot of good things, my friends.

Before I came here, several people who know the country told me one thing, independently. They said, "You've heard about the burgeoning middle class, and it is true. But bear in mind that India is still a very poor country--it may shock you." Poverty is a given, yes. The place is not all tech companies and call centers, to put it mildly. And animal transportation--camel-drawn carts, etc.--is utterly routine.

Children beg, saying "Hello, hello," while making eating gestures with their fingers. The adult beggars I see are very few: young mothers with infants; and old, wretched men. I see no able-bodied men beg--as I do where I live, in Manhattan, every day.

A morning walk in Bharuch--state of Gujarat--is enjoyable and instructive. Through the neighborhoods come vendors with handcarts. They sell fruit, or vegetables, or milk. They call out the names of their products as they go, leather-lunged. It occurs to me that this is an anti-WalMarter's dream. There is no one-stop shopping. Everyone pushes his own tiny line, earning pennies.

Girls are lovely in their saris. This is true of richer ones and poorer ones, spiffier ones and scruffier. Are girls here more attractive than elsewhere? You may think so; it's more likely that they're attractive because they're so feminine. They seem to enjoy being female, and carry themselves that way. They sort of sashay along. I doubt softball here is much good.

Generally speaking, men are almost as style-conscious as women. You might even say they are vain, matching their clothes, frequently combing their hair, Fonzie-style. Whether they have money or not, they want to cut a figure.

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Down by the river in Bharuch, I see women washing clothes in mud pools, beating them with a paddle. I'm surprised that this is still going on. And I think of my Indian-American friends back home: super-educated, super-affluent, many of them. How many generations removed are they from this clothes-paddling? Not many. Human life can move fast. (In both directions?)

This country is famous for smells--good and bad--and I get plenty of whiffs on my walk. One whiff I get is of incense: and it flashes me back to boarding school. The kids used to burn incense, for two reasons: It was cool, because New Age; and they wanted to cover up the smell of their pot.

You hear that India is a polluted country, and I'm afraid it's so. You perhaps don't know pollution until you know Indian pollution, or Third World pollution in general. And once you experience it, you don't want to hear a word from an American environmentalist, about the American environment, again. Kyoto my ...

As I walk about Bharuch, my mind is a jumble of cliches. "Life and death are particularly stark in India. Everything is in bold relief." True. There is tremendous vibrancy, but also the odd dog carcass, just off the street. Life and death fill eyes, ears, and nostrils. "In India, the rich and poor live in very close proximity." True, so true. And then there are the famous contradictions: "India is alluring and repugnant, irresistible and abominable." True, true.

Everywhere, in villages, towns, and cities, you share the streets with animals. There are both Democrats and Republicans, both donkeys and elephants (although the former greatly outnumber the latter--just as at American universities). There are goats, monkeys, camels, boars, buffalo. In Bharuch, my hosts' garden is stuffed with peacocks. And, throughout India, it's a joy to see parrots: which are not meant only for the cages of little old ladies.

Cows, of course, are ubiquitous. Here, they all die of old age. An Indian-American friend tells me a funny story: Years ago, an Indian of her acquaintance came to America. He started eating hamburgers and steaks with abandon. Asked to explain himself, he said, "I figure only Indian cows are sacred." One of the most charming rationalizations I have ever heard.

It's a pleasure to hear Indian English, which is often musical. And it can be quite old-fashioned, even King Jamesian: Our guide in Jodhpur (home of the pants) says, "This maharajah had no male issue." I also like a sign, at the approach of a toll booth: "Dead Slow."