You're sandwiched between a dozen impatient scooterists, a bunch of I've-got-a-girl-sittin'-behind-me-it's-my-duty-to-show-off bikers, an infinite queue of cars, umpteen autorickshaws criss-crossing your path, a bullock cart, two gigantic BMTC buses and scores of nimble footed pedestrians, you know you've landed in the wrong place. At the wrong time. A busy main road during RUSH HOUR.
Yours truly has been stuck here for what she perceives to be eternity. (Quite ironic that they call it rush hour when all you're doing is staring at the butt of the car ahead of you, coaxing it to budge at least a couple of inches.)
I wait.
*PAAAM PAAAAAAAAM*
Curse a bit, rant to no-one in particular about road etiquette. (Mom's in the backseat, lapping up the Kishore da special on Radio City, currently in tune-out-demented-daughter-mode, driver cum instructor sits beside me with his famous I'm-bored-of-you-but-will-shut-up-else-I'll-be-jobless mode.)
The hitherto azure sky switches into darkness-is-rockin'-dude! mode.
I switch to the first gear. And pull a hair's breadth ahead. Satisfied with this giant leap, I switch back to neutral and resolve to amuse myself with the sights and sounds that surround me.
An old hag pops her head out the bus window and takes aim. I admit, I did admire the precision. The remnants of her well-chewed paan land an inch beside a disgruntled scooterist. Minor quarrel ensues. Interested pedestians stand witness. A few cars ahead, a canine companion licks the polluted air. *WOOF*
Is satisfied, ducks back in.
A Hero-Honda balances a haggard husband, his sari clad wife, clucking at the bundled baby on her lap and a toddler, busy excavating the treasures in the nasal cavity, satisfactorily squished between the aformentioned parties.
*PAA PAAAOOOMMMP PEEM PEEEEEM PEEEEEEEEM*
Dude, I get the message. I'm moving.
"Ay... Hogamma munde..."
I swallow back a scathing retort to that obese auto driver.
Now, I know this is not the right place for me to prove to the world that I'm an amateur driver. Is it MY fault if I can't release the clutch ssssssslowly? Fives tries and a good deal of insults later I succeed.
*VRRROOOO...OOOM*
I lunge ahead, narrowly missing a cyclist.
Driver cum intructor not pleased. Insructs on how to drive in a responsible manner.
I'm in pissed-off mode.
Night driving not one of my many passions...
Glaring head lights of the opposite vehicles in the midst of blaring cacophony not working to my advantage. I him ask if it's okay for me to turn the head lights to "Long beam."
Driver snorts. Says " Adu, 'High' beam, ma." *snigger snigger*
You know you've hit rock bottom when your driver sneers at your English. Yes, it happened.
