Cheryl and the girls have had their fair share of
rollercoaster rides too, with trips to the competent
local hospitals for a broken arm and a broken
foot for Cheryl, and seven stitches in a nasty gash
to the eldest’s chin sustained during her school
music recital (I ask you! How do kids manage
it?). Still, we are really feeling settled now and
the high points more than make up for it. Great
friends, a thriving expat community, a good
school, some great golf for me, a nice house in a
safe environment and some world class hotels to
remind us just how lucky we are all combine to
mean as a family we are thoroughly enjoying our
Bangalore experience.
All too suddenly my concentration was rudely
dragged back the sight of a large truck barrelling
down my side of the road as he overtook a local
bus around a blind bend.
One glance at the combined mass of over
20 tonnes of diesel belching steel, effectively
occupying all available tarmac, meant I suddenly
had a graphic illustration of the one immutable
truth of the otherwise fairly arbitrary Indian traffic
rules. namely, ‘Might is Right’!
With only a moment’s hesitation I dived off the
road and heart pounding brought the bike to a
wobbly stop on the muddy verge and immediately
conked the engine out! ‘Well that was smoothly
done’ I thought, as I was simultaneously
descended upon by a crowd of scruffy young
boys asking all manner of questions. ‘Who was
I? What was my name? Why had I stopped? Did
I need help? Could I give them a pencil? Could
they have a ride on my bike?’ I just stared blankly
at the sea of smiling faces as I tried vainly to kick
start the bike. (I still haven’t really mastered the
trick of manually starting this marvel of Indian
engineering)
The next hour passed in a magical combination
of colourful Indian chaos, which can only really
be experienced in person as most of it defies
description. From the elegant Indian women
perched primly in their immaculate colourful saris
on the back of mopeds - some complete with rest