Dear American Friends,
This Sunday started off perfectly. The monsoons had let up, and it was about 80 degrees with a light breeze and blue sky. There weren’t even any bodies being burned at the pyre park across the lake. Usually I can see the smoke and get a little queasy, but today was clear day, so I decided to take the day off and go to the famous Bangalore Racetrack with a friend from work.
I met my colleague and her husband at the track, and we were led to the V.I.P. section (white people are always considered V.I.P. in India) and we watched the first few races without betting. Being that it’s monsoon season and monsoons bring out malaria, I decided to self-medicate by drinking gin and tonics, because tonic water contains quinine, which wards off malaria.
Hot sun, liquor, and I still haven’t eaten, but we’re having a great time. By the time a lost a few hundred rupees on the races, I was smashed. I was holding it together pretty well though, because I had the presence of mind to know that I needed to get out of there before I embarrassed myself.
My next move proved to be fateful. I did something I never do. I got into the front passenger seat of the car to sit next to my driver. I never do this because it is generally a terrifying experience to see what actually happens on the road here. Being drunk, I wasn’t thinking. So off we went on a white-knuckled trip through Bangalore. Surya was driving, Hindi music was playing, the night was setting and my head was out the window as I was promising God that I’d never drink again if he made me feel better.
In retrospect, it was a good thing I had my head out the window, because I was the first one to see the bullock cart in the middle of the road. (A bullock cart is an old two-wheeled cart that’s pulled by a pony.) Call me crazy, but they really shouldn’t be trotting down the highway with only kerosene lamps for headlights. So I screamed at Surya not to take out the horse, and he jerked the wheel to the right.
We were then on a collision course with a motorcycle. Not just any motorcycle either; the guy driving had four passengers! His wife was holding an infant; there was a toddler in front of him and old man clinging to someone from the back. We were about to take out an entire family!
This was going to be a multi-generational accident that was going to rip their family tree up from the roots. As a classic backseat driver, I grabbed the wheel. Surya pushed me away, and now we weren’t just going to hit the bullock cart, were going to run into the pony.
I saw a way around it, but it wasn’t going to be pretty. Mind you, this all happened in seconds and I was still really drunk. So I started screaming “Nandi, Nandi… steer towards the Nandi…” The driver, for once in his life, understood what I was saying, and he took his eyes off the road long enough to look at me with amazement. I believe he expected horns to start sprouting from head, because he thought I just might be Satan himself. I was screaming for him to purposefully run into “Nandi,” a cow, the most sacred symbol of life in India.
Thankfully, Surya had slammed down on the break so that when we hit him (skidded into him really), we weren’t going too fast.
I’ll never forget that sweet innocent look in those deep brown eyes as we crashed right into the porterhouse. She kind of popped up a few feet in the air and landed on her side with a big thump.
To understand what happened next, you have to know something about traffic lights in Bangalore. Because electricity is so unreliable and because there are so many people who need jobs, some Minister of Something Or Other made a decision that, instead of having traffic lights, the city would have a cop who stands on every corner with one green glove and one red glove to guide traffic. Yes, this is the technology hub of Asia, and it scares me too.
So, of course, there was a cop standing right at the corner when we hit the cow. He came over screaming at Surya, who was just hanging his head because he knew he was going to hell for hitting a cow. So I took control of the situation by going over to the cow and trying to yank it up by its horns. I knew it was faking and just wanted sympathy.
Bending over with my head below my waist was truly a bad idea, because to add insult to injury, I puked on the cow. I will say that it did motivate the bovine to get to his feet pretty quickly. Surya, at this point, was sitting in the dirt just rocking back and forth, the cop was looking at me like I was insane, locals had pulled traffic to a dead stop, and I was looking around trying to figure out what the big deal is.
I quickly started to sober up as the cop pulled out his ticket pad. I’m used to this – a hundred rupees here, a hundred rupees there – everyone wants a little something for themselves to look the other way. Rest assured, the cow was fine. A little dazed and she was probably somewhat tenderized but over all, she was a dandy Nandi.
I was ready to pay my fine, when I read the charges against me. I’m still not clear why I, the passenger, was charged, but I figure that maybe it was for throwing up on the cow or something.
So I have officially been charged by the state of Karnataka with “Vehicular Endangerment of a Sacred Indian Icon.”
It’s a big fine, but it’s okay because I did suggest we take out the steak instead of the family or the cute little pony. I recovered and suffered through an appropriately cruel hangover. Trust me, I was punished.
I still think I did the right thing though. I mean we couldn’t take out humans; that wasn’t an option. And the day they sell ponies in the refrigerated section at the Safeway, I’ll reconsider my decision.
So, I haven’t decided when I’m going back to the track, or exactly how I incited such a weird day. I’m still working on that. Maybe it was my Karma. Yeah, my Karma ran over my cow-ma. – Meredith
Before leaving the U.S. to move into the lap of luxury in India, Meredith Billman used to write for the Hudson Reporter newspaper group.