Hijacking In Bhopal
My mom read my recent article in Livewire that tells of when I saw a man in Bhopal’s Old City use a pistol to hijack a ride on a motorbike. Wasn’t I scared, she asked. What if he turned and started shooting people? A very reasonable question, from an American perspective. I wasn’t scared though, I told her. I had no reason to be.
Mass shootings are an American phenomenon. This man had a gun but he was using it to resolve a conflict between him and another individual. The possibility that he would spray bullets into the mass of people around him seemed so unlikely that it had no affect on my emotions or actions. He didn’t seem eager to use it on the man whose back the barrel of his pistol was pressed into, either. I’m not unhappy to report that the driver never tried to call his bluff.
The same thing and much worse could be witnessed in most American cities, a fact I quickly made clear to my mom. I just happened to witness it in an Indian city. Her question made me wonder if I’d failed at one of my goals for the article, however. The article was written with the careful intent of avoiding plain sensationalism. I did not want my American audience to feel the stereotypes they’ve inherited from centuries of Orientalism (and which they may be unaware of having absorbed) were being validated on the page. India was not to be exotified or portrayed as uniquely dangerous. There is difference, and that difference deserves to be relayed with all of its interest and intrigue, but without scandalization. I was not afraid, and the man with the gun posed no threat to me or, as far as I could tell, anyone else around him. Only the driver from whom he was demanding a ride, and only if the driver did not acquiesce.
The lack of response by anyone else is what made the story worth writing. This, I hoped, was evident in the text. It felt surreal, like I was the only one recognizing that something worth witnessing was occurring. Even the driver looked unalarmed. My friend Hamza, who was guiding me through the street at the time, was unconcerned as well. Even the presence of a gun, which are difficult to acquire in India, wasn’t enough to garner a backward glance from Hamza. I found it worthy of three, which was enough for me to see the hijacker and hijackee complete their negotiation and drive away.
If anyone had reacted, it might never have been put in writing. I’d have left the scene feeling as if things unfolded how I expected them too, rather than like I was the only online player amongst a sea of glitching NPCs (Non-Player Characters). It provided me with a fun opportunity, however, to write about the phenomena of motor traffic on the Indian urban street, and the ways in which, as Hamza said, “Indians are constantly negotiating peace.”
