"A three hour tour..."

When CK and I went to the jungle 75km south of Mysore, I experienced what "full throttle" and "white-knuckled" mean. My motor bike is considerably less powerful than her Honda Activa. Downhill top speed is 70 km per hour for my bike. Well, after a couple hours clutching in full throttle my knuckles had burst blood vessels making my knuckles red on my throttle hand.... so I decided to see a doctor about it.

As an aside, at breakfast a week ago a smoldering Brazilian Ashtanga yogi with a mysterious past listened to the reason why my knuckles were red and then told me that I must relax on the bike and that he would take me out and show me how if I needed it. This morning he came over to my table and told me that he saw me on my bike and I am now relaxed and drive "beautifully" : - )

Anyway, the dermatologist in Mysore told me that I had to have a laser cauterization and that kind of laser can only be found in Bangalore. He recommended Manipol Hospital Dermatology clinic. So, I took an early bus out of Mysore to Bangalore. When I asked at the ticket counter the man said it would be a three hour trip.

When I got on the bus a 16 year old girl in the first row patted the seat and immediately said to me, "Sit here, sit with me." I thanked her and sat down and we exchanged names and so forth and she told me about her family and she was very sweet. Her name was something like Kalia and she was going to Bangalore to see her Orthodontist. Then, about 15 minutes later, as the bus was about to start, the ticket-taker man who had been standing around in the aisle doing nothing as all the seats filled, barked at her, "that is my seat - you stand." Then, they argued in Kannada and she leaned over me and yelled out the window, "PAPA!" At which point an older man who had been standing around outside looking worried came in the door and he and the ticket taker guy yelled at each other and then some money was exchanged and the bus went on its way and she remained in her seat. Perhaps some enterprising man here could start a rent-a-papa business!

Now, after we had started and were just at the point outside Mysore where you are, in fact, in the middle of no where, the driver and the ticket-taker (who was now sitting on the engine next to the driver) started talking. Kalia translated that they were discussing that the office had told them (before they left) that there was a farmer's demonstration on the main road to Bangalore - so they would have to take a detour. They had not bothered to announce before we left that this would make the three hour trip a five hour trip so that customers could, for example, decide if they wanted to go another day. But, I reflected, if they had done that the bus would have been less full and they would have made less money. I looked out the window at field after field. The only person in sight was a man wearing only a loin cloth and a turban - dark and wrinkled from working outside - holding a stick and squatting next to 10 black goats and one cow. Both he and the cow were gazing into the distance. Asking the driver to stop the bus so I could get out was not an option. I was going to Bangalore.

So, we took the "detour." This was a dirt road through a network of small villages with the villagers standing by the side looking stunned that they suddenly had a traffic jam of trucks and buses in their town. After about three hours of this we had not yet reached Kannapura (I think that was the name) when two police cars blocked the road ahead. Leaning against the cars were two police men - striking manly poses - but in a distinctly bollywood style. To strike a manly bollywood pose, stand and thrust your hips forward while at the same time currling your shoulders forword and flex your chest and stomach musles. Each officer had a rifle. We stopped.

ALL the men got off the bus. ALL the women stayed on the bus, their hands folded daintily in their laps looking unfocused at a distant point on the horizon. Their faces showed that character that can only be earned by knowing you are not allowed to urinate in front of the opposite sex, understanding that this is one of the burdens of this life, and accepting it with grace and patience. Meanwhile, the men - who were not taxed with this spiritual duty - were all urinating. Not behind a tree - but in the gutter. After it seemed that all of that had ended (I was not watching too closely) I waited for the bus driver to come tell the women waiting on the bus what was wrong. This did not happen.

I decided to get up - and stretch my legs. On the road, the crowd of relieved men were now getting water from a nice lady at a well. There were three buses stopped. I was the only woman who got off a bus. The police had picked a place to block the road that had no phone, no food, and no place for a woman to hide and relieve herself. I went over to a man with glasses and western clothes and asked, "Why not going?" He did not understand me. "Why stop?" I repeated this a few times with different men with no luck. The village lady at the well beckoned me and kindly mimicked drinking. Of course, one pees before one drinks so that I was not going to drink and also one drinks when one knows that one will be able to pee in the future. I said no and thank you in Kannada.

Off to the side - looking out of place were six tibetan monks in long dark red habits squatting on a low wall. I tried asking one of them but also no English. Finally a young man with thick glasses walked past me. The front of his shirt said, "100% geek" and the back said, "2oo% Linux." This man answered my question saying that this road also was blocked by the farmers demonstration and we would be stopped an hour. I asked him how he could be so precise - might we be there longer and he assured me that no, the demonstration is precisely timed otherwise the demonstrators go to prison. So, I asked, this was all known in advance? "Oh yes", he said pleasantly, wiggling his head back and forth Indian style. "It is all arranged days in advance with the police."

By the time we reached Kannapura, 5 hours had passed. To be clear, the driver had relieved himself and had had water at the police stop - so - without consulting anyone or making any announcement because he was in charge after all - he determined that there was no reason to stop. And, in fact, he began driving out of Kannapura as though he did have to relieve himself and the only place was in Bangalore... or perhaps that is just how his driving appeared to me from my point of view. On a two-way, dirt road, he was passing trucks and other buses while going around turns, leaning on the horn and forcing oncoming traffic off the road. Finally, as he was trying to pass a bus, in the opposite direction the on-coming traffic was also a bus. At the same second both drivers realized that the other was not giving way and they slammed on the breaks - stopping facing each other about 5 feet apart. The truck behind us went off the road to the left where - fortunately - there was no drop off and the truck behind him came, screeching to a halt at an angle.

Once again I looked out the window to consider if I had other options than going to Bangalore. Perhaps another day would be better? There was a large field with an old woman in an ancient saree whose color was no longer clear. She had a reed and was hitting a water buffaloe's back side gently. The buffalo moved forward one step and stopped. Off to the other side two younger women with clay pots on their heads stood staring with their mouths open at the buses and trucks stopped all at angles in and off the road. I could see no structure in any direction... not even a reed hut. Then after a 10 second pause - all of the buses and trucks involved started up and began beeping continuously and vying to be on the road and in front of someone else.

We arrived in Bangalore and six hours had passed. The driver and the ticket taker were talking again. Kalia translated that they did not know how to get to the bus station because they don't normally come into Bangalore by the Kannapura road. At the next traffic light I looked out the window and saw a passenger-less rickshaw. The driver and my eyes met. I, personally, opened the door of the bus and got off. The rickshaw ride to Manipol hospital took an hour. The doctor took one look at my knuckles and said, "Oh you need a [something something] pulse laser. It works on very fair skin. We do not have that in Bangalore yet."