Its simple, says the AIDS activist, the choice is - condoms or death. That's what we tell them, she says. Its the only way they'll understand. At Transport Nagar, a few kms before Pune, they are singing songs, putting up condom vending machines and organising regular chai get-togethers to drive home the point. Studies differ on the extent of AIDS among truckers - one says 40 percent of Indian truckers are infected, another says one in four are positive.
And yet on the highways, travelling for seven days nonstop, we met truckers who pay hardly 50-100 rupees for sex. We saw tea stalls with tin shed that become sex hubs in the night. Cutting chai - two rupees, sex - Rs. 35.
What happens when something as modern as a highway -- spanking new, with a glorious sense of speed and prosperity, of movement, getting ahead -- meets two of the oldest professions in the world, cargo drivers and prostitutes? Who moves? Where?
The big question on the highways is the big question everywhere in this big country - who is moving on, who is remaining behind?
What a question, says a Mitshubishi dealer. Everyone is moving on! Do you know that I am selling sports cars in India! Sports cars! Imagine, a few years ago,, we could hardly think beyond the Ambassador and now, I can't import enough cars to meet demand. Everyone wants a fast car.
And so they do. In Modi's Gujarat, on the buttery expressway, you can't walk in and find a hotel room at a decent hotel, they are all full, but boy, do they have good highways! After Delhi, Gujarat is perhaps India's best state in terms of good roads. Here it seems every diamond merchant worth his polish is buying sports cars.
Accident rates have been cut by half and reaction time to accidents up to barely 10 minutes.
But, like in everything else, many are falling by the wayside.
There are condom vending machines everywhere, but AIDS rates have barely gone down. The use of condoms remains low though now sex workers have begun to charge clients an extra Rs.20, which they use to buy condoms. I don't have one - is no longer an excuse.
Even beyond the fear of AIDS, India's truckers are a beleaguered bunch. Most earn less than Rs.6,000 a month and send more than Rs.4,000 back home to villages and homes full of elderly parents, wives and hungry kids, brothers and sisters who wait for that money impatiently.
They have no insurance, no financial security of any kind, no pension and little hope of ever being able to save anything.
Driving his truck Murtaza Khan begins to sing the title track of Kabul Express to me. "Jaane khuda, na jaane khuda, yeh kya hua kya jaane khuda," sings the man who, just a moment before was cribbing about his wife having an affair back home. "Have you seen the ad on tv?" he asks. As it happens, I have.
"John tells Arshad," says Khan, "mazaa aa raha hai? Arshad says, kya khak mazaa aa raha hai! Ma, baap ne kaha tha beta doctor baan ja, engineer baan ja, par nahin, haame to reporter baana hai! Ab lo!"
Right, say I, thinking - sound advice for me too, thinking its 2 am and we don't have a hotel room. Khan, the mind reader says, "Ab ki bhi lag gayi, meri bhi lag gayi. Reporter, driver, ek hi baat." Touche.first published:January 06, 2007, 17:12 ISTlast updated:January 06, 2007, 17:12 IST
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So, there's a penis. Hard. Made of wood. At Transport Nagar, they use it to show truckers how to wear condoms.
Its simple, says the AIDS activist, the choice is - condoms or death. That's what we tell them, she says. Its the only way they'll understand. At Transport Nagar, a few kms before Pune, they are singing songs, putting up condom vending machines and organising regular chai get-togethers to drive home the point. Studies differ on the extent of AIDS among truckers - one says 40 percent of Indian truckers are infected, another says one in four are positive.
And yet on the highways, travelling for seven days nonstop, we met truckers who pay hardly 50-100 rupees for sex. We saw tea stalls with tin shed that become sex hubs in the night. Cutting chai - two rupees, sex - Rs. 35.
What happens when something as modern as a highway -- spanking new, with a glorious sense of speed and prosperity, of movement, getting ahead -- meets two of the oldest professions in the world, cargo drivers and prostitutes? Who moves? Where?
The big question on the highways is the big question everywhere in this big country - who is moving on, who is remaining behind?
What a question, says a Mitshubishi dealer. Everyone is moving on! Do you know that I am selling sports cars in India! Sports cars! Imagine, a few years ago,, we could hardly think beyond the Ambassador and now, I can't import enough cars to meet demand. Everyone wants a fast car.
And so they do. In Modi's Gujarat, on the buttery expressway, you can't walk in and find a hotel room at a decent hotel, they are all full, but boy, do they have good highways! After Delhi, Gujarat is perhaps India's best state in terms of good roads. Here it seems every diamond merchant worth his polish is buying sports cars.
Accident rates have been cut by half and reaction time to accidents up to barely 10 minutes.
But, like in everything else, many are falling by the wayside.
There are condom vending machines everywhere, but AIDS rates have barely gone down. The use of condoms remains low though now sex workers have begun to charge clients an extra Rs.20, which they use to buy condoms. I don't have one - is no longer an excuse.
Even beyond the fear of AIDS, India's truckers are a beleaguered bunch. Most earn less than Rs.6,000 a month and send more than Rs.4,000 back home to villages and homes full of elderly parents, wives and hungry kids, brothers and sisters who wait for that money impatiently.
They have no insurance, no financial security of any kind, no pension and little hope of ever being able to save anything.
Driving his truck Murtaza Khan begins to sing the title track of Kabul Express to me. "Jaane khuda, na jaane khuda, yeh kya hua kya jaane khuda," sings the man who, just a moment before was cribbing about his wife having an affair back home. "Have you seen the ad on tv?" he asks. As it happens, I have.
"John tells Arshad," says Khan, "mazaa aa raha hai? Arshad says, kya khak mazaa aa raha hai! Ma, baap ne kaha tha beta doctor baan ja, engineer baan ja, par nahin, haame to reporter baana hai! Ab lo!"
Right, say I, thinking - sound advice for me too, thinking its 2 am and we don't have a hotel room. Khan, the mind reader says, "Ab ki bhi lag gayi, meri bhi lag gayi. Reporter, driver, ek hi baat." Touche.
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