I had an interesting experience the other night that highlighted to me once again the many differences between here and the US. In the way emergencies are handled, the way life is perceived or perhaps the value of life.
I was in the cab late at night – around 1 AM – and the cab turned from the main road to the road that runs along at the top of my lane. I saw a man on his stomach slowly crawling on his hands and knees. Where he was laying was right at the corner of the main road and the other road, where the lighting is poor. He was wearing dark clothing – I only saw him because I see these things – I am always looking around and seeing things.
The cab dropped me at my house and I waited for it to leave. All I could see in my mind’s eye was a big truck or bus coming around that corner and hitting the man who had been crawling there at the corner. I couldn’t get that vision from my mind and so I went back to the corner, walking down the dark street until I was close to where I had seen him laying.
I could hear his harsh cries before I saw him. Now he was lying on his back, waving his arms in the air and calling out – maybe in a local language or maybe just shouting...I couldn’t tell. I saw a security guard walking around at the closed book store across the street. But he was watching me and not the man. I looked up and down the street, wondering how I could find someone to help me. I at least wanted to move the man from that spot on the street.
I could not tell many details about the man. I did not want to get so close that he could pull at me or harm me in some way. But I could see he was older, wearing filthy clothes and no shoes. He didn’t seem to notice me as I walked by him, searching the street for some help.
Then I saw that the traffic police had set up a barricade down the street, just where the road crests a slight hill. It was a speed trap of sorts and now and then they place the barricades to catch speeders and make some extra money for themselves when the speeders bribe them. I saw three police men sitting on one of the tree planters at the side of the road on the foot path.
I walked towards them. Immediately one of the called out to me, “What do you want?” I said, “There is a man up there on the street.”
The police wobbled his head in the characteristic way they do here – signalling he understood. And he grunted.
I said, “Where he lies, he will be struck by traffic and be killed.”
Again the police wobbled and grunted.
We looked at each other for a few seconds. Again he repeated, “What do you want?”
I said, trying to hide my incredulousness, “I want you to help that man.”
He said, “I have called ambulance.”
I thanked him and walked away. I knew he had not called an ambulance. Again visions of flattened old man danced. I walked by him again and stood on the other street. I SMSed to a colleague, asking for the number for ambulance services.
She sent one tentatively. I called it. It was for fire. When I asked for the ambulance, the person who answered said, “No, only fire.” And hung up!
The next number my colleague sent was the correct one and a man answered saying “ambulance services?”
I described my issue – the man, the dark, the possibility of being killed by traffic. That man asked over a dozen questions. Who was he? I didn’t know. Was he hurt? I didn’t know. Was he drunk? I didn’t know – could be. Was he bleeding? I didn’t know – I had not gotten so close. Was he my relative? Was he sick? On and on. I said, “By the time you find these answers, he will be dead if he is hurt!” He said, “Ok ok!” He took my number and said the ambulance in my area would contact me in a few minutes. I waited.
I saw traffic go by the man, some close enough to hit him. The book store security guard wandered around. A couple walked down the street, passed right by the man and walked into the neighbourhood opposite the street I was on. My colleague was smsing me to go home rather than wait. I even saw an ambulance driver by – literally drive by the man. At first when I saw it I thought maybe that police really had called an ambulance. But it drove by and never came back.
Finally the ambulance services called me again. Now there were two men on the line – the first one and the ambulance driver. They both called me “sir” and asked the same questions again. Then they said, “You will come to the hospital with the man?”
I said, “No – I do not know this man.” Until that point I didn’t feel any need to explain that I was not a man. Now I began to try convincing them. They finally seemed convinced. The first man began to tell me to “cut the phone” meaning “hang up.” I said, “Are you sending an ambulance?” “Cut the phone!” was all I heard.
I walked home in frustrated tears. I didn’t think they would send anyone. The police were useless, the security guard pointless to ask help from. I was alone at 1 AM. I had done all I could do without risking my own personal safety and it was clear that if I had tried to help the man myself and he had hurt me, no one would help me either.
I was home for about 10 minutes when the ambulance driver called again. He wanted the directions again. I gave them. In another 10 minutes he called to say he was at the bookstore and could see the man across the street.
A 5 minute conversation ensued wherein I convinced him to cross the street and check the man for injuries. He did so and informed that he was drunk. I said, “That may be so but he should be moved from the street.”
“Yes he is on the street,” he said.
“I know that,” I said....”Please get him off the street. Put him on the footpath!”
After much discussion, I finally convinced the driver to move the man to the footpath. I could hear the driver and someone else lifting the man who was shouting at them in Kannada. The driver told me the man had been moved. He hung up and I was left pondering things.
First, I had been shocked the ambulance had come at all. Most people do not help accident victims or people found injured, being attacked, beaten etc. There is a thought (and an unfortunately accurate one) that if they stoop to help they will also get hurt or be blamed for the accident that caused injury. Until recently, India even had a law that prohibited the transfer and treatment of accident victims before police had filled an accident form. People literally died on the street waiting for the police to come to fill in a form so that the victims could be sent to the hospital for treatment. Then India withdrew or amended the law. Accident victims can be taken to a hospital for treatment even if a police report is filled afterwards rather than on the spot. But such changes to a law take a long, long time to trickle into everyone’s minds. And it still doesn’t protect people from being hurt when they try to help someone or from being blamed for accidents they didn’t cause. So this could be why the driver wanted me to come with them – he could have wanted me to give them money for the drive, the treatment – who knows what.
Second, I was saddened (though not surprised) by the indifference of the policemen. They had to have seen that man laying there and had probably not even checked his condition. Most likely they had decided that the man was a drunkard, homeless or a beggar. And they had decided not to help him – either because he was a drunk and homeless or just because they didn’t want to help anyone. Police should protect and serve. But here, they serve themselves and protect their pocket books.
Third, there was just the general different way in which life is treated here. I have seen this time and again – in the way people drive, the way they allow their children to play in dangerous areas, the way workers wear clothing while doing hard labor that would never protect their bodies if there was an accident. People are often injured in accidents that could have been prevented if people were more careful of their own safety, others’ safety and if they were properly equipped to protect themselves. People rarely wear seat belts. Motorcycle drivers wear helmets but the riders almost never do and many times you see a man driving a motorcycle with a woman on the back and 2-3 kids sandwiched here and there – and only the driver wears a helmet at all. As a westerner, my first thought is that life is not respected. But that is a gut response – a reaction. I know that Indians respect life even if they do not do it in the way I would. But many times, especially when faced with situations where a man is laying close to death on a street corner, I cannot help but think that life should be treated better than that!
I was in the cab late at night – around 1 AM – and the cab turned from the main road to the road that runs along at the top of my lane. I saw a man on his stomach slowly crawling on his hands and knees. Where he was laying was right at the corner of the main road and the other road, where the lighting is poor. He was wearing dark clothing – I only saw him because I see these things – I am always looking around and seeing things.
The cab dropped me at my house and I waited for it to leave. All I could see in my mind’s eye was a big truck or bus coming around that corner and hitting the man who had been crawling there at the corner. I couldn’t get that vision from my mind and so I went back to the corner, walking down the dark street until I was close to where I had seen him laying.
I could hear his harsh cries before I saw him. Now he was lying on his back, waving his arms in the air and calling out – maybe in a local language or maybe just shouting...I couldn’t tell. I saw a security guard walking around at the closed book store across the street. But he was watching me and not the man. I looked up and down the street, wondering how I could find someone to help me. I at least wanted to move the man from that spot on the street.
I could not tell many details about the man. I did not want to get so close that he could pull at me or harm me in some way. But I could see he was older, wearing filthy clothes and no shoes. He didn’t seem to notice me as I walked by him, searching the street for some help.
Then I saw that the traffic police had set up a barricade down the street, just where the road crests a slight hill. It was a speed trap of sorts and now and then they place the barricades to catch speeders and make some extra money for themselves when the speeders bribe them. I saw three police men sitting on one of the tree planters at the side of the road on the foot path.
I walked towards them. Immediately one of the called out to me, “What do you want?” I said, “There is a man up there on the street.”
The police wobbled his head in the characteristic way they do here – signalling he understood. And he grunted.
I said, “Where he lies, he will be struck by traffic and be killed.”
Again the police wobbled and grunted.
We looked at each other for a few seconds. Again he repeated, “What do you want?”
I said, trying to hide my incredulousness, “I want you to help that man.”
He said, “I have called ambulance.”
I thanked him and walked away. I knew he had not called an ambulance. Again visions of flattened old man danced. I walked by him again and stood on the other street. I SMSed to a colleague, asking for the number for ambulance services.
She sent one tentatively. I called it. It was for fire. When I asked for the ambulance, the person who answered said, “No, only fire.” And hung up!
The next number my colleague sent was the correct one and a man answered saying “ambulance services?”
I described my issue – the man, the dark, the possibility of being killed by traffic. That man asked over a dozen questions. Who was he? I didn’t know. Was he hurt? I didn’t know. Was he drunk? I didn’t know – could be. Was he bleeding? I didn’t know – I had not gotten so close. Was he my relative? Was he sick? On and on. I said, “By the time you find these answers, he will be dead if he is hurt!” He said, “Ok ok!” He took my number and said the ambulance in my area would contact me in a few minutes. I waited.
I saw traffic go by the man, some close enough to hit him. The book store security guard wandered around. A couple walked down the street, passed right by the man and walked into the neighbourhood opposite the street I was on. My colleague was smsing me to go home rather than wait. I even saw an ambulance driver by – literally drive by the man. At first when I saw it I thought maybe that police really had called an ambulance. But it drove by and never came back.
Finally the ambulance services called me again. Now there were two men on the line – the first one and the ambulance driver. They both called me “sir” and asked the same questions again. Then they said, “You will come to the hospital with the man?”
I said, “No – I do not know this man.” Until that point I didn’t feel any need to explain that I was not a man. Now I began to try convincing them. They finally seemed convinced. The first man began to tell me to “cut the phone” meaning “hang up.” I said, “Are you sending an ambulance?” “Cut the phone!” was all I heard.
I walked home in frustrated tears. I didn’t think they would send anyone. The police were useless, the security guard pointless to ask help from. I was alone at 1 AM. I had done all I could do without risking my own personal safety and it was clear that if I had tried to help the man myself and he had hurt me, no one would help me either.
I was home for about 10 minutes when the ambulance driver called again. He wanted the directions again. I gave them. In another 10 minutes he called to say he was at the bookstore and could see the man across the street.
A 5 minute conversation ensued wherein I convinced him to cross the street and check the man for injuries. He did so and informed that he was drunk. I said, “That may be so but he should be moved from the street.”
“Yes he is on the street,” he said.
“I know that,” I said....”Please get him off the street. Put him on the footpath!”
After much discussion, I finally convinced the driver to move the man to the footpath. I could hear the driver and someone else lifting the man who was shouting at them in Kannada. The driver told me the man had been moved. He hung up and I was left pondering things.
First, I had been shocked the ambulance had come at all. Most people do not help accident victims or people found injured, being attacked, beaten etc. There is a thought (and an unfortunately accurate one) that if they stoop to help they will also get hurt or be blamed for the accident that caused injury. Until recently, India even had a law that prohibited the transfer and treatment of accident victims before police had filled an accident form. People literally died on the street waiting for the police to come to fill in a form so that the victims could be sent to the hospital for treatment. Then India withdrew or amended the law. Accident victims can be taken to a hospital for treatment even if a police report is filled afterwards rather than on the spot. But such changes to a law take a long, long time to trickle into everyone’s minds. And it still doesn’t protect people from being hurt when they try to help someone or from being blamed for accidents they didn’t cause. So this could be why the driver wanted me to come with them – he could have wanted me to give them money for the drive, the treatment – who knows what.
Second, I was saddened (though not surprised) by the indifference of the policemen. They had to have seen that man laying there and had probably not even checked his condition. Most likely they had decided that the man was a drunkard, homeless or a beggar. And they had decided not to help him – either because he was a drunk and homeless or just because they didn’t want to help anyone. Police should protect and serve. But here, they serve themselves and protect their pocket books.
Third, there was just the general different way in which life is treated here. I have seen this time and again – in the way people drive, the way they allow their children to play in dangerous areas, the way workers wear clothing while doing hard labor that would never protect their bodies if there was an accident. People are often injured in accidents that could have been prevented if people were more careful of their own safety, others’ safety and if they were properly equipped to protect themselves. People rarely wear seat belts. Motorcycle drivers wear helmets but the riders almost never do and many times you see a man driving a motorcycle with a woman on the back and 2-3 kids sandwiched here and there – and only the driver wears a helmet at all. As a westerner, my first thought is that life is not respected. But that is a gut response – a reaction. I know that Indians respect life even if they do not do it in the way I would. But many times, especially when faced with situations where a man is laying close to death on a street corner, I cannot help but think that life should be treated better than that!
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