Immoral Traffic-ing

Foreword: It has been long since I have actually perpetrated an act that can be denounced as being socially useful or sensitive, probably as long as I have been around on the planet. And if you expect that to change, ha! Not bloody happening, loser!

I’m not an angry guy. Not unless you stand in between the TV and me, in any case. Even if you do, you can hope to get away with minor bullet wounds, unless of course, cricket is on. In which case, you wont know what hit you and consequently, you cant blame me. But there do exist certain phenomena that really enrage me beyond the limits of sane existence. (This is not counting India’s recent performance in the World Cup, which, if you bring up again, I’ll force you to sit through three Karan Johar-Shah Rukh Khan movies, back to back. I can be cruel when I’m pissed off.)

One such thing is the morning traffic. I am amazed at how the universe keeps up its supply of complete morons at driving, despite the high number of casualties in traffic accidents in India. Then, again, it might be because the accident victims are the not so dumb people who do manage to understand and follow traffic rules. It is not as simple as that. Its not just the cerebrally challenged that make driving conditions as horrible as they are. Sure they are retarded but they are also:

Nouveau Riche

I know all about the software industry contributing to the national economy, but another thing it has caused is an increase in the number of people driving. I wouldn’t mind if all those new guys on the car-wagon, could drive but as it turns out most of them cannot even differentiate between a steering wheel and a spare wheel. It’s a common sight to see a brand new car (or bike) in perfect yellow temporary registration number being driven by a perfect idiot. Not only do these guys have no clue about moving through traffic, they make it a point to block (just block, not use) every opening you try to weave through, to the extent that sometimes I wonder if they all belong to the Left Front.

Or,
Women Drivers

Go ahead, brand me a chauvinist, bitch! The fact remains that female drivers are as bad as drunk teenage drivers, only when they drive over you they make it a point to do so extremely slowly, so that you can feel the slow, excruciating pain while reflecting on every time you tipped your hat to one. I remember having a debate with a female friend about gender differences and we agreed that Carly Fiorina may successfully run HP, but she probably still has problems parking. Somehow the concept of driving in one lane seems incredibly boring to them and they would rather explore the “road less traveled” (since it is frequently the wrong lane). If only they would exhibit the same adventurous streak while overtaking. But no, they feel compelled to drive alongside a huge truck which is moving at the speed of a grumpy old tortoise with a back problem, making it impossible for you to reach home in time, unless you have a bazooka handy.

Or,
Taxi Drivers

If they aren’t classified as the scum of the earth, it is probably only because politicians exist. Most taxi drivers are not just bad drivers; they are bad drivers with bad attitude who deserve to be boiled in oil, shredded to pieces and then fed to other taxi drivers. They secretly believe themselves to be illegitimate descendants of Alan Prost, out to reclaim all those records that Shumacher broke. If I had a rupee for every time that I have exhorted one to perform a copulatory act with his close female relative, I’d probably be a threat to Bill Gates.

Or,
Autorickshaw Drivers

The only thing I have to say to them can be said with the aid of an interpreter, like a baseball bat, possibly aluminum. If you have difficulty understanding Brownian motion, I would advise you to observe autos on Hyderabad roads. They also seem to suffer from severe psychological problems for they exhibit distinct suicidal tendencies, as manifested in their overtaking and stopping habits especially in the vicinity of huge trucks and buses. Add to that an extremely annoying “music” system that generally blasts lo-fi reproductions of item numbers in a language that is no longer identifiable, with the tape being nearly stripped of all the magnetic thing. Each time I encounter one, I search around on my belt for a Magnum .33 bore, just in case…

Or,
Pedestrians

Picture this: there’s bumper to bumper traffic and in all that you spot a narrow channel which might let you manoeuvre out. As you make your way to it, there’s this callous chap who’s decided to amble in it ahead of you. And he chooses to do it in the speed at which suggests every step he takes ahead is being rewarded by Chinese torture. At times like these I have a great urge to ram all 160 kilogrammes of my bike into them. I hold back only because of the possibility of bloodstains on my bike. God forbid there comes a day when I’m not too bothered about how clean my bike is.

If I come across as a maladjusted, criminally inclined maniac that’s just because I am one. Keep that in mind when you see me in your rearview mirror.