April 3, 2007, Northern India

By Linda Andrus

While walking back from the Taj Mahal I decided to take a road that led to an unknown destination. A little boy was walking next to me, just going about his day. All of a sudden a rickshaw came around the corner and barely missed hitting me, but managed to hit the boy from behind. He slammed onto his back and his spine twisted in a way in which I am certain there was permanent damage.

The thud he made as he hit the ground will forever be embedded in my mind. His arm was also broken and the elbow was barely penetrating the skin. I knelt by his side in complete shock. I thought to myself: scene safety, BSI, spine immobilization, head-to-toe check, backboard, and get to hospital immediately. Everything I had been trained to do as an EMT in the States seemed completely worthless. I knew things did not work this way in this country.

A few men ran up and literally pulled him up by his broken arm and dragged him off. The boy whaled in agony and I slowly disappeared from the scene. I questioned my ability to help this boy, but knew the people did not understand me or the damage they were inflicting. The tears began to flood my eyes and I tried to escape to the nearest hiding spot.

There was nowhere to hide. People everywhere; horns honking; “Madame, where are you going?”; “Please come into my store”; “Postcard one rupee.” Ahhhhh! My head was spinning and the world around me did not seem real. I needed to wake up fast.

I proceeded to the next phone booth and hid inside. I took a deep breath and held my head in my hands for a brief moment. That’s it: I’m leaving this place now. I called the flight agent and asked to change my ticket to the soonest flight home. I knew I may regret it in the future, but could not bare another moment of the insanity.

Up to this time I had been having a life experience that will forever change me. I had lived with an Indian family, did yoga at sunrise and sunset, trekked through the foothills of the Himalayas to set up medicine camps, saw the Dalai Lama’s home, conversed with Buddhist monks, observed a health care system different from my own, witnessed a birth, listened to congenital heart defects, worked in government hospitals alongside patients with TB, meningitis, and leprosy, saw temples and monuments, made new friends, rode in rickshaws, ate yummy Indian food, gave puja (a Hindi religious ceremony), saw hundreds of monkeys, and so much more.

I do not want anyone to think that my trip was anything but rewarding. I am truly blessed to have had the opportunity to travel to India. But at this moment, I needed to escape from the chaos.

I managed to change my ticket and immediately went to the train station. I booked the only ticket available on the next train to Delhi. I sat for two hours covered in flies and children begging for money. One particular child, who had one leg, persistently tapped my hand for at least 10 minutes. I was amazed at how nothing fazed me at this point. A man scolded the child to leave me alone.

When the train had finally arrived I realized my error in booking a ticket in a car that was first come first serve in seating. The Indians travel in a way that is unconceivable to some. They pack into cars like sardines, every man fighting for his space. When I approached the car it was so jammed full I did not think I could get on. Even the door had men hanging out the side. I realized I would have to fight my way on, and went full force.

The men looked at me in awe. Why is this white girl getting on this cart? I managed to squeeze in between the bathrooms along with five other men. There were men trailing in the isle ways, people on laps, and men sitting with their legs dangling from the train. I felt as if I were in a scene from a movie where I was stuffed in a rail car like a stall away.

I felt every man stare at me and realized I was the only white woman on the train. The only woman, for that matter. They all began to chatter and point. I understood that they were in disbelief that I was accompanying them on this train ride.

At this point in the story you would think I might as well throw myself from the train and put myself out of my misery. After all, the day I had combined with this is enough to drive a person to hysterical tears. Surprisingly, it was quite the opposite. I began to giggle, trying to control my desire to laugh loudly. I though: What have I gotten myself into? Not only am I going to stand for 3 1/2 hours, but do it while trapped between 20 sweaty, Indian men. Every women’s dream come true.

I found the whole situation quite amusing and knew I was in for an adventure of a lifetime. I observed the men around me and was just as curious about them as they were about me. A few men alternated between going in the bathroom and standing next to me. The smell of hash hovered in the air and the men’s eyes were glossy and bloodshot.

One man lay passed out at my feet and I watched as two other men sneaked water from his bag. The man awoke and they began to laugh for being caught red-handed. They jokingly pushed each other on the shoulder. One man questioned me as to where I was going and why I did not book a hire class ticket. I said I needed to get to Delhi where my husband was anxiously awaiting my arrival and had run out of money for a more expensive ticket. A complete lie, but you have to be careful with Indian men. If they know you are unmarried it opens the door for an immediate proposal.

They tried to clear space on the filthy ground for me to sit. I refused their offer and said if they could stand for 3 1/2 hours then so could I. They laughed, again amused by the American girl’s determination to stick out the journey. Most men stared at me for the entire trip. Others held conversation amongst themselves, mostly about me and how stupid I was for getting on this train. I was surprised I could understand their Hindi. I informed them that I knew what they were saying and they again laughed hysterically.

An old man sat perpendicular to me and fought with a little boy over a pinball game. The man next to him looked at what appeared to be a Hindi, sexy magazine. At one point the old man made a man get up and insisted I sit on the ground. I sat down next to him with my legs smooched against my chest. Another man tried to lean against my backpack and the old man lectured him to steer clear of my bag. I felt like he was the leader of the group. Anything he said they did.

If my mother knew where I was right now she would have a heart attack. Let me emphasize that at not point did I feel threatened. If anything I felt as if the men were trying to protect me and minimize discomfort.

The sun was glaring in my eyes and I tried to close them, but every time I did the days earlier event haunted me. The sound of the thud and the boy screaming would not leave my mind. Still going on around me were men singing, laughing, and playing pranks on each other.

A younger man standing next to the bathroom tried pushing people into the toilet, a metal rimmed hole. He also tried to pull one man’s pants down when he came out. It was quite hilarious and I joined in the laughter.

A man selling chai tea came around and was baffled when he saw me. “What is she doing here? She is a lady!” he screamed. There was about an hour to go when he informed me that there was a cart just for women and children. I proclaimed that this is where the train conductor had guided me. He lectured me on learning better Hindi so I would not find myself in this situation again.

The old man bought me some chai tea. It was interesting to try and drink a hot beverage when crouched between men in a speeding train. I made the mistake of informing them I was a student from the U.S. studying medicine. That set off a chain of questions. I now became the train doctor and every man had questions concerning his health. The old man said he had frequent urination that was sometimes painful. I tried to explain that I could not fully diagnose and they would need to see a doctor for a full examination. The train ride continued with much more laughing and conversing. One man sang me a Hindi song while another begged me to take him to America.

In the end I felt like a part of a huge family of brothers; me being the little sister they were trying to protect. Shockingly, I was glad I had made the mistake of getting on this train. The 3 1/2 hours went by quicker than any other train ride I had endured in a comfy, spacious compartment. It had also given me the opportunity to see how poor Indians travel. I was entertained for hours, which helped relieve my mind of other worries. I advise everyone who travels to India to try traveling like this for a day. You might surprise yourself and have an eventful journey.

Linda Andrus has a BS in Anthropology and is working toward a degree in nursing. Traveling the world is her passion and she hopes to become a nurse anthropologist specializing in international healthcare.

Posted by Elizabeth Armstrong Moore on Thursday, April 19th, 2007 | Email This Post

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