Great Stories of Humor - Indian Crowds -Nirad C Chaudhuri (Abridged and Simplified)

Great Stories of Humor - Indian Crowds

Nirad C Chaudhuri 

(Abridged and Simplified)

When I visited England, I was always accompanied by an English friend and, if not I was furnished with introductions. Therefore the question of my worming my way through the notorious English reserve does not arise in my case. 

I was not wholly reassured, however by the easy clearing of the first hurdle. I feared that difficulties might crop up at a later stage, for the Indians are cold after the introduction and not before. Some of the Indians especially those belonging to the upper strata still practice this reserve. But in England I came across no chilliness or formality, and was never put in my place even by important people.

Indian social life consists of kindliness as well as bad temper and noise. Indians behave in a warm and hearty way more in their public intercourse than in private social relations. This makes then a barbarously gregarious people and distinguishes them from the English who are speechless For Indians noise is as essential a condition of cheerfulness as is the warmth of the sun

                            

In a letter to the Editor of one of the newspapers, an Indian vehemently attacked the Englishman's tendency to bury themselves in their newspaper and forget the world while travelling in the underground trains. A sailor getting drowned in the Arctic ocean could not have felt more strongly about the icebergs.

                           

I had heard about this habit of the English even before I went to England, but to meet the silence at first hand was a wholly novel experience. Even the forums and councils were marked by a silence. Life in London, even in the most crowded street, seemed like a film of pre-talkie days. I saw a large number of people going along the busy streets of London. 

To my dismay all the people were silent. As they moved into the underground stations, they looked like long lines of ants going into their holes. Contemplating on the infinite silence of the spaces Pascal, a great French philosopher cried that the eternal silence of the infinite space frightened him. I was in a similar position. I was frightened by the eternal silence of the infinite crowds.

                            

I had a taste of the same silence in pubs and restaurants which I visited in London. Both can be crowded at a lunch time. But I heard no conversation. In India, on the contrary, such places would be buzzing or even booming with talk. 

Speaking of the clubs, though regarded as centres of social life, they are perhaps the most silent places of all. One evening, when dining at a club, I tried to open a conversation across the table. I admired the skill with which the intrusion was fended off. There was not even the 'slightest sign of discourtesy.

                           

This is in sharp contrast to the habits of the Indians. I did not have the facility of a motor - car. So I was forced to travel by us. I had a better opportunity to observe human behavior in public. The transport system of Delhi in which I have gone about for more than fifteen years is very illuminating in this respect.

                             

In the buses of Delhi all of us make use of one another for bodily comfort. In northern India, people have great difficulty in keeping in moving vehicles. Therefore, they lean against one another or put their arms around a fellow – passenger.

                             

Nobody is ill-natured as to mind being used as a cushion. If anyone objects to it, he is asked in offended tones, "What harm is there in it, you are not a woman?'. If a passenger wants to know the time, he simply twists the left hand of his neighbour to look at his watch. I wear mine on the under side, therefore I have my wrist twisted.

                             

The buses are also full of conversation not only on public topics but also on private ones. Indians do not hesitate to make commands even on total strangers. Once I heard a fellow - passenger remark that my sola tepee was heavier than my whole body. When I replied it was no bigger than his turban, he said that he hoped I was not offended at his joke.

                              

In the hot season I sometimes get an irritation at the back of my neck, especially because I wear a collar and tie. This makes me jerk my head and even perk it like a bird. Last summer I had an attrack of this and when travelling in the bus. 

I suddenly heard the gentleman sitting next to me asking me in English, "Is it a habit or is it disease?" I asked in my turn, ‘What is habit or discase?". Then the gentleman mimicked me exactly and said, ‘This'. I was bound in common politeness to reply, 'I suppose it is habit'. "I thought so too", he rejoined, "You have done this too many times, and it has now become a habit, and habit as you know is second nature. "So it is, so it is', I said in an embarrassed manner.

                             

The passengers also help one another to get down at the destination because the conductor is not very familiar about the topography of Delhi. So far as newspaper reading is concerned, the fellow-passengers never snatch away anybody's paper but they take the pages he is not reading, in the most polite manner, and distribute them among themselves. 

These are, however, scrupulously returned. Books are often tugged at. One day a fellow - passenger tried to snatch a copy of the Gita I was holding in my hand. When I did not let go, but objected, he said angrily, 'You have got a holy book in your hand and you are behaving like this! I don't want your book'. And he did make me a social outcaste.

                             

I have the habit of standing at the door of the bus to get down quicker. When the others see me doing this they cry out in their anxiety, ‘Please have patience' Some even catch hold of my coat-tails or grip the arm to prevent me from moving. 

They also help in more exceptional circumstances. One day I found that I had only one bad rupee coin with me, and the conductor would not take it. A fellow passenger helped me by giving a rupee note in exchange for the bad coin.

                                

The buses in Delhi provide a microcosm of Indian life. Once I saw a young woman trying to commit suicide by jumping out of the window. She was pulled back by her husband. 

Quarrels are common among the passengers and between the bus driver and the conductor. Once these was a quarrel between the driver and the conductor. The driver left the bus in a huff and laid himself on the grass at Edward park. He did not come back until all the passengers appealed to him to come back.

                                 

By western standards what happens at the stops is something extraordinary. I shall relate only one of my experiences at one of the bus halts where the buses were either infrequent or irregular Once during a long wait for a bus, an elderly gentleman asked me if he could go to Red Fort from there. 

I said he could. The gentleman then became garrulous and introduced his daughter who was studying for the B.A and for whom he had marriage plans. He also introduced his son to me and he said that they were coming from Jawaharlal Nehru's house. 

He also informed me that he had visited Delhi two years earlier. That was, he added with a sly smile, in connection with a law suit with his father. Finding out that I was interested in his talk, he went to the trouble of explaining the whole affair.

                                

When the bus was coming, he asked for my address He wanted to send me some mangoes from his orchard. I said, 'Thank you very much. But there is no occasion for it'.

                               

'No, sir', he rejoined with great warmth of feeling, it is no trouble whatever. You have given me the pleasure of your company and conversation, and I want to show my gratitude for it. But the bus had come along and I had to jump into it, without being able to bring the matter to a more graceful conclusion.

                               

It is this human comedy, this large - hearted wiping out of the distinction between personal and public affairs, this craving for sympathy in widest commonalty spread, that makes us react strongly against the dull cold reserve of the English people.

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