SON: Biking

I guess the most memorable and fun thing that I did during my weeks in Nagpur was biking as a main mode of transportation.  The auto wallahs like to charge extra for us foreigners, so we end up paying like a billion times more than what locals do.  It's unfair, and even if we bargain hard we are not guaranteed a fair priced ride to our classes or our masti activity for the day. For me in Yavatmal, I didn't go anywhere that far or that often for this to be an issue.  But for Anais, Franzi and Chris they solved the problem by forming the group proclaimed "Bicycle Gang".  When we decided to do anything together, it was The Bicycle Gang plus me, a bike-less member. I had to - what I like to call - "co-pilot" on someone else's bike.

Let me backtrack a bit here.

Most bicycles in India still use the "rear rack stock fender" (Yeah, I looked up what the bench thingy over the back tire of some bikes is called because I didn't know. Don't judge.) Traditionally, the stock fenders are used to hold your bag, or your books and other type objects.  Here, it is more commonly used as a seat.  It is n this metal and highly uncomfortable makeshift seat where I would co-pilot. You would think it's difficult for the pilot exclusively.  That is not the case, I assure you.  Since the fender is not as high as the actual seat, you have to hold your legs up and forward in order for them not to touch the ground.  So basically you're giving your legs a workout.  On top of that, the seat is extremely uncomfortable to sit on generally.  But as least we fixed that with the group proclaimed "Butt Pillow" which is jammed into the fender to soften the ride.

Anais couldn't balance with someone on her bike, and usually Michelle would take over for Anais, so I had to choose between Franzi and Chris.  Both have dangerous cons. 

Franzi is a tiny girl.  Franzi is actually shorter than I, and 20 pounds lighter than I.  Yet this tank of a girl manages to ride with me on her bike, the Ladybird . She manages to keep her balance, and can ride unlike Anais. The problem is that she's carrying an extra 53kg's* behind her. Chris can walk faster than she can ride.

Now, Chris can go at a decent speed with me on his bike. The problem is that his bike, the Hercules is falling apart. One pedal is missing, the brakes are sub-par, and the mud rail is kind of falling off. When he rides in a straight line, the back tire wobbles a bit.  The wobbling is heightened with me sitting directly above it.  While turning corners, I hold my breath in fear that the strong and mighty Hercules will fall.

(One day Baby Jakob hung out with us, and I co-piloted with him, which was the scariest of all.  He is a reckless driver and ran my shin into the bumper of an auto.  But this was a one time thing, thank God.)

Either way, my life is in danger riding on either of these bikes. Good thing it's India, and near death experiences are already high, regardless of your vehicular situation.

This was my first three days in Nagpur. Co-piloting with Chris or Franzi, sitting on an uncomfortable metal platform, hovering my feet above the ground, almost getting hit by autos, trucks, scooters, mopeds, vans, cars, other bicycles and serving out of the way for potholes, various animals, pedestrians, stationary vehicles parked in the middle of the road and other various things.  Fortunately I was able to borrow a bike, a Ladybird for myself from the kind neighbours. For the remainder of my stay in Nagpur,  I would no longer be a a co-pilot, but a pilot of my own Ladybird. Pretty in pink and basket included. 

The Ladybird. My Ladybird.

  I wish I could magically have one back in Canada 

Ours days generally as follows:

Lengthy ride to Hindi class in the morning, lengthy ride from Hindi class to arts and crafts, riding somewhere to lunch, then to the mall, or some other type of masti and then inevitably end up at a CCD somewhere.  Biking all day, putting on at least 10km on our bikes in the heat and smog.

I wish there was a way for me to explain just how great riding a bike through Nagpur is.  For me, riding my bike through Nagpur was a big milestone of knowing Indian culture.  Not only did I survive on the roads, but I knew how to act on them.  To everyone else, I was an Indian and there would have been no question about it.  It's the very small cultural understandings like this that are often some of the best moments of exchange.  The kind that I cannot properly explain to others.  There are no words that depict the grandness of victory, and the satisfaction just "getting it".

Not only was bike riding a cultural learning process, but I was with the Bicycle gang. Chris the gobbler.  Anais the le tired space cadet, Michelle our body guard, Franzi the fierce diva and me. Just roaming and timepassing in Nagpur.  It's with my gang that I formed really great memories and experiences that will stay with me for a very, very long time.  

3/5 members. Chris, Michelle and I outside of Anais's house

Here's one of the big stressful moments of the Nagpur Saga: the Bike-Scapade.

This story all starts when we are told to participate in a "dance class that is compulsory". To quote Chris Yoder's blog "I was under the impression these new dance classes were compulsory, but neither “dance”, “class”, or “compulsory” are words fit to describe the first two meetings."

As exchange students we are expected to show our faces at events, and ideally participate. This would make it the third time now where we have been voluntold to perform on short notice and without much information prior. Anais, Franzi, Chris and I arrive at the dance class and are immediately dragged into doing a dance drama.  We have become used to feeling a little bit like celebrities/ monkeys at the zoo, and this was no different. We find out that we are the last number, and we are brought on stage for less than a minute, and then brought right back off.

After leaving from our second practice, the local children in the area come to watch us, touch us and chase us off as we leave. I was still co-piloting with Chris at this point. Anais and Chris biked their fastest.  Just out of the grasp of the children, we pull over, something is wrong with the bikes.

Oh. Awesome. Chris's front tire is flat and Anais's back tire is flat. Fortunately, there is a cycle wallah on every corner. We fill up the bikes with air, and park them at a local hang out place, Poonam Chambers. We were waiting around for Anais's host parents to pick her up for something, and I was to ride her bike home for her, since I live just around the corner from her. 9:00pm rolls around, and Anais leaves and we go to get our bikes.

Oh Awesome. The tires are flat. Again.

We have no transportation home, and it’s too late and dark for us to walk or hail an auto.  Unsure what to do, we call our youth exchange officer, the Khatri's who live nearby.  They tell us that the repair shop they go to is just beside our new dance class.  So we make our journey back to where we came, walking our bikes, annoyed and tired.  We get there, and see no sign of a repair shop, and Chris's Hindi - though really good - did not get us an answer we understood.  We wandered down the ally way together asking for the shop, attracting attention from the same children who had come to see us just a few hours ago. 

Around 10pm, we find the repair shop owner and we figure out that the shop was packed up and closed for the night.  Chris talks to Jagdish Khatri on what to do, while I fume over what is happening.  My Nagpur family doesn't know where I am, and my Hindi cannot tell them.  It is way too late for me to go home now by auto.  Even if my bike were intact, it would not be safe for me ride alone.  Jagdish instructs us to drop the bikes off at their house then go home.  Chris and I start our slow, angry walk home.

"Is it really possible that both our bikes just decided they were bas within minutes of each other? Could it be that the throng of small children that crowded around us and our bikes did no harm to the tires? Did the fact that those bikes were foreigners’ bikes really have nothing to do with their punctures?  Be they reasonable or merely rhetorical, I don’t think I need to answer those questions." (Yoder, 2010)

We arrive at the Khatri's, and once again, they come to our rescue.  To my relief, Pooja tells us to stay at their house for the night.  She calls my Nagpur host family and explains everything that has happened tonight.  The Khatri’s – once again, and probably not for the last time – safe us.  They go to bed while Chris and I stay up and talk about whatever friends talk about.  The Khatri’s don’t even come out to scold us while we talked until 3am in their living room. 

Eventually, Chris and I go to our rooms and I lie down to fall asleep in the clothes I had been sweating in all day, dusty, dirty and grimy.  Maybe it was knowing that I was safe tonight, or that I was with a friend through it all, or that I was simply too exhausted to think, but even though today was the most stressful night in awhile I seem to sleep well.    

*India measures in kg's, never ever pounds.  Only America measures in pounds, and Canada for certain things.  This is a topic that comes up every day.  The metric system vs. Imperial.