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Ojeks, Bajais and the Indonesian way
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There is little of contemporary India in Indonesia despite a shared history
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Photo: REUTERS
EXHILARATING Jakarta is a city of contrasts where the line between tradition and modernity is often blurred
Twenty minutes away from Jakarta, and the skyline has begun to flatten. Why is everything so silent? It's the air-conditioning, dammit. Everything — the trains, buses, hotel rooms — is air-conditioned. In a train rushing by the countryside, I wished I could poke my head out and feel the breeze.
Villages, paddy fields, tiled roofs. Just like India.
Yet another heart-fibrillating rush to catch this train. Will I never learn? Trains leave on time here. Bad habits are hard to shake.
Jakarta... the recurrent image is that of the imposing blue glass building — Kota BNI. The biggest building in Jakarta that dominates Jalan Sudirman, the arterial road of the capital. You won't miss it. One side of Kota BNI tapers gracefully towards the other and ends in a tall antenna.
Or even that magnificent sculpture of Krishna and Arjuna, bang in the midst of all those skyscrapers. So much of the old Indian civilisation is in evidence: statues of Ganesha and Shiva; restaurants called Ramayana; an airline named Garuda.
Good old Bajaj
But all that influence is history. There is little of contemporary India in Indonesia. I told the hotel receptionist that I was from Bangalore, and she said: "Bangladesh?" The only Indian presence on the streets is the Bajaj autorickshaw (called `Bajai'), and most are old and rickety.
The other big Indian presence is... "You know Pretty Geetha," said my taxi driver, on the way from the airport.
"No," I answered in mystery.
"You don't know Geetha — Gintha?" he asked incredulously. "Pretty Gintha, she my girlfriend."
Ohh... Preity Zinta. Yes, yes, of course.
Skyscrapers, flyovers, wide roads, flashy cars. My friend says Jalan General Sudirman, Jakarta's arterial road, can rival any part of Malaysia or Singapore, but the rest of the city pales in comparison. "Jakarta is crowded city," said Andi Wayank, who helped me get around. "Too many traffic jams."
Andi, my boy, you should come to Bombay or Calcutta or Bangalore. Jakarta's traffic is a breeze: I never got stuck for more than a minute at any traffic junction.
One hour into the train journey and we have entered the hills. Bamboo thickets, banana plantations. What was once impenetrable jungle is reduced to clusters of trees. But it's still beautiful...
What a mistake, landing in Jakarta without knowing either the currency or the exchange rate. I walked up to the moneychanger at the airport and asked him the going rate for the dollar.
"9,200 rupiah," he said.
Wow. With $450, I felt like a millionaire.
"Okay... how much for a taxi to Gambhir?" I asked him.
"Might be 15 kilometres," he replied. "60,000 rupiah."
Some memories stick. Pasar Baroe, charming old Dutch settlement with all those Indian shops; food vendors outside the malls; Ojeks offering rides. Ojeks are scooters for hire. The Ojek riders hang out in groups at all the street corners and call out: "Ojek, boss?"
Girls have no reservations about riding pillion on these Ojeks, even at 11 in the night. You wonder that there could be so much trust between strangers. It makes you feel slightly ashamed of even asking that question.
That's the scene, generally. Women can walk on semi-lit streets without having to look over their shoulder.
Sitting by the window at the coffee shop in Sarinah, Andi looks at the BNI Building. "That's where my first wife works," he says.
"The recession really hit me hard. I went from being rich — having a Rp 200 million apartment and a BMW, to nothing — overnight. I was working for one of the biggest companies in Indonesia. It was owned by Gen. Suharto's son. And then it closed down, and I was without a job. So my wife filed for divorce. She argued that I couldn't support her and the kids."
The coffee shop is air-conditioned, as usual. The traffic is heavy out on the street, but none of that noise filters through. A thousand people are playing out the tableau of their lives outside. A silent drama, seen through the television screen that is the window.
"So I said fine, you want a divorce, take it. I gave the 200 million apartment to my kids. Because after the divorce, my wife became my ex-wife, but my children do not become my ex-children."
The coffee is lousy. Andi has ordered fruit juice. He's on a diet, religiously avoids all stimulants. He's a plump, jolly kind of guy, who has lately taken to drinking a litre of water early morning and walking a few kilometres.
"I wasn't like this. After I lost my job, I went into depression and got into all sorts of things. Drinks, nightclubs — you name it, I did it. And then the divorce happened.
"Then my second wife came into my life and she got me out of all this. I had to start from zero. One of my friends helped me become a tour guide. So we are saving a little money now. Life is tough in Jakarta."
Yeah... it's all exotic when you're a tourist. Everything's impermanent. Like now... stunning mountains, and suddenly you see one that looks grotesque, with its insides ripped out. Quarries. A new freeway has cut an ugly swathe through the heart of beautiful mountain country.
Oh well. What does it matter. You're just passing through.
* * *
Travel facts
Ibis Accor Hotels has a chain across Indonesia. Hotel charges are around USD 35 a day. Ibis offers excellent services, with free breakfast. A modest meal costs between Rp 30,000 to Rp 50,000.
Sarinah is Jakarta's oldest mall, just off Jalan Sudirman. Sarinah is designed for the tourist, with plenty of tribal art and batik material and other curios spread out over several floors.
Salero Jumbo, the restaurant opposite Sarinah, offers authentic Sumatran cuisine. This restaurant has an unusual billing system — they lay out an expansive meal, with various dishes, but they charge you only for the dishes you eat.
The Sumatran meal, called padang, consists of a small cup of rice, and dishes of chicken, mutton, fish, squid (cumi cumi), prawns and sweetmeat (rendang). It costs Rp 40,000.
DEV S. SUKUMAR
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