A Mark On The Road

It was a cold winter’s day in Alaska.  The temperature was about minus 18 degrees. I stood at an intersection of two streets with about half-a-dozen of my mates from my University. A couple of them were Indians, like me, and the rest were Americans and Europeans.  We were returning home to our dormitories from a long walk to the supermarket, carrying our bags of groceries.

There was very little traffic. We saw a couple of cars turn at the intersection just as we were waiting for the signal to change. We heard someone shout at us – a known friendly voice called out to us, “Hey, want a lift?” It was someone known to us. The two cars stopped, one pulled over to side against the kerb and the other stopped in the middle lane.

A couple of my friends hurried across the crossing between the lines without waiting for the light to change, a couple went straight for the vehicles, diagonally across the road from where they were and the rest waited for the light to change and then cross. The doors of the car in the middle lane were flung open and two of my friends jumped in on the traffic side, one came in from the other side as it started to drive off. Someone pulled the door shut as it picked up speed. The car that had pulled over to the kerb opened its doors towards the kerb, with its indicator flashing, waited for the rest to come by and it took in the rest of us who piled in. It had to wait for the last of us to cross after the lights had changed.

As the vehicle in which I was started to move, something struck me. The car that had stopped in the middle-lane was being driven by someone of Indian origin. The people who had crossed the road without waiting for the lights to change and run diagonally were Indians, the ones who walked across the crossing without waiting for the lights to change were Asian and European and the ones that waited until the lights had changed before crossing, were Americans. The driver of the car that pulled to the kerb was of American-European origin.

We all met up on campus in the lounge of our dormitory, after putting away our groceries. It was like a party. Our American friend, Dan, who drove one of the cars approached the group of Indians with the driver of the other car. He observed in a semi-joking manner, “Man, You guys are crazy! You were lucky there was not much traffic or any police around, you would have got into an accident or got a ticket for sure!”

“Hey, relax, Dan! There was no traffic and nothing happened, did it?” responded one of them.

Dan shook his head, moved on and sat down on a couch, next to me. He turned around and smiled, friendly as ever.

I smiled back.

“Dan! I want to share something with you. Just my thoughts on what I observed. It is something interesting that happened today as we got a lift back. All the Americans followed the rules, crossed after the lights changed, walked within the crossing lines, parked properly and indicated their intention. All the Indians and Asians just walked across the road without following the rules or lanes. They just headed in the shortest direction or the quickest way, after noting there was no immediate danger, of course.  The Europeans too mostly followed the rules, but were OK to cut a little corner. I know you are polite and don’t want to sound harsh. But I want to explain something to you. I want you to understand us - us Indians who view this world a bit differently. Would you like to hear what I think?”

Dan smiled and nodded. The atmosphere was that of a party, it was a party of sorts during the winter holidays, with those of us that remained on campus with no families to go to nearby.

“Sure, I’d love to hear it!” Dan encouraged me. I suppose anything to while away the time as we finished our drinks.

“OK, Dan. Tell me what does the yellow the line marked on the road mean to you?” I asked.

“Umm.. I see the yellow line or markings and it tells me that I should not cross it or within what bounds I should stay.”

“Sounds good! But let me tell you Dan, what the yellow line means to me. I am originally from India, a country renowned for the spirituality of its people and the philosophy of its ancients. Our cultural philosophy encourages us to see things for what they truly are, or as close to the truth as we can get. So, what I see first is not all the meaning you say in the yellow line. I instinctively see it for what it really is – a yellow mark on the road, painted by someone. That is it! It is my own conditioning and choice to attach meaning or significance to this mark. It is my own choice to let it tell me what to do or not to do. If you ask me what else I see in the yellow mark, I would say ‘molecules of yellow acrylic paint’. And if you ask more deeply, I would answer, what do we really know about the nature of atoms that make up these molecules? Quantum physics is so deeply mysterious and strange that what we consider the truth is not really true. So, the ultimate truth is that we do not or cannot know the truth. We Indians, who grow up in India seem to be conditioned to be in this philosophical state of mind at road crossings and where lines are drawn or signs posted.”

Dan laughed out loud! He understood self-deprecating humour. It was common among Americans.

“I know, it is probably embarrassing, but in the spirit of seeing things for what they are, we Indians also can say it like it is,” I proceeded.

Dan had been to India as a visitor, stayed awhile observing the educational system. He had some insight about the place and people. I asked him what were the things that struck him as typical about Indians?

“Well, I thought they were very nice, hospitable. Almost all I met were extra kind and nice to me. Everyone wanted to personally do something for me. I also was surprised that many struggled a lot through daily life, but were happy. Many seemed to give up on dreams easily at an early age. If they did poorly on a subject like math, they gave up their dreams easily and faced a more difficult life,” Dan observed, I suppose feeling a bit more comfortable to open up. Maybe my own comments and his drink had something to do with it.

I suppose being unused to having much alcohol, the half can of beer that I had consumed loosened my tongue and inhibitions. In typical Indian fashion, I started out on a long shpiel, punctuated by sips of the beer I was determined to finish. Dan listened, quietly smiling.

“Aha!! A very good observation, Dan!” I started on the long monologue, “Often, while growing up in the home country, my perception of the people around me was the same – that they gave up easily in life, not persisting in following their dreams. If someone ‘failed’ to get a passing grade in science in their middle school, they often easily resigned themselves to a life without a chance of working on science in the future. They did not persist in face of challenges. Or so it seemed. When I went abroad for my ‘higher’ studies, I often saw fellow American students who were not that comfortable with math, but still worked hard and succeeded in being very good engineers. There were 60-80 year olds who started to learn about computers and programming. I was impressed! I thought that Americans were dynamic, active, positive, driven, and came with a never-say-die attitude. But then, I started to notice something surprising as I started to observe little things around me.

No, it was not true that Indians lacked the never-give-up attitude. It was not that Americans were all persistent and driven to achieve what they wanted in face of an obstacle. Most ‘successful’, driven American could drop everything or stop at the mere sight of an ‘obstacle’ or a yellow line or a simple sign.

In India, most of the population is not deterred by a line drawn on the road to keep them from going across where and when they want. So, the authorities first raised the height of the kerb from about six inches to about a foot. It did not stop the determined and athletic common man. They raised the height to about 2 feet in some parts.  That did not stop most people, not even kids and old ladies. Then they made the dividers into little gardens and planted flowers and bushes, hoping to raise the bar higher aesthetically, but that too did not stop the masses crossing anywhere they want. Even the cows on the road managed, and they had a snack of the flowers, or fertilised the garden, not unlike some humans. Now in many parts of Indian cities, you will find a two-foot high divider, with metal fencing with spiked posts all along the way, and you still find people crossing the road through these. They even put barbed wires in certain places. That too does not deter a determined normal average Indian who will exercise their fundamental right to cross wherever they want, rather than walk to an intersection. The planners, knowing this, stopped putting intersections altogether. Now, the only approach that remains to be tried would be to post armed guards every fifty metres on towers built on the road divider, with orders to shoot and kill. I am not sure even that will solve the problem completely.

What I observed was that the same Indian who gave up engineering as a career option at age 13 because of a bad day in one exam, could exhibit the tenacity of purpose that a highly trained US Marine would envy. Even weak looking, doddering old folk cross dangerous obstacle courses every day as a matter of course, putting their lives on the line.

Looking at this, I now believe all of humanity has all the qualities of fight, flight, persistence and quitting easily built-in. It is just that culturally we exhibit these traits under different circumstances. This is what makes the world interesting and each of us nationalities wonderfully different.”

Our drinks were over, I was drowsy and ready to sleep, and had helped put Dan in the same condition with my long speech.

“Interesting, I never thought of it that way. Thanks!” said Dan with a knowing and understanding smile. Over a period we became good friends. In the days that went by, I could even share my candid views about Americans with him without offence. He could too and we had many a good laugh and good times. But that is another story, or two.


Copyright  (c) Kannan Narayanamurthy 2013

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