We take it for granted because we do it so often. After a bit of haggling over the fare, we get into an auto-rickshaw (called a “tuk-tuk” in some countries because of its characteristic sound) and we sit back and look out onto with the street with glazed eyes. The colour and the sparkle of the world outside goes completely unnoticed by us — until we take along someone who has not touched Indian shores in decades.

Then, suddenly, an ordinary jaunt to the market becomes an extraordinary experience — almost the equivalent of an expedition into the Amazon rainforest because of the variety encountered on Indian roads.

What we, the jaded, think of as ordinary homo sapiens ‘Indica’, hanging about on messy streets, not bothering to straighten out the goods in their untidy shops and attend to their customers, appear as something quite different to outsiders — an exotic alien species that could be confusing, maybe even intimidating, if encountered alone, but are enchanting when they have us around with them.

They listen avidly as we tell the rickshaw driver where to go — it is not the words that excite them since they have no idea what we are saying in the local language. It is the gestures, the inflections, the raised voices and the general disregard for muted tones and decorum in public places that has them awestruck.

And when we get lost in the winding crowded streets, thanks to a wrong turning, a newly ordained one-way-street or a “short cut”, they are amazed at the unique GPS used on Indian roads. We may turn our cell phones this way and that and still not get proper connectivity to find out where we are, but all we have to do is ask for directions — and within minutes the entire street participates.

Confident stance

The “foreigners” stand out like sore thumbs: The greys and beiges of their clothes that are so different from the brilliant pinks and reds and greens sported by the crowd, the demeanour that is shyer, more withdrawn than the confident stance adopted by everyone else. All this sets them apart, draws frank and open stares and everyone wants to know about them.

Their origins, their business, their destination, are all questioned, and slightly reluctant, low-voiced replies do not faze the interrogators. They want to know more — and they want to share their stories too. The bonhomie and the prying curiosity are overwhelming.

We check to see if our usually reticent relatives are offended, but they are not. They find it amusing, even charming.

The “foreigners” marvel at everything else too. They photograph endlessly — the sacks of red chillies that make our eyes burn are a source of wonder to them for their colour and pungent aroma as are the piles of tender coconuts and the petite woman wielding a curved knife almost as big as her with the ease of long practice.

What adventure, what excitement, from a simple outing on an ordinary street in the country of their origin ...! A trip to the supermarket or the museum or the park in their hometown never throws up surprises like this! There, they would walk in, do what they have to, exchange a courteous ‘good day’ or two and be out and on to the next item on their itinerary.

Could it be that they are missing something? Maybe they would have enjoyed growing up in a place like this rather than in the well-ordered well-mannered Southern hemisphere city they call home.

Or, more likely, they would take all this colour and confusion for granted — like our children do — and they would happily leave it behind and go in search of a more disciplined life in a well-ordered place where surprises don’t leap at them at every turn.

Cheryl Rao is a journalist based in India.