Bollywood at the door

I did not know what to expect.

Not even a hundred Bollywood movies or watching Slum dog Millionaire can tell you what to expect from a visit to India. That I guess is the complexity of India as a destination.

Most of us are mesmerized by the beauty of its snow capped peaks, the romance and grandeur of the Taj majal and the vibrant colors of women in saris or aromas of curries and sauces forever etched upon your nostril and taste buds. That is what seasoned travellers and romantics tell us.

On the other side there is no escaping the noise, the chaos and the dangers of India’s roads and highways, the zones of abject poverty and the harshness of an environment that leaves its marks on the people. India they say is both beautiful and brutal. That is what realists and the media tell us.

My friends in Manila on the other hand sounded more like medics coming from a war zone.

“Bring Imodium, lomotil, paracetamol, insect spray, get flu shots and take a dose anti Malaria shot. One even advised keeping my mouth closed while taking a shower.to avoid any water borne disease. I got so paranoid that I seriously considered bring a box of bottled water and a mosquito net as well. Yes, fear has a way of enlarging the unknown.

It has been three days since we landed in India and each day has been spent “myth busting” or understanding things people say about India.

To the unfamiliar such as myself, the first discovery was that going to India from Manila is one long trip. First you fly to Bangkok, Thailand where you wait five hours for your connecting flight, and then you fly across the Bay of Bengal to Madras, India. By the time we passed through customs we had been on a 12-hour journey from check in to exit.

“Absence makes the heart grow fonder”.

Upon reaching the city of Chennai, formerly known as Madras, our all Pinoy group suddenly expressed appreciation for things back home. At almost midnight the men at the Indian immigration counters were grumpy and tired. They would toss back passengers documents like tired gamblers at a casino.

In comparison the BID officers whom I observed as we passed through NAIA 1 were a class act. I especially appreciated a certain guy named Hadjinoor who showed kindness by guiding a clueless OFW how to correct his documentation so he could make it to his flight. I even got tips from a lady officer named Panganiban concerning the required DOJ clearance for people who have the same-name as people with “Hold Departure Orders”.

On the other hand, I really can’t blame those guys in India if they are on edge. Having Pakistan and China as your next- door neighbors and terrorist using you as a testing laboratory for violence can certainly make people testy.

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When it comes to the suicidal driving environment of India, I can honestly say, that “there is a method to the madness”. Maybe that is the reason why they have a thousand Gods and Idols. This is also the first country I have gone to where almost every vehicle has a hand painted sign on the back saying “ SOUND HORN”.

“Sound Horn” in India is not a suggestion it is for your own safety when ever you overtake another vehicle so the other drivers know you are passing from behind. The only problem is that you have to pray the other guy knows it’s you honking the horn because everyone else is honking theirs.

Honking their horn is the Indian equivalent of Filipinos doing the “sitsit or pssst”.

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As we drove extensively in and out of Madras, we had the impression that their roads were less developed than Metro Manila and inside the city of Madras, it was apparent that their traffic system was largely manual and seriously lacking in electronic traffic aides and signage.

The strange thing about it was that their cars moved around faster than we do in Metro Manila. In spite of the almost congested roads, the cars spent more time moving than standing still in traffic.

In spite of the chaos, drivers here in India have some flexibility of movement and routing, so they get to go through or around areas and short cuts while avoiding pedestrians or cows which are considered sacred.

In Metro Manila, we no longer have that option because of the sacred places we call private villages and the sacred cows that live in them!

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As far as food is concerned, there is a certain amount of bragging rights that comes with actually tasting and experiencing the exotic cuisine in their place of origin. For some of us, having a third degree burnt tongue is now a badge of honor and stupidity.

It’s the first time in my life that I’ve had a spicy omelet for breakfast. It gets stressful trying to figure out and choose between several kinds of curries and deciding if culinary adventurism is worth the risk of having a “nuclear” aftermath in the toilet.

As always, too much of a good thing can also be bad. It took all of two days gorging on Indian food until the guys headed to the first KFC outlet for what we thought was a quick dinner of the Colonel’s good old Classic recipe. Sorry, KFC in Madras is not the same as KFC in Manila.

There’s that spicy smell, that spicy flavor that’s in the food, in the rooms, in the air. It’s everywhere, a spicy garlicky scent that floats in the air. Something so hard to figure out, but something almost impossible to forget. That’s Madras.