Queue
January 10, 2006
As I ventured out in Mumbai I was struck by the sheer number of people everywhere. Certainly not surprising given India’s status as the world’s second most populous country, with close to 1.1 billion people and Mumbai’s position as the most populous city in the world with over 12 million inhabitants. Generally the city streets are a melee of foot traffic, rickshaws, buses, taxis, the growing number of private cars, stray dogs, and the occasional goat or cow. The other day I even saw an ox cart, but instead of an ox there were two lean men pulling the heavy load. But somehow it all seems to work.
Although there are no lanes per se, street traffic follows the traffic lights and admonishments of police officers, who are in abundance at major intersections gesturing wildly with their arms and blowing their whistles. I imagine that from the sky, circular turnarounds would appear to be an impasse of honking cars and darting pedestrians, but there is a method to the madness as each vehicle takes its turn to yield and traffic does move, albeit slowly. And without lanes to keep vehicles on a certain path it appears as though the law of size dominates; instead of playing paper, rock scissors for one’s turn, it is a game of bus, SUV, car, rickshaw, and pedestrian. SUV beats car, which beats rickshaw, which beats pedestrian and as you might probably guess bus trumps all the rest.
What about air travel? Well, at the airport I noticed that people do stand in line at ticket counters, to check in, or go through security. Of course, despite the protocol of lines there is a tendency to stand very close to the person in front. Feels like you are one in a line of dominoes and if one of you were to fall forward all the others would fall in turn.
Trains are a whole different story. Riding a train in city metros in India are really not for the faint-hearted. You have to be in pretty good physical condition. It is a sport. I remember once several years ago taking the train with my husband (before we had kids). There was a separate compartment for women, which mellowed in comparision to the men’s compartment, but since I didn’t speak Hindi I went onto the men’s compartment with Bob since he (nor I) trusted that I would get off at the right station. I remember seeing people flinging themselves at open compartments as trains flew by the station. Trains did not seem to completely stop but rather slowed down when approaching the station. And once we were in the compartment, there was no concept of personal space as you were eye to eye or eye to back of the head with the person next to you. And getting off at your intended station required planning ahead as you would start to push your way to the doors that would open at your destination two stops or so in advance.
What about restaurants? Well, the other day Sandrine and I went to a pastry shop with my sister-in-law and her family. It was a trendy place in Bandra East that catered to the hip and happening jetsetters of Mumbai. It was packed. And let me tell you, there was absolutely no concept of a line here. But yet again there was a method to the madness. The counter was worked by 3 or 4 harried men who hastily took orders and then filled them with scarcely a pause from one order to the next. Patrons of the pastry shop merely moved as a mass towards the front of the counter. The only sense that the group was made up of individuals was evidenced by extended arms that waved one or two 50 rupee notes high over their heads. It was tough to tell which 50 rupee note belonged to which arm or for that matter which head. It was clearly not a first come first served situation but rather depended on which person waving money was fortunate enough to make eye contact with one of the men manning the counter first. I wondered if the rule of size applied here as in traffic. Did the higher rupee notes guarantee faster service?
How about lines at other forms of entertainment? On the same day that we were at the pastry shop, we also attended a musical called Kabir and the Rangeen Kurta put on by an NGO, which had a decidedly desi (Indianized) take on Joseph and the Technicolor Dreamcoat. We had purchased our tickets in advance but were only guaranteed a seat in a certain set of rows; the actual row or seat was “first come first serve”. I am not sure as to what the protocol is as far as lines to purchase the tickets since our driver was kind enough to get them in advance. As far as getting to one’s seat I can tell you that there was no line. It was literally a throng of people that moved towards the doors once they were opened. But again, somehow it worked and there was really no pushing or shoving. However when we reached our designated row of seats there were none free, except for a section that was clearly marked reserved. I reluctantly followed my sister-in-law's (veteran Bombayite) lead in pulling off the reserved sign from two seats and Sandrine and I sat down. Others later did the same and no one asked us to move.
To queue or not to queue? That is the question. So far, I have not been able to discern any patterns. Generalities such as for travel you queue, entertainment you don’t, fail as there are exceptions. However given that things somehow worked out in all the situations I described, I am convinced that there must be some method to the madness. Maybe it is just I who haven’t yet discovered the answer to that question in this country. Perhaps I should stop searching for answers that may not exist and simply follow the old adage, when in Rome… Or at least the desi version, when in India do as the Indians do.
As I ventured out in Mumbai I was struck by the sheer number of people everywhere. Certainly not surprising given India’s status as the world’s second most populous country, with close to 1.1 billion people and Mumbai’s position as the most populous city in the world with over 12 million inhabitants. Generally the city streets are a melee of foot traffic, rickshaws, buses, taxis, the growing number of private cars, stray dogs, and the occasional goat or cow. The other day I even saw an ox cart, but instead of an ox there were two lean men pulling the heavy load. But somehow it all seems to work.
Although there are no lanes per se, street traffic follows the traffic lights and admonishments of police officers, who are in abundance at major intersections gesturing wildly with their arms and blowing their whistles. I imagine that from the sky, circular turnarounds would appear to be an impasse of honking cars and darting pedestrians, but there is a method to the madness as each vehicle takes its turn to yield and traffic does move, albeit slowly. And without lanes to keep vehicles on a certain path it appears as though the law of size dominates; instead of playing paper, rock scissors for one’s turn, it is a game of bus, SUV, car, rickshaw, and pedestrian. SUV beats car, which beats rickshaw, which beats pedestrian and as you might probably guess bus trumps all the rest.
What about air travel? Well, at the airport I noticed that people do stand in line at ticket counters, to check in, or go through security. Of course, despite the protocol of lines there is a tendency to stand very close to the person in front. Feels like you are one in a line of dominoes and if one of you were to fall forward all the others would fall in turn.
Trains are a whole different story. Riding a train in city metros in India are really not for the faint-hearted. You have to be in pretty good physical condition. It is a sport. I remember once several years ago taking the train with my husband (before we had kids). There was a separate compartment for women, which mellowed in comparision to the men’s compartment, but since I didn’t speak Hindi I went onto the men’s compartment with Bob since he (nor I) trusted that I would get off at the right station. I remember seeing people flinging themselves at open compartments as trains flew by the station. Trains did not seem to completely stop but rather slowed down when approaching the station. And once we were in the compartment, there was no concept of personal space as you were eye to eye or eye to back of the head with the person next to you. And getting off at your intended station required planning ahead as you would start to push your way to the doors that would open at your destination two stops or so in advance.
What about restaurants? Well, the other day Sandrine and I went to a pastry shop with my sister-in-law and her family. It was a trendy place in Bandra East that catered to the hip and happening jetsetters of Mumbai. It was packed. And let me tell you, there was absolutely no concept of a line here. But yet again there was a method to the madness. The counter was worked by 3 or 4 harried men who hastily took orders and then filled them with scarcely a pause from one order to the next. Patrons of the pastry shop merely moved as a mass towards the front of the counter. The only sense that the group was made up of individuals was evidenced by extended arms that waved one or two 50 rupee notes high over their heads. It was tough to tell which 50 rupee note belonged to which arm or for that matter which head. It was clearly not a first come first served situation but rather depended on which person waving money was fortunate enough to make eye contact with one of the men manning the counter first. I wondered if the rule of size applied here as in traffic. Did the higher rupee notes guarantee faster service?
How about lines at other forms of entertainment? On the same day that we were at the pastry shop, we also attended a musical called Kabir and the Rangeen Kurta put on by an NGO, which had a decidedly desi (Indianized) take on Joseph and the Technicolor Dreamcoat. We had purchased our tickets in advance but were only guaranteed a seat in a certain set of rows; the actual row or seat was “first come first serve”. I am not sure as to what the protocol is as far as lines to purchase the tickets since our driver was kind enough to get them in advance. As far as getting to one’s seat I can tell you that there was no line. It was literally a throng of people that moved towards the doors once they were opened. But again, somehow it worked and there was really no pushing or shoving. However when we reached our designated row of seats there were none free, except for a section that was clearly marked reserved. I reluctantly followed my sister-in-law's (veteran Bombayite) lead in pulling off the reserved sign from two seats and Sandrine and I sat down. Others later did the same and no one asked us to move.
To queue or not to queue? That is the question. So far, I have not been able to discern any patterns. Generalities such as for travel you queue, entertainment you don’t, fail as there are exceptions. However given that things somehow worked out in all the situations I described, I am convinced that there must be some method to the madness. Maybe it is just I who haven’t yet discovered the answer to that question in this country. Perhaps I should stop searching for answers that may not exist and simply follow the old adage, when in Rome… Or at least the desi version, when in India do as the Indians do.
posted by Danakka @ 5:20 AM
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