Heather the Pedestrian - Informational

Sidewalks?!? I should begin by saying that negotiating with traffic is a full-time responsibility. People don’t use sidewalks here, so you’re faced with traffic through an entire walk. Do sidewalks exist? Of course. Each residence has one, but it is generally higher/lower than the neighbours’ and made of different materials. People use them like porches, frequently tying their dogs to their front gate (see wildlife), pulling up a few chairs and sometimes even using them as an office. There is a tailor on my block whose sewing machine is right out on the sidewalk along with all his commissioned work and various tools. His infant son and wife sit on a blanket under a rack of his shirts. It’s the same sidewalk situation with the shoe repair man across the way. So basically, this leaves the pedestrian one option: navigating the liminal space between sidewalk and street. One must negotiate one’s way in and out of many moving cars /auto-rickshaws / rickshaws /2-wheelers /bicycles /dogs /cows /other pedestrians on the edge of the roads (which have no curbs or differentiation to speak of). Luckily, cars here toot their horns as a greeting, to signal intentions, and to signal an imminent risky driving move. So at least in the chaos of motion you can rely on more than one of your five senses to guide you.
Road Conditions: The dust in Delhi permeates all. It is especially noticeable on the roads caked into grooves in the asphalt and in large (3ft) gradual-incline piles here and there. It is a reddish colour. The roads are, as above, mostly asphalt with occasional cement patches, speed bumps and clay sections. One can commute to different colonies (neighbourhoods) on some of the 3-4 “lane” highways, or take the streets that are 2.5-3 car widths wide that are divided by a 1.5 foot high cement refuge for spooked pedestrians. I use the word “lane” very, very loosely. You should picture little red blood platelets that push forward in arteries, bouncing around everywhere. All of the vehicles seem to come inches from collisions as people worm their way to the front of the pack through any small hole in traffic. Robin is very nervous when we drive with his friends, frequently yelling “WATCH OUT!!!” He has never driven a car before, so he does not know that screaming like that is sometimes more of a distraction than a help. But, I do admit, I’m grateful for another pair of eyes scanning the road. I try to pretend that I’m on an amusement park rollercoaster “Ride with Robin’s Friends” and I don’t feel too anxious. The taxi drivers are much smoother with their risk-taking, and despite Indian aversion to seatbelts, I always strap myself in.