Woman Driving in a Car Using GPS
Most people are happy to email you maps that you can show your already knowledgeable taxi driver, so finding a new place is rather a breeze.
Published: Fri 23 Oct 2015, 4:59 PM
There was a time, not so long ago, when a certain city's (or area's or province's) 'friendliness' factor was determined by the residents' willingness to give out directions. you know, in case you were lost. When I lived in Kolkata (that I still like to refer to as Calcutta), I would get lost pretty often. Standing at the crossroads, I would look around frantically for animated faces (that gave the impression they were in the know), and then walk up to one of them. Can you tell me where so-and-so place is? Chances were he'd shrug and say, "No idea." But then he would be gallant enough (Calcuttans are chivalrous like that) to stop another passer-by and relay my query to him. By now, a small group of hangers-on would have gathered, and everyone would desperately try and chip in with their inputs - even if they had no idea where this building or office complex or residential block was.
Delhiites were far more matter of fact. They would give you directions brusquely and get on with their lives. Mumbai, where I've never lived and only visited a couple of times, is supposed to be the 'friendliest' Indian city when it comes to giving directions. Everyone's up for it, I hear. Some people even walk you down to your hitherto unknown destination - and expect nothing in return, except perhaps a thank you. And so it goes.
In Dubai, I have not had much occasion to ask folks for directions (the cabbies seem to know everything) so I am undecided about its friendliness factor. While living here over the past seven years, I've also cottoned on to "maps". Most people are happy to email you maps that you can show your already knowledgeable taxi driver, so finding a new place is rather a breeze.
Last weekend, while I was in Goa on a 'leisure' trip (nobody was emailing me maps), I realised nobody asks for directions any more. There was the GPS. And there was a car: in it, a bunch of us who wouldn't know their arms from their elbows when it came to Goa roads and highways. But in three days' time, we had criss-crossed more than 600 kilometres (we were beach-hopping like crazy), and we didn't stop ONCE to ask for directions.
Instead, there was the mildly nasal-sounding GPS female voiceover guiding us. I know most peeps all over the world have GPS-es - either installed in the car itself, or on the smartphone - and I've had the pleasure being GPS-navigated often enough; but never over three long days, away from the urban jungle. In semi-rural Goa, one would have thought urban gadgetry would get a bypass and human interaction would be the order, along with Goan fish curry. No siree!
Did I miss stopping random strangers on the road, asking for directions and gauging their friendliness factor? Yes, I did. There's something quaint about an impromptu one-on-one. I missed calling out "Hello boss, can you help us here?" with my head stuck of the car window, the smiles exchanged and the "thank yous". I had to contend with, "Don't play the music so loud, we won't be able to hear what she is saying!!! If we lose our way, it's your fault." Her ("she" had become a person) saying, "Your destination is 200 metres to your left", me getting stressed out over the non visibility of said destination, and someone screaming, "We've just covered 100 metres stupid, stop hyperventilating." Losing network midway between north and south Goa, and her going silent ("Reboot the damn phone!").
On the last day of my three-day Goa break, we found ourselves facing an empty, broken-down house, surrounded by tracts of farmland. "You have reached your destination," she kept repeating.
I finally had my little victory; and my little gloating. "I thought we were going to a beach shack called Fisherman's Wharf - what the hell is this? See, this is what happens when you go by the GPS!"
sushmita@khaleejtimes.com
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