The pleasure of a city is in it’s transportation system. Ease of use, the ability to travel where you want to go, unfettered, is uplifting, empowering. So, I love Bombay, although I’ve been crushed to pieces (like the others) in the ladies compartment of the local trains, and had a horrific time, once, when I got into the men’s compartment by mistake. And in my short trip to Washington, D.C. I adored the place because of it’s trains, (and the gorgeous, free museums).

Of course, when there is no transportation system, a car makes for a very nice substitute. You’re still free. My aunt visits the US from time to time, and she doesn’t like it much, because she can’t drive. Of course she doesn’t drive in India either, but that never poses a problem – lots of auto-wallahs around. My mom visits the US, and although she thinks the place pretty nice, she is miserable. She goes out for a walk, and doesn’t meet a soul. She looks out the window and she can’t even see a car drive-by. No dhobi, no maid, no sabzi-wallah to call out to. No friends, no relatives, no people who just drop by. My ma-in-law says my life is hard. You wash, you cook, you clean, you work out of the home. You slog all day. No servant to make you chai, no helper to ease the burden. I have a hard time convincing her I like it this way.

Contrarily, it doesn’t bother me a whit to see an absence of people and crowds. I walk, I roam, I run errands. I walk across the street, without finding people ogling me. People do not look at me like a piece of meat, crossing the road, regardless of what I’m wearing. Shorts, pants, ankle-length skirt – doesn’t make a difference. I can look around me, without attracting undue attention. In public places, I am not my father’s daughter, or my husband’s wife. I am me.

It is, to put it mildly, nice.