Part 2: And The Winner Is....

I headed out the door of the office with advice trailing behind me, nervousness before me, and my head held high with determination. The office is situated along a side street dotted with street vendors peddling strings of flowers and spicy fried bits of foods. The occasional Hindu temple intermittently joins in the street adornment with flashes of colors and gleaming statues of the gods. I scurried half a mile of so past all of these with my senses heightened and my stomach queasy. Every smell was more pungent and every sight more distracting. But I pressed on with an assumed appearance that I knew what I was doing  and where I was going in order to keep from being accosted by passing auto (rickshaw) drivers and street vendors . It also served as a weak attempt to bolster myself with fake confidence.

The half a mile passed far too quickly. In the final stretch, the traffic seemed to reverse its pattern so that I was walking directly into the opposing lanes of buses, motorcycles, pedestrians, and auto drivers. There really are no sidewalks to speak of unless you consider leaping over giant cracks and unearthed cement in a dangerous game of hop-scotch as a sidewalk stroll. I clung to the road side, approaching the major intersection with the assumption that I’d have to sprint across in order to make it to the bus stop on the other side. I was relieved to find a pedestrian light and group waiting to cross. I looked across the way for the familiar and friendly sight of the lighted ‘walk’ man only to suddenly find the other pedestrians moving to cross before it was time. I jumped in the middle of the group, dodging a few motorcycles along the way as we made our way to the middle of the road. Another pause and the group moved again, safely making it to the other side.

The share auto awaited me upon my treacherous crossing. These forms of transportation are cheaper than a private auto or taxi, though not as cheap as the bus. For less than 50 cents, I can make it all the way across town. The bus is half of that while the auto is triple the amount. I didn’t want to appear like a frivolous westerner who reserves their own private chariot day after day, so I decided on the share auto and approached the first one I saw.  Pointing to the next share auto, the first driver told me in a mix of Tamil and English that the other driver was going to the Women’s Christian College (WCC) where I reside. I jumped into the next one which looks like a smaller version of a minivan with open windows and seating for about eight people.  On a good day, they can pack as many as 15 people into the seats through a nice layering affect where people are stacked on people.  I was fortunate to find one with only 6 people and I secured a spot by the window.

It was rush-hour traffic which is actually pretty comparable to every other chaotic hour of the day. By the time we made our next stop, I found myself sharing my ride with about 11 other people. Two in the front, two in the trunk, and 7 crammed in between. Through rules of etiquette, women generally divide from the men which meant that I spent the ride averting my gaze from directly in front of me. However, I couldn’t help but notice the older man resembling what Ghandi would have looked like had he lived to be one hundred. He seemed ancient in his soiled garment and vacant, gaping mouth; his toothless muttering only made him more intriguing. He had an old red bindhi coursing deeply through a wrinkle running directly down the middle of his forehead. With his old age, he was every bit the appearance of wisdom. The two teenage girls behind me in the trunk chattered in mix of English slang and Tamil. They clung to the trunk door, which swung wildly open if they didn’t keep it shut with their hands. The other passengers ranged from differing forms of various intrigue, but my curiosity was quickly diverted to the window outside.

That’s because a giant public bus was dangerously narrowing in on my side of the auto. Have you ever seen those cartoons of automobiles packed to the gills with various limbs and heads hanging out of every window?  This is exactly what was coming directly towards my side of the share auto. The bus was so full of occupants that men were hanging off the outside bars of the windows. They swung like rag dolls with every stop and start of the bus, and I could nearly reach out and grab hold of their garments. I knew then that I had chosen the right form of transportation for me.

The 45 minute ride fared well despite the leering of a mustached man. If you know me, then you know that I usually have a thing for men with facial hair. I don’t even discriminate against mustaches! But this experience may have forever altered my acceptance of furry caterpillars about the lip. Dusk was approaching, and the man was making me more nervous by the minute. When we were the only two occupants left in the vehicle, my eagerness to get off the auto increased exponentially.  I began to anticipate my stop despite my uncertainty as to where it was, and I decided to take my fare out and distract myself from the mustached stares. I reached for my wallet in my backpack and quickly realized that it wasn’t there. Immediately, panic began to set in and my mind started painting scenarios of me leaping off the auto and running like a mad woman. I frantically searched again, swirling other belongings around my pack as I searched for the one blessed item. I was sure I had put it there when I left, but I tend to do spacey things whenever I’m distracted and stressed. Now there was no telling where the wallet could be! After all, I have been known to put normal belongings in places like refrigerators when I’m not paying attention. As a last effort, I checked the very bottom compartment of my sack where I usually keep my power cord to my lap-top. Underneath everything, there my paisley wallet spoke to me and I grabbed it with a sigh of relief just as we turned onto the road where WCC is located.

After making the stop, leaving the mustached man behind, and paying my fare, I crossed one final road to arrive safely at my destination. I was exhausted. The pent-up nervousness from anticipating every unknown disaster left me as I crossed the campus to my room. I had made it, conquering my fear in the process. Well, nearly. Tomorrow is another day entirely.

So, for now, here is a toast to conquering silly fears in life!