Transportation

The not-so-discrete choice of being a pedestrian in Bangalore

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When the program director explained that discrete choice economics was part of the PhD program my first thought was no big deal. See, I assumed he meant ‘discreet’, as in we’d learn economics in an unobtrusive kind of way, and then I had this train of thought where my mind replaced ‘choice’ with ‘charm’ and I naturally thought of  Buñuel’s bourgeoisie.

10 minutes into the course I realized my mistake and two weeks later concluded that the whole thing was utterly uncharming. Not only because I found myself failing the first problem set on ordered logits and unable to grasp fixed effects, but because I struggled to believe that transportation, my subject of study, could be understood through binaries (or multinomials), reduced to probability models, and described through principles of utilitarian theory. In the end I mastered these techniques, passed the class, and aborted discrete choice theory as a way of understanding an individual’s transportation decisions.

Until now. My recent move to Bangalore and life as a pedestrian in this lawless land of piecemeal concrete and reckless driving has brought about a new kind of discrete choice economics.

Every night as I walk home from a neighboring Nagar I play a little (discreet) game with myself. The game is essentially based on whether I can accurately predict my decision to walk on the street or the footpath (the more common term for sidewalk), based on a set of observed variables, the most common being:

  • no footpath
  • an obstruction on the footpath
  • a broken footpath
  • non working street lights
  • an obstruction on the side of the street
  • shit (literal and figurative) on the side of the street
  • crazy-mad traffic.

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Those are, for the time being, my working set of ‘external’ or independent variables. They arise unpredictably in the sense that I can walk 10 steps on a footpath and then halfway through my 11th step realize that this forward trajectory will not be possible once I begin that 12th. I must make a choice, a decision, quickly. And this decision, that is to walk forward on the footpath or transition to the street OR, conversely, to move from the street to the footpath, is based on this set of observable variables in which I must maximize my utility of being able to walk without being severely hurt or killed.

I’d like to think that my discrete (or rational) choice is ‘scientifically’ objective in the sense that it is based more on a mechanical, bodily reaction than self-reflection or subjective judgement as to where I should be walking.

I’d also like to think that this mental game satisfies most criteria for discrete choice model formation. For example, given that discrete choice is based in probability, it operates under the assumption that there is missing information. Meaning that my decision is based on observable as well as unobservable factors. Like those above my head. A coconut tree waiting to drop a big one on me, a bird’s nest of illegal wiring waiting to blow. These do not knowingly factor into my split second decision of footpath or street, but maybe they unconsciously do. As I write, I also realize that there are the ‘internal’ or imposed variables that I’ve created for myself. Two examples are:

  • whether or not I’ve worn closed or open shoes.
  • How late I am to get to where I need to go (and thus how much risk am I willing to take?).

I suppose hardcore modelers might challenge my desire to call my game an exercise in discrete choice theory. For example, the requirement that all categories are mutually exclusive is questioned when one considers that in several instances the footpath is the street and vice versa. After all, during rush hour, two wheelers drive on the footpath to avoid the gridlock traffic on the street. Cars park on the footpath and so, for pedestrians, the street becomes the footpath. I would have to ask a statistician, but I suspect this ambiguity might pose challenges for quantitatively minded.

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In any case, I suspect that this small, insignificant game is one that over one million people, mostly women and the elderly, play here in Bangalore on a daily basis, most likely unknowingly and unwillingly. My guess is that people are less conscious of it then I am, and certainly more accepting of it.

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While the experience can be at times satirical, even surreal, unlike Buñel’s sextet, no aspect of this is imagined. The other week there were three separate accounts of women, all women, who tripped (on a pothole or uneven pavement) while walking and were killed by an approaching vehicle. In fact, the transportation situation in Bangalore is increasingly dire and it is the pedestrian population that is literally the worse hit. Being a pedestrian has allowed me to brush up on some of those long forgotten principles behind discrete choice theory but the best of probability models will not solve this mounting crisis. My advisor has recently starting using the acronym TINTA–There Is No Technocratic Answer. I’m pretty sure that is the best framework to have come from any economist in decades.

Wheels and Tracks

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Same destination but different mode. Why one would chose train over bus travel in India–anywhere for that matter*–hardly warrants explanation. But let me try. I finished Paul Theroux’s The Grand Railway Bazaar while traveling from Delhi to Bombay, down the coast of Maharashtra and yes, eventually to Goa. It was a mixed modes approach of bus, rail, and one flight.

Reading a travel book while traveling is obviously cliché, but then to read a travel book while performing the regiment of everyday life is possibly to induce despair. Although my two week hiatus hardly compares to Theroux’s half year journey, it did allow me to reflect on a few things that have been brewing for some time, such as the gendered nature of adventure travel (and writing) and how the interior spaces of India’s overnight buses compare to the train journeys.

Inner-urban transportation in India is pretty gendered, from the subtle hand-painted portrait-of-a-lady on the side of Mumbai’s crumbling yet delightfully efficient suburban rail system to the ‘women on wheels’ pink taxis. Light rail and metro systems have whole compartments reserved for ‘ladies.’ In Delhi, this is indicated by a Barbie pink coloured sign complete with your classic stick-figure-in-a-dress and white flowers blooming around her body.

But inside the compartment of the long distance trains, gender differentiation evaporates. Of course there is the list outside the car, dutifully telling the name, sex, and age of each passenger, but within the car your cubicle of six berths, geometrically lined up and magically suspended by some cable that has been carrying the weight of human travellers since Gandhi, has no explicit demarcation for gender, personal space, and perhaps even class for the matter.**

What is it about this temporary communal space, a space within a contained vessel in motion, that allows things like concern for personal security to evaporate? I tried bringing up this question several times while doing research interviews with those who work in the field of urban public transportation. No one had ever given it much thought, and with the exception of times of social upheaval, no one could think of an instance when a woman rail passenger had been violated, nor any public demand for gender segregated compartments.

It is hard to convey the feeling of this tiny, 50 square foot, six berth space that is created on the long distances trains. A similar feeling does not exist on overnight buses, or international flights. I’ve tried to identify certain qualities–the freedom to move within and between cars, the open doors, the tiny table at the end of the lower berth where one can set their namkeen, chai, oily IRCTC breakfast. Is it the fact that there is a communal space? That everyone starts the journey sitting on the lower berth, a padded rectangle that eventually becomes someone’s bed and ends up in some contorted position with a wad of of stiff wool blanket wrapped around some part of the body? Is it the sounds and smells outside the rail station, the situated historicalness of rail travel itself? While there are a great number of rail travelogues, I’m hard pressed to think of any involving buses (that aren’t tied to some self-depreciating, down and out character), and certainly none written by women.

*I suppose in the US you could argue that there is hardly a lesser evil between Amtrak and Greyhound.

** Of course the compartments are organised according to class, but unlike air travel, where a curtain and several stewards and stewardesses are strategically placed to ensure no trespassing between first class, silver elite, gold and the masses in economy class.

We’re on the Road to Nowhere

I know in my last post I argued there’s no such thing as developed and undeveloped, which, as Vince Carducci rightfully observed in his comment, is more an attempt to think beyond that particular dichotomy than suggest that some kind of global quality of life has been achieved. I’d like to take up this theme again, perhaps challenge my own previous argument through a discussion on roads in Karnataka.

Right now I’m watching NDTV as I get ready to leave Bangalore. This evening’s topic is Why is Road Development Off Track? The central question posed by the news program to the audience and interviewees is why roads are not being built as fast as the state government has promised.

Apparently, in 2010, the Karnataka government suggested that the state had the capacity to build 20 kilometers of roads. However, by 2011, it was found that only five kilometers of road are built a day.

Now, I’m coming at this with a lot of bias. Part of which is due to being a pedestrian for the past four days in the forever expanding city of Bangalore. Trying to get from point A to point B has proved nearly impossible. The problem I’ve found is that here, roads seem to sputter and die. Or they become new roads with new names or new roads with no names, or new roads that, suddenly, simply stop being roads without any warning so that everything seems to be in a constant, present state of construction.

But my road angst extends much further than Bangalore as I inevitably associate road development with motor vehicles and thus things like traffic, suburbs, and pollution.

But roads are also what help us live; better roads can mean better access to schools, to hospitals…to clean drinking water.  And, of course, construction employees many people and the idea of greater connectivity often boosts ideas of improved qualities of life.

But without knowing where they are going, whom they are connecting, isn’t it pointless to be asking why a certain number of kilometers are or aren’t being built?

Le me return to this news program I’m watching. I don’t mean to stereotype, but it seems Indians, (at least of the civil service government variety) love, I mean l-o-v-e numbers. I find that the response to any inquiry regarding the progress of a project is met with a series of numbers so that in 2006 it cost this much to build one kilometer of road with cement costing some number and this many people were employed to mix the cement and this many were employed to lay the cement and the total number of roads built was this number and if we compare that to the number of roads built in, say Tamil Nadu in 2007 than we will find a difference of this many kilometers and considering Tamil Nadu is this many square kilometers big and Karnataka is this many square kilometers big than it makes sense that this number fewer of roads was built in 2009 but not in 2010…wait, what were talking about?

This is certainly how the various interviews with various people working in road construction are going so that I think the only thing I’ve caught so far is that 18000 kilometers of road were built from 2010-2011. Again, this apparently works out to roughly five kilometers a day.

“Could 20 kilometers of road be built a day?” The inquisitive newscaster asks Russell Waugh of Leighton Contractors.

“Certainly,” the Aussie-accented Waugh replies. It seems to him there is no reason Karnataka cannot not nor should not be constructing 20 kilometers of road a day.

But why do 20 kilometers of road need to be built a day? Where are these roads being built and where are they going? (Trust me, if there was a telephone number to call in, I’d be dialing it right now).

These questions seem entirely absent from the discussion. Meanwhile, I shudder at the thought of more roads being constructed in Bangalore. I’m imagining that scene in Disney’s Fantasia where Mickey takes the wand without permission and begins multiplying everything so that the buckets of water keep dumping and dumping until the sorcerer’s studio is soon underwater.

It is here that I rethink this question of development. The American Highway Act of 1956 was certainly a fantastic gesture of infrastructure sorcery. The problem is roads cost much more to upkeep than they do to keep. That, my friends, is my abbreviated version of how we got suburban sprawl (I’ve left out many chapters of course). But is it appropriate to ask other countries to take note of this tale of development, development without question, without foresight?

Now there is a commercial break. But the question we are left to muse over during this three minute interlude is whether the inability to acquire land quickly enough is in fact that the greatest barrier to building 20 kilometers of roads a day.

Wait. Acquire what land? From whom?

We return. Mukund Sapre explains that roads are an acceptable reason to acquire land from people, (like farmers), “as long as compensation is given respectfully.”

Praveen Kumar chimes in, calling this “Reasonable rehabilitation.” In his opinion, “it’s not that difficult [to acquire land].”

I’m now not thinking about roads but that forever unanswerable question of what is the value of land? Can anyone ever be reasonably rehabilitated at a fixed cost? What happens to people who don’t have any official land title?

I could give you 101 reasons why road development is off track. But, I’m not sure how long it will take to get to the Bangalore City train station in this kind of traffic and I’ve got a 10:00pm train to catch.

Some Thoughts on Transportation Education II

Every year I watch the Superbowl I’m reminded about what’s wrong with American….every…well, no, let me keep it simple: with American transportation ideology.

I mean our obsession with the car.

Let me be specific. The purpose of every car commercial during the Superbowl is to inspire men to own (and drive) motor vehicles. This inspiration is steeped in American idealism, such as freedom and (masculine) individuality while simultaneously suggesting that by owning a car, you (white male) are also serving a greater cause, for example, your loved ones (read Subaru) or your city (read Chevy).

Take the Chevrolet Sonic….how much money are they spending on their “Let’s Do This” campaign? Remember the infamous bailout of the automotive industry? If this industry needs a few million so that we the consumer can watch cars enjoy leisure activities like sky diving and bungee jumping surely we can put some money into some kind of public transit advertising that involves more than just updating riders as to when service is suspended. Or, at the very least, give some money to the People Mover so they can update their website.

Will public transit ever get enough money to create ads that stir our emotions to the same degree as the motor industry?

“Thank you for riding with MTA” is New York’s Metropolitan Transit Authority’s slogan. What car company would ever use such a phrase?  Seduction rarely begins with a thank you; it’s obvious that public transit systems are suffering from low self-esteem, which, as we all know, is a major turn off. Or look at the People Mover’s “WE’LL TAKE YOU THERE!” (note all caps is their choice), somehow, it’s just not as riveting as the Sonic’s “Let’s do this” approach to moving from point a to b. Why? Because while the later suggests that the ride is going to be an experience, the former suggests that, with enough patience, you’ll get to where you need to go.

Do our transit authorities need more money or just better PR?

I think they probably need both, but, more importantly, they need Hollywood. Hollywood needs to make a great film that involves public transit. When’s the last time you’ve seen an American film with a good train scene? The kind that stirs you to abandon your car and take public transit with the hope that, by doing so, something amazing, extraordinary could possibly happen to you (note the movie Speed DOES NOT count). Sure there are some great films that involve train adventure–but I don’t think any of these are American and they usually oscillate between childish fantasy (e.g. taking the train to Hogwarts) and violence (e.g. opening scene from Man Bites Dog). So, what I’m asking, dear reader who is in graphic design, mass communication, advertising, Hollywood, and/or has a lot of money, please make an amazing public transit commercial for Superbowl 2013.

Bad Architecture

Today while doing my transit research for the Miami TriRail System I came across Opa-Locka station. Interesting name, I thought as I zoomed into the station on Google Earth. Checking first for handicap accessible egresseses, I found an escalator concealed within a hideous concrete turret and an outer wall of paste-y, pastel-striped patterns. Meanwhile, the station looked as if it had come straight out of Disney’s Aladdin. What the hell was going on? Did SFRTA (South Florida Regional Transportation Authority) blow their budget trying to recreate the Oriental Express?

I zoomed out only to discover that the station was located at 480 Ali Baba Avenue, not far from Sultan Avenue and Sesame Street. Sure Florida is no stranger to kitsch, but I began to wonder if everyone in public works had missed that whole, you know, post-colonial, Edward Saidian discourse about the danger of exoticizing the East.

Wishing to investigate further, I went to the town of Opa-Locka’s site. Despite a lot of broken links, what I learned is that the town was founded in 1926 by 28 registered voters, one of whom was Glen Curtiss. Curtiss’s vision was to develop the town entirely off Arabian Nights. Apparently, the town boasts the largest collection of Moorish Revival architecture in the Western hemisphere (according to Wikipedia) and many of these buildings are recognized and registered by the state as historic places.

It seems to me there is a correlation between warm weather and fantasy architecture. That and the American tendency to take everything literally. I have no idea who Glen Curtiss was, maybe he spent so much time in the Middle East prior to South Florida that the only way he could possible tolerate this new town was to recreate that far away place. But, I’m pretty sure that’s not how it went. In my mind, Opa-Locka is a good example of how the more we try to recreate what we perceive to be reality, the further away from it we become.

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The best part about Planner’s Network conferences is the organization’s ability to connect participants to a diverse range of projects and issues underway in the host city. This year’s theme on regional economic development was emphasized in the various excursions that took place throughout Memphis. Some highlights:

Shelby Farms Greenline

On Saturday about eight of us had the good fortune of biking the Shelby Farms Greenline, a former rail line turned urban greenway. Our hero of the day was Kyle Wagenschutz of Revolution Bikes (read their history and see why they are seriously revolutionary) who led us through the City’s Midtown and East neighborhoods, along the Wolf River, past two penitentiaries, and to the Farm–all the while interjecting interesting historical facts.

Wolf River, made famous by Jeff Buckley’s body.

Shelby Farms is the aftermath of the Shelby County Work House/Penal Farm, which was established in 1819 by the County as a facility designed to change human behavior. According to County history, in 1883 private contractors hired inmates to build roads and rail lines. The county was paid 10 cents a day for this labor, allowing the Farm to be entirely self-sufficient. By the mid-twentieth century however, this penal model was considered outmoded, but as google maps illustrates, Shelby had already cultivated quite a love for correctional institutes.

Where would you like to serve out your term?

In 1970, the 4,500 acres of Shelby Farms was declared surplus land (seeing as how there were four nearby prisons) and put up for private bids. According to Kyle, one idea floated was a safari park. This vision was eclipsed when former mayor Bill Morris and Park Superintendent Tom Hill found a very good deal on some 200 buffalo back in 1989. The buffalo continue to populate the land and are in fact available for adoption (in the metaphorical-pledge-a-donation-kind-of-way) to help raise funds to combat  a parasite due to rampant inbreeding. On this particular day, we had the good fortune of seeing the Park set up for Israel Festival.

The park is considered one of the largest urban parks in the country–mind you the only thing perhaps remotely urban about it is that it has a Master Plan (and a plan to make it less urban at that) but with James Corner leading the redevelopment, maybe nearby inmates will have a chance to appreciate some marvelous Diller Scofidio + Renfro benches (!!!)

Another highlight was getting treated to lunch at the High Point Hub Cafe by the super nice and innovative Charles McVean of the Aerobic Cruiser Hybrid Cycle, which, by resembling a moving couch perhaps really is a viable alternative to the car…

Chicago-based geographer Andrea Craft tests it out.

Kyle and Charles are surrounded by conference participants.

Soulsville Community Charrette

The name Soulsville reflects the commonly held belief that this geographic area in South Memphis is in fact the birthplace of American soul music. Soulsville’s impressive legacy of civil rights activism and home of the first African American College, first female educational institution, and, of course Stax Records (call 634-5789!) has not safeguarded the community against the poverty, disinvestment, and suburban flight in the past 30 years. However, despite adversity, if there is one thing this Charrette emphasized, it was the innovative thinking that is occurring on a neighborhood level.

On our tour we saw the Lemoyne-Owen College community garden–a reminder of food desertification within Soulsville. The Memphis Black Arts Alliance took over an old firehouse slated for demolition and helped initiate community-sponsored murals that not only draw attention to the rich musical history, but also beautify aging infrastructure. My personal favorite site was just off Beechwood Avenue and South Bellevue. Next to the SMA citizen’s charter is a coin laundry facility that will soon begin offering social services such childcare and home ownership advice. The idea behind this is that people do their laundry when they have one or two hours of downtime, these facilities thus become places for social exchange. Providing such services in a well-used neighborhood facility allows for more widespread access.

Lastly, I must acknowledge the amazing Southern hospitality of the University of Memphis planning department, particularly  the extremely hilarious Ken Reardon, who is probably not an actual Southerner, but nonetheless went out of his way to ensure that everyone had a good time, which is maybe why I never actually saw his bow tie tied.

Some Thoughts on Transportation Education I

Waiting on the subway platform in the first hours of the morning, I usually experience some kind of infrastructure euphoria. Even the rats, who at this time, are so bold as to come right up to your feet, are a part of my utopian vision for a more collective MTA consciousness.

It might be a flawed, bankrupt, and crumbling system, getting more expensive and less functional, but it gets me where I need to go 24 hours a day seven days a week. It goes over bridges and under water. When I put my face to its translucent, scratched windows, the intestinal track of the city is revealed.

While I realize most people will not share my unabashed infatuation with the New York City subway system, I’m pretty sure more people should. Or, at the very least, take a moment and think about all our subway allows us to do, everywhere it gets us. Recognizing what it can do will allow us to better critique all it does not do–but should. Certainly, this is a position many car owners take; they know the ratio of miles to the gallon, the cost of an oil change and when to get it. They are aware of the distance traveled each month and whether or not their car is efficient in achieving this distance. In other words, they know if their personal motor vehicle is operating at its expected standard of performance.

Does this level of awareness come only with ownership? Can we feel responsible for a system we cannot own?

During the Festival of Ideas (May4-8), Anthony Townsend drew attention to the increasingly dichotomous situation regarding public services. Cooperation vs. offloading is a hot topic, particularly in Britain right now where the government’s championing of ‘Big Society‘ comes at the time of tremendous budget cuts.

New Yorkers who rely on the subway for their daily needs have been hit the hardest over the past three years. In early 2008, a monthly pass rose from $76 to $89 and on January 1st of 2011, from $89 to $104. This 17% increase (or 65% over the past twelve years) far exceeds inflation, New Yorkers find themselves paying more for less.

Although $104 a month is cheaper than owning a car, it is still too expensive for many residents, particularly in the boroughs. 2008 Census data found 22% of Brooklyn and 27% of the Bronx living below the poverty line. In 2000, the average commute time in both boroughs was 45 minutes. With frequency of services decreasing and travel costs rising, one can only assume that travel times will not improve.

For the two catch words of the day (i.e. sustainability and cooperation) to have any sort of teeth, they must offer options accessible to everyone. Yes, a subway is more energy efficient when compared to a car, but not if the nearest stop is a mile a way, a physical disability prevents you from accessing the system, or, if the service is simply too expensive.

We cannot move forward until we recognize these limitations, however, neither can we move forward until we realize what we have and what our transportation network is capable of achieving. So while the MTA and all of us relying on it are in fairly dire straits, our rage is not the fleeting type –and here I’m thinking of the kind associated with people in cars, on the freeway. It’s not directed at fellow passengers but toward inefficiencies at the state level; those determining decisions they themselves are far removed from.

The network of the subway is different to that of a freeway. There is a better sense of collective experience, be it exasperation due to delays or elation for an arriving train. If Adopt-A-Highway schemes can work in America, certainly New Yorkers can take measures to better adopt their transit system and improve upon its ability to connect us not only to jobs and services but also to each other.

The Graham Avenue Dream Cruise

Although Google map offers me all kinds of bike friendly routes, I inevitably chose to transect East Brooklyn via Graham Avenue. To a spatial illiterate like myself, Graham Avenue is a no brainer, a straight shot, a grid among the chaos of one-ways and dead ends. However, as I biked back from Greenpoint last night, I realized my comfort in taking Graham is not because it requires little conscious navigation, my love of Graham Avenue has to do with memory, the unconscious, and Woodward Avenue.

Running north and south, Woodward Avenue is a straight shot in and out of Detroit. Although most drivers chose more efficient networks of navigation (I-75, 696, the Lodge, and Gratiot Avenue) over Woodward’s endless stream of traffic lights, there are advantages to the street that contains the world’s first mile of concrete.

Each mile road intersects Woodward so that what you see is a gradated color swatch of urban transition. In a span of 20 miles, you can drive past some of the country’s poorest neighborhoods, and some of the richest. From boarded up single-bedroom houses on 8 mile all the way to the McMansions of 15 mile, Woodward is the vein mapping out the socio-spatial history of metropolitan Detroit.

In the 19th century, street were widened; the pedestrian bowed down to the motorized vehicle. Although Haussman is the classic embodiment of this practice, it occurred all over, even in Detroit. While it is easy to lament the death of the early modern streetscape, the loss of sidewalks, colorful window displays, the joy of strolling, we must not assume that the street is void of memory.

For the sensitive streetgoer, driving down Woodward and cycling down Graham represents both linear and cyclical experience. We move numerically, from 7 to 8 mile, or culturally, from Polish to Puerto Rican.  No matter how we move, the reflection of time in space inevitable.

Both Woodward and Graham are inscribed in my unconscious in various ways. As I child, Woodward was digested from the back window of a red Ford Escort, the landscape  framed  due to the restrictions of  a seatbelt. I was most enamoured by the endless stream of wig stores.

Graham Avenue became incorporated a part of my daily life two years ago when I first dog sat for a  co worker. Embarrassed that people might assume I actually owned the chihuahua, I would walk it late at night or early in the morning. That was how I discovered the 24 hour green grocer on the corner of Graham and Metropolitan, just down from the block from White Castle.

At the time, I lived in uptown Manhattan. Whenever I’d visit friends off Montrose, I’d walk down Graham to the grocer. When I moved to Greenpoint a year later, I  established a bike route that relied on Graham to get me to three different staple destinations.

It wasn’t until the other night that I consciously realized that Graham Avenue was the vein that connected me to my various areas of my life, and how similar it was to the way in which my parents used Woodward Avenue to navigate their own lives back when I was a child. Was my use of Graham Avenue an unconsious nod to Woodward?

In fiction, voyage is often a metaphor for memory. Departures and arrivals signal transition, a movement through past, present, and future. If the mood suites me, I could describe my past two years in New York all in relation to Graham Avenue; my moods, my personality, where I was going and where I was from. Although my routine along Woodward occurred at a much earlier age, I could map out a similar narrative. But, I’m left wondering if it is the road that acts as a repository of memory, or if my memory acts as my own system of navigation.

Iconic Secular Traffic Calming

It is dusk and the full moon gives a quiet glow to the street. The daytime noise of vehicle traffic is replaced by the gentle chaos of pedestrians feeding into the street to converse with neighbors. We are on an architectural walk through the streets of Velachery. At the junction of two residential streets is a small shrine to Ganesh. Two candles are lit; the elephant’s dancing shadow is caste onto the street.

To a foreigner like me, these roadside deities are a curious wonder. Especially because they turn up most frequently on highly congested roads, places that hardly seem opportune for reflection.

However, Vijayasanan and Nithya, two local architects, are able to explain the purpose of placing small shrines at busy intersections.

People tend to pause, reflect, and pay more attention to their surroundings when they see a religious icon. Because there tend to be less accidents, and more natural order, these small shrines work miraculously as some strange form of high traffic calming.

We continued onward, down from Vandikkaran Street. I paused to pick off a leaf from a neem tree, a statuesque island amongst a heap of trash. VJ points out yet another small shrine, next to the rubbish. I look for the deity but there is none; no candles, flowers or reclining Shivas. The shrine is abandoned. “If there was a statue in there then there wouldn’t be this much trash on the ground. People pollute less when there is a shrine nearby because it offends the gods.”  According to VJ, other homeopathic policies these small shrines are used for include the prevention of spitting, which always comes out thick and red due to the chewing of Betel nut.

Although iconoclasm does have its unintentional public policy benefits, it also presents a good deal of problems. As Balram Halwai, the main character of White Tiger tells his reader:

“I guess, Your Excellency, that I too should start off by kissing some god’s arse. Which god’s arse, though? There are so many choices. See, the Muslims have one god. The Christians have three gods. And we Hindus have 36.000.004 divine arses to choose from.”

In a complex world, choice can be as liberating as it can be stifling. Perhaps this was the rational of Ramasubramanian, the founder of Madhya Kailas temple in the northeast corner of Taramani.

A few days prior, I was fortunate enough to hear about the origins of this temple from the great storyteller, Mr. Muthukumaraswamy, founder of India’s National Folklore Center. According to Muthukumar, Ramasubramanian a worker at the Central Leather Research Institute, in Taramani, dreampt of the merging together of two deities, Ganesh (beginning) and Hanuman (ending). Ramasubramanian shared his vision with his community, and gained support to construct Madhya Kailas temple in order to house a new and unique idol known as Adhyantha Prabhu, or the fusion of Ganesh and Hanuman. The temple continues to be well received and now also includes statues of 19 famous Tamil poets.

As Nobel-prize winning economist Amartya Sen appropriately states: “A pervasive plurality of religious beliefs and traditions characterizes Hinduism as a religion,”(310).

Not only is Madhya Kailas representative of Hinduism fluid reception to pluralistic ideas, it also may be seen as an organic approach to traffic calming.

The temple is located between Sadar Patel and Canal Bank Road, by the Gandhi Mandapam, and the IT corridor. It is quickly becoming one of the busiest junctions in Chennai City. Nevertheless, there is a discernible mindfulness at this intersection that is simply nonexistent in other, less chaotic intersections.

Can we draw any conclusions from this simple observation between religious icons and traffic calming? As a secular nation, should I even try to make such a connection, or, is India’s secularism as pervasively pluralistic as its most common religion?

Many scholars and politicians argue that Jawaharlal Nehru’s post-independence state is a failure because of the Indian Constitution’s fierce protection of all religious.

One of the most-often cited examples of secularism failure was in 1991 when two Hyderabad parents were put on trial for selling their 10-year-old daughter to a 60-year-old Saudi-Arabian national. The “Ameena Case” received national attention for numerous reasons, one of which was the problem of pluralistic religious laws.

The Child Marriage Restraint Act (CMRA, 1929, 1978), which falls under the (national) Indian Penal Code, states that women must be at least 18 to marry. However, Muslim Personal Law (MPL, 1937) says marriage may occur once a woman reaches puberty.

The British established Application Acts, such as the MPL, in order to recognize and respect India’s various religious communities. These laws remain to this day (Rajan 2003).

CRMA is a national law and thus applicable to Indians of all religions. However, in the case of personal matters, such as marriage, MPL law prevails (Rajan 2003; Sahgal and Sarita Rani, 1993).

In his book The Argumentative Indian, Nobel-prize winning economist, Amartya Sen posits six approaches to understanding Indian secularism[1]:

The Non-Existent Critique is the simple belief that the debate around Indian secularism is without any significance and, therefore, doesn’t need to be debated.

The Favoritism Critique is an attack against secularism for its underline favoritism to the Muslim minority.

The Prior Identity Critique is the belief that religious identity is given political priority over a totalizing national identity. Indians identify themselves politically through their religion.

The Muslim Sectarianism Critique is an offshoot of the former, arguing that while Hindus first consider themselves “Indian,” Muslims first consider themselves Muslim.

The Anti-Modernism Critique: is a somewhat detached argument, stating that secularism is a just a superficial folly of modernism.

The Cultural Critique: is the belief that Hinduism is more cultural than it is religious; therefore, India should be seen as a ‘Hindu country.’

Although none of these critiques may speak directly to my question of the relationship between the religion and order within the urban environment they do speak of the juxtaposition between the political tensions on a national level and the social acceptance and integration of religion within the everyday realm.

Rajan, Rajeswari Sunder. 2003. The Scandal of the State: Women, Law, and Citizenship in Postcolonial India. New Delhi: Permanent Black. 42-43.

Sahgal, Priya and Sarita Rani. 1993. “Brides for Sale.” Sunday, 19-25 December: 36-42.

[1] Pages 294-316.

Auto-Countability

The data in professor Sanjay Kumar Singh’s article, “Future Mobility in India,” predicts India’s CO2 emissions to increase to 93.25 million metric tons in 2020. That will be 73.45 more metric tons than the 2001 CO2 levels.

In the era of climate-change speak, auto image-based cities like Los Angeles and Detroit are trying to reduce their CO2 emissions through better mass transit options like railways and Bus Rapid Transit (BRT). Meanwhile, in India—a country with a well-laid rail network—city and regional governments are investing heavily in road expansion. Singh predicts that by 2020, 91.7% of all India’s traffic volume will be from roads.

In Chennai, auto rickshaws, or three wheelers, contribute the most sound and air pollution to streetscape. Bikes (motor) come in at a close second. Because both forms of transit are low to the ground, pedestrians of all kinds are particularly subject to the exhaust fumes of these vehicles.

Both modes of transport have two-stroke engines, engines that burn oil—diesel—in the combustion chamber. These engines exude more hydrocarbons, carbon monoxide, and airborne particulate matter—which, in Chennai, is more than seven times the prescribed limits of the World Health Organization.

However, the reality of the Chennai streetscape, (which may or may not be read as a microcosm for the issue of climate change within the context of the developing/developed world), is that two-stroke auto rickshaws and motorbikes are more green than any car on the Chennai road, and infinitely more sustainable than any hybrid you will find in on the I-75 American interstate. This is due to the sheer number of humans each auto rickshaw and bike transports.

At first glance, the brightly painted auto rickshaws that overcrowd the roads may be described as cute, much like the Volkswagen Bug. The auto rickshaw has a small, curved cabin resembling something between a 19th century horse-drawn coach and an insect-like bumper car. The auto has front and back windshields and two benches inside, one for the driver and a slightly larger one in back, with a little ledge behind the bench for personal belongings. There are no doors; air passes through either side of the vehicle. One may pull down small canvas flaps in the event of inclement weather.

Autos operate not by a steering wheel but by handlebars; the dashboard is usually reserved for radios, city maps, and small iconic deities. They are designed to hold the driver and two passengers, though most can comfortably accommodate three.

However, in Chennai and particularly in more rural areas, it is more common to see four or five and up to six or seven people. The same holds true of motorbikes, where almost every bike has two passengers, but three or four is not uncommon. Even the traditional bicycle provides innovative solutions for transporting more than one person.

Ironically, in Chennai, the car—a most spacious entity—is typically occupied by one person. In America, this is considered the norm, which is why cities like Los Angeles offer road incentives for those who carpool. A carpool—which is defined as vehicle with more than one person—is granted the privilege of a separate, less congested lane.

In Chennai, less congestion has a price. The IT corridor, which connects major parts of the city, is a toll road and thus better maintained, faster, and full of single-person automotive vehicles.

As the automotive capital of India, Chennai’s car ownership is likely to increase, thus helping fulfill Singh’s 2020 traffic prophecy.  Despite the dismal reality of a new six-lane extension project for Old Mahabalipuram Road, there are some suggestions that the Indian government is recognizing and giving incentive to the unique transportation options of the county.

The Automotive Research Association of India has been looking at electrical, battery, and solar-powered vehicle options for over 5 years now. Meanwhile, organizations like the Institute for Transportation and Development Policy are pushing for the New Delhi government to remove the ban on cycle rickshaws, and create a separate lane for these vehicles.

Perhaps the largest threat to India’s transportation crises is the lingering status symbol of the car and the ability of international companies (not only automotive) to market them as objects of class, mobility, and thus freedom.

As journalist and automotive expert Murad Ali Baig suggests, India’s post-economic liberalization is no longer an atmosphere of Gandhian simplicity and humbleness; being able to cruise down the IT corridor in a comfortable, air conditioned car at 6pm on Monday evening is what most Chennaites dream of—myself included. So while pollution and traffic is high, what we see at present may be more environmentally friendly than our future transportation patterns.

Further Reading:

Kiencke, U. and L. Nielsen. 2000. Automotive Control Systems for Engine, Driveline and Vehicle. Berlin: Springer.

McCormick, R., Ross, J., Graboski, M. 1997. “Effect of Several Oxygenates on Regulated Emissions from Heavy-Duty Diesel Engines.” Environmental Science and Technology. Vol. 31, No. 4.

Singh, S. 2006. “Future Mobility in India, Implications for Energy Demand and CO2 Emission.” Transportation Policy. Volume 13, Issue 5.

Shah, J., and T. Nagpal. 1997. Urban Quality Management Strategy in Asia. World