I did my undergrad in the Chicago area in a town called
Evanston just north of the city. It was a town known for beautiful views of
Lake Michigan, nice wealthy homes, a university, and not a whole lot else. In
order to reach campus, coming from Iowa, I had to drive (or more accurately be
driven by my mother) through almost 2 hours of suburbia. It was a non-stop
maize of corporate office parks, strip malls, and McMansions. At times it
almost felt as if the suburbs would never end.
The drive from Kochi to Trivandrum, our second stop over
during the India Winterim program, involved a 6 hour trek along the “highway”
that runs between the two cities. At no point during this drive was it possible
to consider oneself outside of an urban, developed area, at least by how we
tend to define it casually. The road, as most roads here are from my
experience, was forever flanked on both sides by a never ending stream of
developments, whether they were small shops and stores, larger commercial
operations, or a variety of housing types from low income to high income. And
all along this stretch of development, there were always the people of Kerala, coming
and going in all directions in such a stream that it was never possible to look
out the window and not see at least several people.
This is life in Kerala, India’s most densely populated
state, and home to what has been described as “rurban” development, a sort of
semi-urban state that occurs where the shear population density becomes so high
across the state that even the unincorporated areas between cities can appears
as we might consider cities and towns. It’s truly a sight to see, and the
population density combined with the narrow streets and congestion gives one
the impression that there are literally people everywhere, and for the most
part this is true.
Months before this trip I had envisioned renting a
motorcycle, or perhaps even a rickshaw, and cruising off into unknown villages
whenever an opportunity might present itself. I’d been told the traffic was
crazy here, but figured that with a little skill and some practice (namely
driving on the correct side of the road), I could pull it off. I know now that
I was wrong. I cannot drive in India, at least not now. It’s an almost
indescribable rampage of vehicles maneuvering between lanes, narrowly avoiding
pedestrians, and whizzing down unmarked streets.
On the highway this becomes more manageable, but only
slightly. The traffic is still intense, the road still only two lanes, and the
rickshaws and pedestrians still omnipresent. At times it appeared to open up
enough for the bus to hit maybe 45 or 50 mph, but this was an oh so rare
occasion. Because of this, our 120 mile
journey took nearly 6 hrs to navigate the narrow road down towards the far
southern tip of India.
In ways it amazes me that people are able to live like this
here, in what to me seems like an almost crushing cacophony of people, traffic,
buildings and bustle, not a park or public green space to be seen. But for most
of the people here it’s all they’ve ever known, and therefore likely doesn’t
seem any different than normal.
I love urban environments, the narrow streets, the noises,
the crowds, to me it brings life and even peace to know I’m surrounded by so
much. But anything can be taken too far, and in Kerala I’ve met my match. It’s
fascinating to travel through, and the people and places here present a wealth
of challenges and promises at the same time, but it’s also exhausting, and I
can feel myself clamoring for a breath of fresh air as I walk down the streets
of Trivandrum.
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