Mumbai Moments

Charlie, Sebastian and Eliza take a dip at the Bombay Gymkhana

















Chris and the kids at the Gateway to India













At the cricket watching Australian and the West Indies in the ICCCT on a very hot afternoon















The girls on a carriage ride through Mumbai.







Below: Cheeky Sebastian

The Scooter Diaries: Pics

Chris and the kids













Sally and Celia

The Scooter Diaries

Sally’s father told her upon hearing she had recently purchased a scooter that there are two types of motor cyclists; those who have fallen off and those who are about to. No prizes for guessing which category I fall into - but more on that later. We quickly determined upon re-locating to site that transport would be an issue. The school is a 25 minute drive from Pune and while the rolling hills that surround it are very pretty, they also keep the school at a distance from basic amenities such as auto rickshaws. Such is the price for clean air in India. Prior to acquiring the scooter, I was walking into Lohagon most mornings and catching an 8 seater rickshaw to Pune. The walk from the school to the village is very pleasant first thing in the morning because it is downhill and there is still a vague coolness clinging to the breeze. I invariably encounter several herds of cows ambling slowly from the opposite direction. I love the sound of the tinkle from the bells around their necks as the cowherds gently beckon their charges towards their destination. It is like passing through a huge bovine wind charm - particularly soothing to the ears, less so to the nose. However my walks into the village were becoming an increasing source of concern and consternation to many of the local staff on site. I was lectured on a daily basis about the perils that may befall a ‘foreigner’ along the school road and when the Chairman declared he was losing sleep at the thought of it, I knew another solution was required and it was pointless to look to the Group to provide it.

Daryl and Jenny had anticipated the transport issue and thankfully had also researched the purchase of a scooter prior to leaving Hermes. They had determined a Honda Activa was a good buy and considering they sell here for AU$1200 brand new with every extra, 12 months insurance and full servicing for two years, Chris, Sally and I were more than happy to follow the Moran’s lead. Of course the actual purchasing process was long and complicated (see previous post on FRO for an idea of Indian processes) and required several return trips to the Honda dealers as well as a wait of several weeks for delivery because of the backlog of orders for Activas. We finally took possession of them about 6 weeks ago and Chris and I are now the proud owners of one ‘Mercedes grey’ scooter and two very spiffy helmets. My helmet is a gorgeous purple but perhaps a little big. Sally said I remind her of the girl on the cold sore ad doing aerobics in the motor cycle helmet and unfortunately that description is very apt.

In India you are required to hold a full licence in order to drive a scooter and even if you hold a driver’s licence from another country, all applicants must complete a full application and test. We promptly hired an agent to accompany us to the Road Traffic Authority and while he cost us all ten times the amount of the actual licence, his assistance was worth every rupee. Sally, Daryl, Chris and I all went together one wet Saturday morning with the 3 eldest McNamara children in tow. Our agent collated our paperwork with efficiency and before we knew it we were in the queues for the licence photo and fingerprinting. As always, this apparent progress was too good to be true and Daryl, being over forty-five, was pulled out of the queue for the purpose of undergoing medical check. His medical examination consisted of a ‘Doctor’ simultaneously sucking on a cigar and glancing up briefly at Daryl. The doctor then exhaled smoke into Daryl’ face and, with one hand, stamped Daryl’s forms with an enormous stamp while the other hand was extended for payment for the very thorough examination. Daryl concluded that while he was less healthy for participating in the examination, by comparison to the Doctor, he must have appeared a perfect specimen.

After our photos were taken, our agent led us to a banner displaying road signs and told us to study them. The second part of the process involved an examination comprised of 10 multiple choice questions of which you were required to answer 6 correctly in order to pass. The examination room had 50 numbered desks and applicants were allocated a number according to the order in which papers were processed and photos taken. Once the first 50 names were called, the doors were shut. Such sensible orderliness is unheard of here and because most locals are used to processes based on organized chaos and bribery, the examination room door remained cluttered by several hundred applicants who refused to accept the reality that only those whose names were called were allowed to enter, no matter how far they had positioned themselves from the throng. While we did grasp this concept, the quality of the load speaker was so poor and the accent of the person announcing the names was so thick we had no means of knowing when our names were called. Fortunately our agent seemed to be well acquainted with the RTO and managed to determine we were all in the second batch. He lead us to our allocated seats and even arranged for the staff undertaking the examination to supervise our children. While Eliza had her hair brushed by one examiner and Charlie sang the Australian National Anthem to another, Patrick set himself up to take the test as well from within

the examiner’s room.

The desks in the exam room were individually numbered and all faced a big screen exhibiting a powerpoint display. On each desk was a power board with 3 buttons of different colours and a red light. Around the room were posters that were presumably designed to be useful tips on safe motoring but were actually very distracting because of their tastelessness. For example, one poster displayed a lecherous well-heeled man in a car colliding with a frail looking beggar who had the misfortune to cross the road while the driver leered at a well endowed sari-clad lady on the pavement. Charming. The instructions for the examination were given in Hindi and while the questions appeared on the screen in both English and Hindi, we missed some rather vital information such as the fact that you must press the button you select hard enough for the red light on your desk to flash or your answer will not be recorded. While the lady sitting next to me obviously tried to convey this to me in the seconds before the examination commenced, I only realized the significance of the flashing light at about question five, leaving me almost certain of failure due to inadequate digit pressure.

The first question was : What side of the road should you drive on and the possible answers were: a) the left side; b) the right side; c) it doesn’t matter. If one was particularly pedantic about answering accurately then c) is probably the correct answer here. However we are all now aware that here you ignore the reality and state the ideal, even if that effectively amounts to lying. We duly answered a) and while this was identified as the correct answer on the screen, judging by the amount of groans around the room, the relevance of the left hand side of the road was news to a number of applicants – scary thought, really. The subsequent questions were similarly obvious, or confusing, depending upon how honest you were.

That this test is all that is required to jump in a car or on a bike to drive around Pune is concerning enough, the fact that six of the fifty people in the room failed is even more troubling. Particularly as they all had the advantage of hearing in Hindi that they had to push the buttons until the red light flashed. At the conclusion of the test all our names were flashed up onto the screen with our scores. Those who had failed were highlighted in red and if that was not humiliating enough, next to their names were their desks numbers so that everyone in the room knew exactly where they were sitting. To add even further insult to injury, our eldest entered from the examiners area and declared to the room, “I got 7 out of ten, does that mean I get my licence?” To our great relief, we all passed despite the absence of the red light in some instances. Ten minutes later we were all grasping our probationary licences, ready to collect our sparkling bikes.

It would be imprudent for me to tell any tales of mishap other than my own, but suffice it to say, Chris is the only one of us remaining in the second of Sally’s father’s categories. My own misadventure occurred on a wet morning returning from Pune. I had scootered all the way to the Pune Club and was on the way back, nearly through the village when 3 young school boys bounced out on to the road in front of me. I was barely going 10km/hour so stopping was no problem, what was an issue was the heaviness of the scooter as I came to a halt. Being my first ride, I was still unprepared for the weight of a stationary bike tipping sideways and as I attempted to halt the bike’s descent into the mud, I pulled down on the accelerator. The bike went in one direction and I flew over the top of it landing head first in some bamboo scaffolding. Between the weight of the helmet, the bamboo net and the ebb of adrenalin from my arms, I could not extract myself. So there I was, legs straight up and askew while I vainly tried to gain some leverage. I was Pooh Bear in a pot of honey. By this stage quite a crowd had gathered and while a couple of villagers attended to righting my bike, some of the men each grabbed a leg and yanked me out, gallantly biting on their smiles. Several of the ladies were gagging on their saris as they tried not to laugh while I assured all in a brittle, high pitched squeak that I was fine. As I wobbled over to my bike, one lady laid a hand on my arm and asked if I really was unhurt. I assured her I was okay, even if my ego was rather dented.

The next day when Joyti, our nanny, came to work, I was sure she would say something because half her neighbours witnessed the incident. It was with some relief I realized she knew nothing of it and I hoped I was not the news of the village after all. The relief was short lived when the following day she asked me, “Madam, fall off your bike?” I blushed, “Yes Joyti, that was me.” To her credit the smile was fleeting and she quickly returned her attention to tickling Seb on the couch. However, she laughed openly as she and Seb watched Chris and I and the 3 eldest squeeze onto the scooter last Saturday because, being school holidays, there were no school shuttles into the village. On what was a very uncomfortable but mercifully short journey to the 8 seaters, we were quite a sight, I am sure. Chris was very pleased with himself and I thank my lucky stars we have four rather than three children or I suspect Chris would deem this the way our family would travel henceforth.

Despite all this, we love our scooter and of an evening as dusk descends, it is very thrilling to ride into town behind Chris for dinner and snooker. As we dodge pigs, cows, mating dogs and meandering pedestrians, all the while keeping an eye out for cars driving on the wrong side of the road, I think to myself, “If someone had told me a year ago that I would be doing this…..”