It occurred me today that a couple of the things that confound Americans, namely what look like amazingly erratic traffic patterns and the infamous Indian head bob, are deeply emblematic of Indian culture, and they highlight a fundamental difference between the Indian mindset and the American mindset.

When I’m in the taxi on the way to school in the morning, the driver invariably drives down the center line—even if there are no other cars around. My American reaction is, of course, “pick a lane!”

And our body language systems are so very different. We nod our heads in a clear pattern for yes and another for no. We have a third gesture—the shrug for “I don’t know.” Our system provides unambiguous and consistent answers. Indian people move their heads from side to side in a manner that confounds Americans. The yes nod is not as firmly affirmative as our clear nod, but a graceful, extended sideways acquiescence. The kids explained the side-to-side motion to me. They hate to say no, they explained.

After I pondered that, it occurred to me that the taxi driver, in a city in which driving is a constant (and I mean constant) negotiation, will choose to occupy the middle ground, even when nothing else encroaches, because it allows him the freedom to go in either direction as the need arises.

In other words, on a day-to-day basis, Indian people are more comfortable occupying ambiguous middle ground than Americans are, and thus more flexible.

What is the result of this? For us, it is a polarized society in which people think they know answers—even when they don’t. A society in which people choose a “side,” even before they’ve considered options, much less nuances. A society in which we must choose between narrowly defined categories—pro-life or pro-choice, democrat or republican, right or wrong. (And we are coming dangerously close to sending the world into a financial crisis because of our rigidity.) We are not good at subtlety or nuance—those staples of thoughtful argument and considerate living.

The Indian ability to occupy the middle ground results in minor miracles that occur multiple times for each taxi ride I take. Narrowly averted collisions are the standard. Pedestrians do not even flinch as the huge yellow taxi barrels toward them; rickshaws dive right into the narrow space between a bus and a truck; bicyclists merge into congested, turning, horn-blowing traffic, just like any other moving vehicle. If you want to cross the street, you have to dive in–you must take a step into moving traffic—otherwise they keep moving, and you never get the opportunity. I am pretty convinced that if I were to attempt to drive here, I’d never move more than a foot or two. I’d be waiting for a safe, assured, clear distance, and traffic signs and lights. I’d be waiting for my turn. In a city of four and one half million people, there are no turns. The system is elaborate, extended, and for the most part, it works. (I guess I should reveal here, even though it weakens in my argument, that there have been two girls who came into school limping this week, one from a bus incident, the other from a taxi incident.) But think about it—the ability to shift from left to right on an as-needed basis? Hello House and Senate. Time for a trip to Kolkata.

While I’m on the subject of traffic, let me tell you about the taxi drivers. They will try to get away without using the meter. Even when the guard stationed outside of the gate of the Oberoi (yes, yes, I know) tells the driver to use the meter, halfway there we look and the meter is off. Now we have no meter and no negotiated price.

One member of our group rode with a driver who was smoking a joint (yes, while driving!). I think that one wins, but in descending order from there, Bree and I were riding in a taxi that—you guessed it– hit a car. Took his bumper off, then got into a yelling match with him, then drove away. All I could say was, “did we just commit a hit-and-run?” One driver was on his cell phone while weaving in and out of traffic, WHILE going through EVERY red light we came to. (Subha says he was showing off for us.) And the least offensive or dramatic, but still on my list, was the taxi driver who threw litter out the window while ferrying us.

The photos, by the way, do not convey several essential elements of the traffic congestion–the constant movement, the constant negotition, and the noise. It is always, always, an adventure. And never a relaxing one.