Roads

One travel one-way to one destination will take you one hour in this one excruciating city. Let me introduce you to these “marvelous” roads.

Not that the infrastructure is bad, but the population congested here is just so high, that one might not feel lonely at all, for there is always someone interested in your life, one way or the other.

Frankly speaking, the time taken to reach my school 4 km farther from my cave, reaches the peak of 30 mins or more, depending on the day, the mood of people, and the government elected.

The rides swiveling on the densely populated roads can be classified into some types – the show-offs (those German cars driven by people with buffed sense of self-importance), the everyday cars, some nincompoop scooters, one or two nice bikes like Kavasaki Ninja and Royal Enfields, and the ‘other’ bikes, mostly with cheap noisy Patiala silencers.

These silencers are used by people who lack attention in their lives. Their sounds are like burping sounds, or the sound your desk chair makes when you adjust yourself. But however may the case be, these silencers cause more harm to their repute than they do to our ears.

Other than that, you have rickshaws (mostly in a rather deranged condition), buses, and a variety of odd vehicles.

A retired motorbike mounted by a malnourished gangster with clothes bloated by the wind, feels musical and honks a melody of a series of uninterrupted G notes with a gap of half a second after every thwack at the horn.

Honkers are common. Honking is considered to be a matter of dominance. One who honks is the one who wins. One who wins is the one who presides. One who presides remains the one who presides and nothing more, but a wholly whimsical character.

The people travelling on scooters are daredevils. One time, at a traffic jam, this one scooter rider broke the traffic laws so flamboyantly, and expressively, as if she’s bombed an enemy city and is returning triumphant. A red turban covering the face with a loose end wailing helplessly at the wind, a green piece of garment and the face of a revolutionary, this scooter-Bismarck rides, and, though at an extremely measly scale, she must have achieved something worth telling for the rest of her life. If an average person showed this level of determination, there would be no stopping her from sailing to Jupiter!

I sit on the front seat in a car, with my feet a foot above the ground. A biker almost crashes into our vehicle. We enter a small road extension, with the breadth of barely four yards. A car is parked ahead. The driver finds it precisely the right moment to open his door, and fate ends us with a bunch of honking but two safe cars.

Despite this united opposition against orderly and considerate behavior, I haven't really seen any accident happen, but lots of scratches on cars, especially Mercedes Benz cars.

Now, lets peek inside the cars. Well, inside most cars, you can see ragged-looking men driving (most car-drivers here are men, which is clearly reflected in their pathetic driving skills.) I truly wish there were more women drivers here... but most women here drive scooters, maybe because scooters are faster than cars and women are shrewder than men.

Most trucks are driven by robust meat-eaters, and, certain types of cars by professionals. I don’t mean to judge people, but I would say, the professionals like my parents are more considerate in their driving.

I see a pirate-looking man skimming through the streets, honking with such belligerence, that all its bystanders would jerk away, purely out of terror of this unbecoming madness. A man who can’t satisfy his ego at home would satisfy his ego outside.

But a woman who can’t satisfy her ego at home, wouldn’t feel the need to satisfy her ego at all. For – she would teach herself the immoral art of submission – the disparaging duty to perform as asked – and the unscrupulous answer to what makes a woman.

We see some traffic lights – two colors – red and green. The green one symbolizes freedom – the liberty to travel as one pleases – and the red – tyranny. Time intervals are absolute. No consideration could be made to the condition of roads, the traffic, the people who trample there – but a compendium of rules and regulations. Suppose one makes a halt there for 120 seconds – still – one is expected to key out a route through the vast multitude of rabbling occurring on the ever so large area of seven yards of depressed pavement – in a minutely fine sum of 15 seconds.

Thus, if one emerges unharmed, one is to consider oneself quite lucky, and also, late for work.

We move on.

We see a man moving on the wrong side of the road, meaning an incorrigible sense of foolhardiness. He is travelling in the opposite direction to which vehicles are supposed to, and he hopes to squeeze himself out of there alive. Disruptive behaviors like these end up in wayward punishments.

He looks at us as if we have made a mistake. Ordinary people can be fooled by the expression of certainty on this particular man. I wouldn’t. I have seen too many incidents like these to acknowledge a new one for the first time.

 

-       - Krisha Shastri