Honda

Bangalore November 8, 2009 Darkness falls abruptly here. At 6 p.m. it is raining hard and the light is abandoning us. Tucker hangs onto the luggage rack of our ancient 100 cc. Hero Honda with a steely grip as I pitch and weave through the crush of Mysore traffic, wiping the fog from my glasses and searching for any clue as to where we might be. Mysore is laid out like a Mandala, with roads radiating outward from the Maharaja’s Palace. An endless web of crooked lanes link the rays, with confusing traffic circles at key intersections. Watchtower Circle, New Statue Circle, Devaraja Urs Swamibatami Circle. Their names are helpfully scribed in Kannada, the predominant second language of Karnataka state. Occasionally a sign in English will give a vague nod in the right direction, but I am forever disappointed in my hope for clear direction. When the sun is out I know my compass points, but in the dark of night in the rain it is dead reckoning only, hopefully in the primary meaning of the phrase. Still, the fact that Sateesh’s motorcycle has no working lights or horn raises the vague possibility of second meanings. ...