No, I refer not to the chaos in the heart of a deep African rainforest but rather to the task of crossing a road in the hubbub of Cochin. To one unaccustomed to the hyper-urbanisation of her native city, the metallic whine of engines and the serenade of bleeping, blaring horns that rush past are comparable to the whine of insects in the wilderness and the simian CORRESPONDENCE of hollers and yowls.

The sounds of oncoming cars are joined by their sisters—rickshaws and motorcycles—with such an accompaniment of clatters, jingles, and beeps that one might muse that melodies are created from the cacophony of sounds.

Contrasted with this commotion, San Jose, California — where I now live — is a place of tranquility, even boredom. There, the task of crossing a road is mundane; unexcitingly simple. In Cochin, gone are the conventions of American road crossing with daintily marked pedestrian passes and well-obeyed stop signs. Gone are the conveniences of carpool lanes that offer quicker passage to vehicles with multiple passengers aboard; bypasses away from congested roadways. To say nothing of the pesky littering fines that prevent one from discarding unwanted edibles out the window.

Who needs such things, really? If one gives some thought to the matter crossing roads in India, let alone driving on them, is a character-building experience in itself. Every crossing can be remarkably adventurous, requiring fortitude, agility, even a certain measure of self-esteem— especially during the monsoon months.

While the sheer amplitude of the traffic flow alarms me, I am somewhat surprised by the casual indifference to this aspect of road crossing in fellow pedestrians.

My cousins are coloured more by annoyance than anxiety when their churidars and trousers get flecked with mud streaks splashed by playful, well-meaning automobiles.

Crossing requires certain skills, I have learned.

It is akin to the game of hopscotch; only, the primary objective is to avoid being knocked down by rogue buses, while darting through crevices between cars and avoiding puddles and trash like the wind.

Yet while I may have a learned a thing or two about patience and other virtues from road crossing, the drivers of Cochin probably come closer to achieving enlightenment, perhaps surpassing Siddhartha Gautama himself.

One must consider the incredible capacity for patience they must possess to meander through the serpentine river of cars, navigating a lunar landscape ridden with crater-like potholes exposed b y the mighty monsoon rains.

The flow of cars never ebbs here, necessitating drivers and pedestrians alike to navigate on intuition.

Riding these roads holds a certain bumpy anticipation, as often felt during the upward climb on a roller coaster. Along with the shop-lined streets and the thunderous rainfall, crossing roads has become a hallmark of my summer vacations spent in Cochin.