One hand on the horn, one hand waving a greeting; one ear on cell phone, one ear listening to loud music; foot on the accelerator, eyes on chic-looking pedestrians; and conversation with someone in the next car! Welcome to my city!
Forget orderly driving, it’s more a cerebral reflex or a universal understanding (or visceral knowledge) that keeps things running in our part of the world. You don’t drive but aim the vehicle in the generally intended direction. Henceforth you’re going to be tailgating ad infinitum, on the potholed, narrow bumpy roads, infested with rivulets of spill overflowing from the choked-up drains. You’ll swerve your way through hillocks of garbage and construction material strewn here and there, as also the gridlock of unruly hand-driven carts, cyclists, bikers, scooters, three-wheelers, cars, SUVs, VIP cavalcade, army convoy, trucks, tippers, buses, all kinds of bovines, chicken and whatnot. The recently discovered species, the ‘iPod oblivion’, that walk on the road with earphones, listening to music, talking, or simply texting … live in their own shell. They don’t give a damn to the countless close shaves they have every day, so please be cautious: these nerds don’t at all comprehend honking or someone simply crying out.
Drive freestyle… it’s your job to warn of your presence. ‘In-front’ means that the vehicle to one side is just a few inches closer to some nominal distant point than yours, but that means you’ve to let him in if he wants to go in front of you. Rules-of-the-road are yet to hit the road, thanks to ‘universal understanding’; remember, it’s your visceral knowledge that’s going to keep you moving. Who doesn’t hate queues? If we could, we’d keep the number of English alphabets down to 25, take out that stupid questionable alphabet (Q) and quash it forever as a fitting way to protest against queues! You’re driving to somewhere in a queue, and you’ve been waiting for your turn to move for quite some time. And then someone comes from one side and blasts a way through.
The motorist cuts in front of you suddenly without signaling. You spew lava. But who’s this dude….the ice-aged Neanderthal or Cro-Magnon with the ‘me-first’ reptilian instincts? Remember, he’s yet to develop the limbic system that would lead to altruistic impulses. He’s an F1 driver; no one can go any faster! He’s a Macho driver, a Flasher! You got to consider VIP rights for him.
In the morning, the nagging wife left you flowing with adrenaline. It’s your turn to get mad at all the other drivers and take it out on them. In an aggressive environment, cocky motorists driving recklessly next to you, you simply go berserk and crane your neck out. And imagine, late at night, the ragpicker becomes a kind of demon. He doesn’t look at the road but instead looks at the road to pick something up. He has his eyes focused on the road, not the people and vehicles on it.
The macho driver believes he owns a laser gun; he can zap you out of existence. You turn back and see him honking his horn… nobody knows why. He honks, once, maybe twice, and then honks, honks and honks. He’d rather honk when he’s walking. If he hasn’t blared the horn in the last one minute or hasn’t heard a honk in 30 seconds, he presses the gizmo. But he doesn’t believe he honks at all! If ever he does, it’s just to let others know that the traffic signal has turned green.
You wish you can honk back at him, saying, ‘Dude! Inside your car, you don’t hear the horns, come outside and enjoy the sweet sound of your pressure horn that you’ve been blowing continuously in my ears. I’d let you pass if I had the tiniest fraction of space, but if you don’t stop honking I’ll make sure you don’t pass. Trust me, I won’t. I’ll slow down. Even if you’re on a truck or a freaking Ferrari, I’ll make sure you drive @30kmph. Happy safe driving, buddy!’
Prompted by the digital tsunami and internet dynamics, the Post-Millennial Gen Wii, with the hairstyle of Jonny Bravo Redux, is hot and warm-blooded. Seated behind the wheel and dressed in baggies, hip-hop, racing dad’s car upwards of 90 km per hour, with a pack of dudes nestled alongside in the car, weaving through traffic all the while high-fiving friends and listening to new albums. Car windows are down so that everyone can hear their totally bitchin’ Alpine speaker’s subwoofer-induced earthquake, sounding like it’s going to vibrate the car apart. Stop, boys. Girls don’t like it. Guys think you’re obnoxious and your parents stop loving you. Does your sound system cost more than your car?
The motorcyclist, the grizzled dude with leather jackets on a big bike, or less-grizzled, the younger guy on a smaller bike that certainly makes you jealous when he weaves in and out of gridlocked traffic, revs his engine unnecessarily, irritating everyone within earshot. Bikes are common as pins. There’s no bike lane, so bikes tend to drive where a lane would be if it’s painted on the road (provided the road has asphalt). Bikers never wear a helmet. A motorcycle is for two people to sit, but seeing three is as likely. Seeing four people isn’t uncommon either, and so is two people with the person at the back carrying something that could snugly fit in the trunk of a small car: the person may be holding a television or two 3-meter poles. Motorcycles are the best way to get around. They don’t stop at stoplights (though few cars do, either), they don’t pay any tolls, and since they hold as many people as a car does, who needs more! Helmets aren’t common, and if they’re worn, only the driver wears it, not the child in front or the passenger riding pillion. Protecting a small child means sandwiching him or her between the parents.
Finally, cows (and bulls) stay to the side of the road, but nothing stops them from walking on it, crossing it, or taking a nap on it. Drivers give them their respect, and living with them is quite nice. You may see one cowshed with cows in it, but otherwise, all cows we see are on the roads where you can see them eating or regurgitating. Interestingly, when cows do walk in the street they seem to go with the traffic, not against it — even the cows have some decency when it comes to traffic rules. If a cow is blocking your way, after some honking and waiting, maybe you can bump it in its back. It will blink quietly, fishtail a bit, look forward, and walk away, minding its own bovine business.

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Tajamul Hussain