TRAVEL An Indian Odyssey, part 2

An Indian odyssey


Part two
Personal trainer
Paul O'Brien

Postcards from the edge
India is mad! If you ever come here, do not attempt to hire a car. You will die. However, if you suffer from road rage, I highly recommend you come here and spend a few days in a big city riding around in autos (the prevailing jargon for an automated tuk-tuk). You will be cured. I know I am.
I can confidently say that the next time someone beeps me back home, I will smile benignly before wishing them long life and prosperity.
Everyone beeps here and it’s not hard to see why. Though there is no more traffic than most other big cities worldwide, the city traffic here uses a different code. Traffic lights and slow lanes exist only to be ignored. Apart from during the early-morning rush hour, everyone drives through red lights.
The practice of overtaking a car that is already overtaking another has long been established. It matters not that it’s on a blind corner and that a lumbering artic laden with propane gas is coming the other way. A friendly beep achieves the Moses-like effect of parting the traffic.
And if that doesn’t work, you can always swerve at the very last second while simultaneously avoiding the auto-rickshaw driver carrying an entire family of eight in his three-seater. And all this without the faintest trace of anger or upset from any driver. My nerves just held out. However, after a few days I calmed down and now think nothing of catching myself smiling sweetly at the truck driver who almost ended my life. Sweet!
India is sound, smells, bursting colours and astonishingly varied tastes. It’s a veritable assault on the senses. If you’re not into high-paced, constantly changing sensory experience, you will hate India. I can understand why some people do. Me, I love it!
I think I’m even beginning to look like one of them. My hair has become thicker and more Indian-like (thick, wiry and sun-baked). I find myself bobbing my head from side to side when indicating ‘Yes’ and nodding my head when I mean ‘No’. I am also using the Indian phrase ‘Tell me’, used when trying to elicit further information when someone calls your name.
There are lots of things I’m struggling to get used to though. The concept of personal space seems not to exist here. Though the people here have been very generous and excellent hosts, I feel I need to explain my desire for ‘me time’ a little further. I don’t think they’ll get it. But then, they are such interesting and delightful souls that I won’t really mind (that much!).
‘Family’ here means sharing every experience with those closest to you. Kids live at home until they no longer merit being called kids. Families live, work, pray, eat, journey, laugh and cry together. In the Indian family, there are no secrets. It’s endearing and heart-warming.
I’m also not quite used to the profuse sweating yet (mine that is!). I remember humidity like this when I was in Darwin in 1997. Someone should invent a ‘shower bag’ – a portable 20-litre pouch, a bigger version of the one used by endurance athletes, with an attached shower nozzle would sell for at least Rs500 here (€8.50). Dragon’s Den anyone?!

Paul O’Brien is a certified personal trainer with the American Council on Exercise and a qualified life coach. He runs his own business in Westport and is the creator of Bootcamp West, an exciting and challenging exercise programme in Westport. For details of upcoming classes, visit www.bootcampwest.com or e-mail paul@bootcampwest.com or telephone 086 1674515.