Right, then Left

The other day here in Mysore an acquaintance of mine from Seattle told me that she was going for an adventure around town with her friend on his motorcycle; when I asked her where they were headed, she said “Right, then left.”

What she and her buddy like to do is just head out on the scooter through the streets of town and when the spirit moves them, make a right turn, then in a little while, a left and simply see where it takes them. There’s always something interesting to look at in India, and this is their way of surprising themselves with new sights.

I’ve been doing that a lot lately on my bicycle, only I usually go left first, since that’s the direction that’s slightly less scary given that you don’t have to cross traffic—and if that first turn is a roundabout, the direction which will ensure you aren’t pedaling head-on into an oncoming stream of vehicles.

Although I’m sure the strategy is fun on a motorcycle, I’d suggest it’s even more enjoyable on a human-powered two-wheeler. That’s because, on a bike, every time you go somewhere (or for that matter, nowhere in particular), you’re taking a ride. What I mean is that even if you don’t reach your destination (or even have one), you’ve still enjoyed the simple pleasure of cycling which, as far as I’m concerned, is an end in itself.

My flute-teacher, Mr. Upadhyaya, says that one way of understanding the Indian conception of God or Ishvara is as a timeless witness to all things; in a weird little way, that’s what I get to experience on the bike, riding around.

Scenes slide past my vision; I take them in without judging, simply seeing them for what they are: a painted cow; a random trash fire; a group of ladies in saris washing sheets under a common water pump; half a dozen young boys in school uniforms pushing each other into traffic; a bike mechanic truing a wheel on the homemade truing stand that looks like this:

It’s all right; then I’ve left.