It was the best of roads, it was the worst of roads. Since arriving in Maharashtra Fred and I have been very impressed with this state's highways: well-surfaced, well-graded and well-maintained. Today's road was no exception, though it did have an overabundance of the only negative element of Maharashtran roads --namely, Maharashtran drivers. The first part of the ride was actually all right. After escaping Ahmednagar's dusty honking sprawl we found ourselves traversing a hilly Californoid landscape, rolling up and down various *ghats* and valleys. The traffic was busy but by no means unendurable, making the kilometers click off at a fairly brisk pace.
At the top of the day's second hill lay the daddy of all *dhabas*, the fanciest highway rest stop in India, if not all of Asia, a gleaming mirage promising snacks and rest called --bewilderingly--- "The Smile Stone." While Fred munched on his customary 10 a.m. ice cream I visited the toilets, which for me rivaled the Taj Mahal in terms of grandeur and impact. The place was immaculate, full of sparkling marble and obsequious attendants dressed in crisp white linen. I should have taken a photo. The rest of the day was pretty unremarkable. On the outskirts of a place called Shirur we had lunch and talked with the place's owner, who told us another foreign cyclist had been by earlier, also on his way to Pune.
Shirur was more or less our day's half-way point, and marked the place where the traffic turned from bad to worse. Strangely, the road grew narrower as the traffic volume increased, forcing us to dive off onto the soft or non-existent shoulder more times than I care to remember. Maharastrans drive faster than their Rajasthani and Gujarati counterparts, and the state's relative wealth translates into a far greater number of vehicles. Where were they all coming from? Next stop was the crossroads town of Shikrapur. I had had enough of the traffic; over a dosa snack I proposed to Fred that we charter one of the many waiting vehicles, but my idea was rejected summarily.
"It's only another 45 kilometers. At the rate we're going we'll be there in two hours," argued my still-energetic riding partner. While I agreed with him in principle, always preferring to do things the pure way, I also value my life and wondered if I could take any more of the scary driving. It actually got scarier, and the anticipated two hours turned out to be longer due to the frequency with which we were run off the road. The traffic was practically solid all the way into Pune, though this didn't seem to stop drivers from attempting suicidal passes. I had to stop a few times just to remind myself to breathe.
I refrained from resorting to my usual tactic of projecting my brain into a more serene space; the road required my full attention. By the time we reached the town's outskirts we had to abandon the road entirely and ride on the bumpy dirt shoulder that ran alongside it, dodging people, animals and lawnmower-taxis all the while. We crossed a bridge into the heart of Pune, and took the first left on the other side. It was like entering another world. After a full day of choking on dust with our ears ringing of motorsounds, we were suddenly swallowed into a leafy and quiet residential district.
It looked vaguely like an upmarket neighborhood in any American city, with trendy little cafes, elegant housing and --could it be true?---a Baskin Robbins shop, scooping up no fewer than 31 flavors. We could scarcely believe our eyes, sitting down immediately for a serious ice cream pig out. All this time we'd been praising Gujarati ice cream, but really there's no comparison. It was like what a prisoner must go through when he tastes gourmet food for the first time after years in the joint. While experiencing this ecstasy we met a young Canadian woman who spends six months a year in Pune, taking yoga and reiki classes and basking in the place's New Age energy.
Her association with the nearby (and infamous) Osho ashram was unclear. "No, I'm not a member, but I like to go there to hang out," she said mysteriously. Baskin Robbins shares an outdoor terrace with a large café catering almost exclusively to Westerners, most of whom were wearing maroon-colored robes and all of whom were in poseur overdrive mode. One customer was very ostentatiously reading something by Emmanuel Kant while others sat cross-legged with their eyes closed. It reminded me of Café Pergolesi back in Santa Cruz, only more ridiculous --partly due to the silly costumes, but mostly because we were, after all, in India, thousands of miles from Europe and America.
Our Canadian friend told us that there were all sorts of Christmas parties going on tonight and recommended a couple of hotels. One was right above the café, but it was full, as was the one across the street and a couple more around the corner. Never having encountered such problems in India, we began to wonder if Pune was fully booked, but finally found a room in a groovy old deco place right next door to the Osho ashram. Osho is the current moniker of a guru who used to go by the name Rajneesh back when he was operating out of Oregon and driving around in his many Rolls Royces.
Remember? He got nabbed on tax evasion and fled the country, back to his native Pune to set up this place. While he's no longer "in the body" (i.e. dead), the cult is still going strong and seems to attract mostly Europeans now. Lots of French and Germans running around in maroon robes, screwing each other with wild abandon (freedom of sexuality is a big part of the Osho schtick, and, presumably, its draw). After washing off seventeen layers of caked-on road dirt, we went for a sunset stroll. On the way over to the ashram we passed a young woman holding a rose up to her nose and wearing the most bogus beatific expression I've ever seen.
I can't recall a time I've felt a stronger urge to punch someone in the nose. Others, all clad in maroon, came streaming out of the ashram's elegant gates, looking similarly brainwashed. We tried to get inside for a peek but this was strictly verboten. How did our Canadian friend get inside if she wasn't a member? And if we two BikeBrats found these people so transparently phony, what on earth did they think of the likes of us? Here we were, surrounded by people of our own race and backgrounds for the first time in months, yet never had we felt so alien, so other.
We continued our stroll, past a strip of street stalls selling maroon garments, including underwear, plus the usual assorted subcontinental kitsch. We stopped at an extremely popular Western-style (right down to the prices) café for espressos, surrounded by still more poseurs and feeling self-consciously out-of-the-loop. What the hell was this place all about, I wondered only half-curiously, knowing that we'd never find out since we plan to hit the road again bright and early tomorrow morning. The Internet "café" we stumbled upon surprised us by having the best prices and connection we'd found anywhere in India, and the Italian restaurant we dined at afterwards (recommended by our Canadian friend) was superbly tasty.
Back at Baskin Robbins we hung around half-hoping we'd get invited to a Christmas party, realizing at the same time that our energy level would make us total party duds. Besides, who would want to invite freaks like us? We weren't even wearing maroon. So we headed back to our squeaky-clean hotel room, where this (unabridged and unexpurgated) article in the local newspaper caught my eye: member Chandmal Parmar today disclosed that Pune district recorded highest number of road accident in the country due to the increasing population and increase in vehicles. Talking to press persons here, Parmar said that during last 40 years, Pune's population has increased four folds.
The roads length and width have been made 5 time whereas the vehicles have been increased 90 times of the previous strength which have broken all times accident records. Giving details about the road mishaps, Parmar said that in the country there were 36 vehicles behind 1000 people. In Maharashtra the number was 50 and in Mumbai it was 150 but in Pune there were 350 vehicles behind a thousand people. "Out of the total 49.46 lakh vehicles in the state, Pune has 9.95 lakh vehicles while Mumbai is still behind with 8.95 lakh vehicles," he said. Parmar said that to suggest measures against road accidents the committee travelled three thousand kilometre and visited 2500 accident spots so far.
The state government has allocated Rs. 12 crore to minimise road accidents he added. While it's refreshing to have our suspicions on the local drivers confirmed, it's a wonder we survived today's ride. For tomorrow I've got a more rural route planned in order to avoid the surely nightmarish road from here to Bombay. I'm hoping getting out of Pune will be less of a hassle than getting in.