India is a country divided. Actually, fragmented describes it better.
The splits run along many lines: linguistic, religious, geographical, to name a few. Four days and 680 kilometers after starting in Chennai on the Indian Ocean, we've arrived on the opposite end, on the Arabian Sea at India's famous Malabar coast. In between, we've passed through two states, three cities and at least four climate zones.
And, noticeably, we've crossed India's rural-urban divide.
Much has been written and broadcast about the country's ever more global mega-cities and growing middle class. These burgeoning developments represent India's bright future as a blossoming economic power whose 1.1 billion people are taking their rightful place in the world economy.
But most Indians live outside the country's high-powered cities. More than 60% still live in the villages and towns that dot the rural countryside. And the differences between these communities are stark.
On Tuesday morning, we departed Bangalore, India's tech capital. It's a city so clearly bursting at the seams that drivers power their sedans onto sidewalks during rush hour (Yet they still end up halted in traffic.). By Tuesday afternoon, we were 100 kilometers away, in a small hill town. Outside a tea and tobacco stand, the only place to hang out for miles, a group of construction workers smoked beedis - cheap Indian cigarettes that cost about a cent each - and pointed to the tents where they lived down the street. The power in the village went out for hours each day. But, joked one of the residents, at least here, after a night out drinking (also at the tea shop), the commute home is a snap.
Since coming to this country in March, I've heard a lot about the gap between the two Indias, the growing inequality and the stunted social mobility as the poor remain that way, while the rich tap globalization for their profit.
It's hard to avoid this trope, and no wonder: The gap between the haves and have-nots is one of the largest I've seen anywhere. Three days before I left for the trip, as I sipped a $3 cappuccino in New Delhi's upscale Khan market, I saw a red Ferrari race past, an Indian behind the wheel with a blinking Bluetooth headset at his ear.
During the last few days here in the countryside, I've seen more tractors on the road than imported cars. And the most I've spent on coffee is $0.75.
Instead of two Indias, it might be more correct to cast the issue as two economies - An agricultural economy that is stagnant and dependent on the nation's small-plot farmers, and a second urban economy dominated by booming services industries such as technology, finance and retail.
But even those services, originally centered around the big cities like Mumbai, Delhi and Bangalore, are now expanding into smaller cities and large towns in the countryside, blurring the urban versus rural divide.
In 1997, the United Nations measured India's Gini coefficient - a measure from 0 to 100 of inequality, where 0 is perfect equality and 100 perfect inequality - at 37.8. By last year, that figure had dropped to 36.8. In comparison, the United States stands at 40.8, statistically more unequal than India.
If you look closely (it's easy to do while you're the wheel of an auto-rickshaw), you might see signs of progress and change in rural India. When we stopped at a general store to buy chips Wednesday in a town with not more than 500 people, I noticed that the television in the shop was playing NDTV Profit, a business-news station. A group of men gathered around the tube, watching a program on the stock market.
The channel broadcasts in English, but most of the viewers here only understood Kannada, the local language. As the anchors chattered away, the men's eyes were glued to the ticker running along the bottom of the screen. I asked whether anyone had investments. When one nodded, I was shocked; only a tiny percentage of Indians hold any securities, but the appeal of investments and the idea that people can get rich from them is pervasive.
I asked the man which companies he had staked his money on. 'Several,' he said. 'You have to diversify.'
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印度是个差异众多的国家，事实上，“支离破碎”是个更好的形容词。
“支离破碎”体现在很多方面：语言、宗教、地理，这里仅举了几个例子而已。我们从印度洋沿岸的清奈港(Chennai)出发，经过4天680公里的穿行，来到印度半岛的另一侧，阿拉伯海沿岸著名的印度马拉巴尔(Malabar)海岸，一路经过印度的两个邦，三个城市和至少四个气候带。
而且值得一提的是，我们穿越了印度发展迥异的城市和乡村地带。
外界对印度日益全球化的大都市和不断增长的中产阶级早有大量媒体报导。这些迅猛发展代表着印度为一个茁壮成长的经济体所拥有的美好未来，印度的11亿国民正努力在全球经济中寻找自己应有的位置。
然而，大多数印度人生活在繁华的大都市之外，六成以上的居民分布在乡下，城乡之间的差异十分巨大。
一个周二的清晨，我们从印度的科技中心班加罗尔(Bangalore)启程。这个城市的早高峰如此拥挤，司机们甚至把汽车开到了人行道上（但还是被堵得动弹不得）。到下午，我们来到100公里外的一个山间小镇。在一个卖茶水和香烟的小商店（这是几英里内唯一的休憩地点），一群建筑工人在抽一种名叫“beedis”的廉价烟草，一支香烟只要一美分。他们指着街道远处的几顶帐篷，那就是他们的住所。这个村庄每天都要停几小时电；但有个居民开玩笑说，这里至少有一个好处，晚上出来喝酒后（也在那个小商店里），回家是件很容易的事。
自从2008年3月来到这个国家后，我听到很多关于“两个印度”(A Tale of Two Indias)的说法。贫富差距不断扩大，穷人难以翻身，社会流动陷入停滞，只有富人才能从全球化中获益。
“两个印度”，这个比喻很形像，这种现象则难以避免。印度的贫富差距最之大是我前所未见的。出发的三天前，当我在新德里(New Delhi)高档的Khan商场喝着一杯3美元的卡布奇诺咖啡时，看见一辆红色法拉利飞驰而过，开车的是一个印度人，耳朵上挂着闪闪发光的蓝牙耳机。
而在印度乡村呆的这几天，我在路上看到的拖拉机比进口汽车多，最贵的咖啡不过0.75美元而已。
但与其说是“两个印度”，不如说是两种经济模式。一种是农业经济，萧条衰败，靠这个国家力量弱小的农民群体支撑着；另一种是城市经济，由繁荣的服务业占据主导地位，如高科技&#12289;金融和零售业等。
不过，这些原本集中在孟买&#12289;德里和班加罗尔等大城市的服务业，正在向一些较小城市和大型乡镇扩展，从而模糊了城乡之间的差距。
1997年，联合国计算了印度的基尼系数(Gini coefficient)─这是一种衡量贫富分化的手段，系数从0到100，0代表收入分配绝对平均，100代表收入分配绝对不平均。结果，印度的基尼系数为37.8。到2007年，这一数字下降为36.8。美国的基尼系数是40.8；从数据来讲，美国比印度的贫富分化程度更严重。
如果走近印度（像我这样坐在印度的电动三轮车里，可以说是相当近了），就可察觉到印度农村的发展和变化。周三，我们在一家杂货店门口停车，下来买点薯片吃。这个小镇不到500人，我注意到店里有台电视机，在放NDTV Profit财经频道。一群人围坐在电视机旁，看一个关于股市动态的节目。
这是英语频道，但这里的大多数电视观众只懂当地方言“加拿拉语”(Kannada)。节目主持人侃侃而谈时，人们的眼睛注视着屏幕下方滚动播出的股价数字。我问他们是不是投资股市了，结果只有一个人点头，让我颇感震惊。虽然只有很少数的印度人持有股票，但投资能让人发财这一观念看来深入人心。
我问那人买的是哪家公司的股票。“有好几家，”他说道，“投资应该多元化。”
