You know you're at your worst when...
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.
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.
posted by D | 8:27 AM
9 Comments:
Well, it's an upHiL task when you're a midget in the road ahead...
it is actually called high beam...i think long beam is the long supporting timbers that hold up a roof but never mind. nice.
you might want to first learn to drive on fairly empty roads first and night time is not a good time to learn to drive.
@sA: Yeah I know! It struck me right after my driver cum inctructor scorned at me. But given the situation, I was bereft of all knowledge of language.
And I'm not a murderer (er.. yet) on the roads, so no worries ;-P.
thats is a comforting thought. cant have too many beserk drivers on the roads can we?
and i notice that you have turned off anonymous comments. it finally hit you huh?
Yeah well...
I'd thought about barring anonymous comments before, but reasoned that I'd kill the spontaneity if I did.
Then it started getting trashy.
go easy on the fancy wordplays...you remind me of toi. like mukka said.
i actually read that erratica by mistake today...and hell it simnply constipates me
read jugular vein today...it is good.
Jugular Vein's quite good. Inspite of the simplistic approach, mundane instances are transformed into a parody on life.
Jug Suraiya is fcuking Hilarious. Used to be the saving grace of the 'Weekend' Magazine with his 'Like that only'column.
I thought papers in DXB sucked, then I read TOI..the last page is simply ridculous - Titles like "Mallika Sherawat wants one boyfriend from every country in the world" or something equally inane.
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