KEY POINTS:
So we're roaring along this busy four-lane toll motorway at 90kph when suddenly there's a cart drawn by a tattooed camel heading towards us going the wrong way down the fast lane.
My driver takes evasive action with the equanimity of a man to whom this sort of thing happens all the time.
And, in fact, it does. During our four-hour foray on to India's highways we've had trucks, buses, cars, trishaws, horsecarts, oxcarts, sacred cows, ancient tractors and once even a driverless donkey loaded with bricks all coming the wrong way down the motorway.
The only difference this time is that it's a camel - well, two camels actually, one behind the other - staring at the oncoming traffic with an air of complete contempt.
It's that sort of experience that makes driving in India - in this case from Delhi to Agra - so ... interesting.
But the interest goes well beyond vehicles and animals blithely disregarding which side of the motorway they're on. That's just the start.
Drivers also ignore lane markings - one stretch of motorway bowed to reality by having none - preferring to straddle the centre line so they can swerve from side to side as required.
From time to time they play chicken, refusing to look at each other, as they jockey for position. My driver was great at this, staring coldly ahead, eyes narrowed, looking very much like a man who was not even aware of the presence of another vehicle, let alone likely to give way.
Cyclists and motorcyclists, three-wheeled taxis crammed with passengers, other cars and even some trucks bowed to his implacable determination. But he had to back off in the face of an obviously deranged bus driver who drove into our space with reckless disregard for safety.
That attitude probably explains why at roadworks they don't just have a man with a red flag to warn drivers to slow down but also a big guy in a turban armed with a rifle to back him up. Maybe that's an idea our own Land Transport Safety Authority could pick up.
Not that I want to give the idea that driving in India is dangerous. Most vehicles have dents and scrapes. But the whole time I was there I saw only one accident ... and I was in it.
It happened when I took a pre-paid taxi from the airport to my hotel. The taxi driver kept stopping to see if there was some way he could drive through the roadworks in the middle to get to the other side of the motorway where all the hotels were.
Inevitably another car rear-ended us. There wasn't much damage, and no one was hurt, but the two drivers and their supporters then spent a merry 10-15 minutes pushing each other and waving their arms about.
Part of the reason there are so few accidents is the way drivers use their horns to send carefully calibrated signals about their intentions. A gentle toot means "I'm here". A slightly louder one asks, "Please pull over so I can come through." A forceful blast declares, "Hey, you're not following the rules, pull over now." It seems to work well. Most trucks carry signs on the back saying, "horn please" and "blow horn".
Indian drivers also seem to cope well with the constant stream of pedestrians meandering across the main roads; some heading to the other side, others just wandering along waiting for something to bring the traffic to a halt; at which point a swarm of beggars, entertainers and hawkers would swoop on our car, drawn to my white face and supposedly bulging wallet.
Once, when a moustachioed policeman signalled the traffic to stop, a tiny youth with a moustache painted on his upper lip performed a series of acrobatics.
At another intersection a man with a cobra in a basket sat down alongside our car and started playing his flute - but much to his disgust the traffic moved off before his performance got under way.
Another time a costumed trio - an old man with a sword, a youth who looked young enough to be his grandson and a monkey - twirled around in brightly coloured silks for my entertainment.
Women with babies tapped on the window and pleaded for money for milk. Hawkers squeezed between the lines of vehicles offering newspapers, garlands of flowers, beads, backgammon sets, shining peacock feathers, glittering pieces of jewellery, carved camels and bags of nuts.
But that's not the only entertainment along the highways.
In the course of the journey my driver stopped - asking, "You want this photo?" - so I could enjoy the disparate delights of splendid white and gold Sikh temples, the giant oil refinery at Mathura surrounded by hundreds of cruddy old road tankers, a huge temple marking the birthplace of Krishna the equally enormous Sikandra Mosque, a rubbish dump full of scavengers surrounded by dilapidated huts, a pack of monkeys frolicking by the roadside, a giant statue of Shiva marking the entrance to one of his temples and - the piece de resistance - a pack of dogs ripping into the remains of a dead buffalo.
Even he wasn't brave enough to block the traffic by stopping on a busy single-lane bridge below which dozens of people were doing the town's washing which was then spread out on the bank to dry.
But I didn't need to slow to get a great view of modern India as we dawdled through the towns and villages strung at regular intervals along the highway.
Almost all had busy markets on both sides of the road selling everything from caged birds and baskets of spices to laptop computers and the latest Bollywood DVDs.
Around these swirled a mass of humanity ranging from plump, rich women lounging in trishaws with pampered pet dogs in their laps, to thin, poor women picking through the verges with huge bundles of goods on their heads; from confident businessmen smoking cheroots in the back of their limousines, to gnarled old men in traditional dhotis cleaning the roads with brooms of straw.
The buildings along the road were a similar mix of styles with magnificent temples looming over clusters of tiny grass huts, and rows of utilitarian concrete workshops and factories sprawling between glittering new office blocks and gawdy tourist complexes in the shape of fake castles.
Those contrasts - between poverty and wealth, ancient and modern, Eastern spirituality and Western materialism - sum up the India of today.
* Jim Eagles visited India as guest of World Expeditions and Cathay Pacific.
Checklist
India
Getting there
Cathay Pacific flies twice daily to Hong Kong with regular connections to Delhi. Check with your travel agent for further details or see www.cathaypacific.com
Getting Around
World Expeditions' 15-day Northern India Highlights trip includes Delhi and and the Taj Mahal as well as the ancient capital of Varanasi set on the sacred River Ganges, Hindu temples in Kajuraho, the pink city of Jaipur, village life in Orchha and the Swadi Madapur Tiger Reserve. The cost is $3190 per person ex Delhi.
Further Information See www.worldexpeditions.co.nz or ring 0800 350 354 tollfree.
