The Driver's Seat

After having driven for more than a year and a half in the US, its initially frightening, and later amusing to watch people maneuver their cars in India. In the US you get spoilt with everyone following lanes, so much so that one can almost doze off on the freeway. India obviously is a different ball-game, with the challenges being - avoid potholes, avoid pedestrians and most importantly, avoid other menacing rash drivers.

Of these 3 challenges, probably the most difficult is the third category - rash drivers - since they move the most quickly as compared to the other two. Whats worse is that such class of drivers usually don't own the cars that they drive, and have no emotional attachment whatsoever to their vehicle. For them, a car is but a platform with 4 wheels and 1 steering wheel, meant to go from Point A to Point B. Quite a contrast to the "I love my car - I nourish it with Servo" feelings that one would have for one's own baby-on-wheels. Put squarely, this class of drivers includes (a) most auto-rickshaw drivers, (b) most taxi drivers, (c) all public transport (read bus) drivers and (d) all rental-car drivers.

Don't get me wrong - I'm proud of the fact that Indian drivers make the most of the minimal space available on roads these days, driving centimeters away from each other, yet co-existing (in peace, mostly). I'm actually proud to be from a country that has only 12 vehicles per 1000 people, as opposed to the States which has over 700 vehicles per 1000 people (and thus significantly lower emissions per capita). Whats not so benign for my blood pressure is the heart-stopping skills that these "unattached" drivers exhibit. This winter, I had the chance of meeting several such talented guys, from which two ostensibly stand out - one each from Bombay and Calcutta.

Backdrop 1: Bombay

Hero 1: Gokul (rental car driver)

Intro: Gokul is a short and lean character in his late twenties, who, like all "young blood" (as my Dad calls them), likes to be ahead of the pack - come what may. His physical size has no correlation whatsoever with that of his ego when he drives. They need such belligerence to fight back the Al-Qaeda in Pakistan. When I see the adrenaline rushes that Gokul gets by nudging forward by hook or by crook in heavy traffic even at paltry speeds of 30 km/hr, I feel that if rather given an empty road, he would feel insulted and may be even stop driving. Whats even better is that Gokul likes to explain each of his hair-raising moves with a "Maeene kya kiya? Wohich khaali peeli beechmein aa rahela tha". Bambaiyya Marathi at its best. Gheun tak!

Every time we approach a barrage of traffic, and just when I think that there's no space to go any further, he improvises such tantalizingly late moves, that would make Sachin's late cuts look pedestrian (pun unintended). The use of handsfree devices while driving is banned in Bombay, but that doesn't stop Gokul. With all the Schumi moves in the backdrop, he talks on the cellphone in loudspeaker mode dangling around his neck, and his girlfriend frantically shrieking from the other end, “Gokul, tu aahes na?” (best interpreted as “Gokul, are you still alive?”) He replies with a calm "Haan mee aikto na. Tu bolat raah" (yeah, I'm listening. You just keep talking).

Act I, Scene I

We're driving back through the Powai area near IIT Bombay, which is a legendary chicken-neck. To ease the traffic flow, they started widening the roads even before I started my Ph.D. I wonder if they'll finish before I graduate. Anyways, cutting back to the plot, the central portion of the road is being concrete-ized, while traffic is routed on the peripheries. While the rest of the traffic is honking in frustration, Gokul, who knows the placement of the concrete mixing machines and water like the back of his palm, comes up with the ingenious plan of driving through this portion under construction. At one point he even drives over the road divider. "Khali jagah hai toh waparneka na" (if its empty, then it ought to be used). I will remember the dumbstruck labourers' faces each time I drive through that portion again.

Act I, Scene II

Now we reach a portion,where we're still in Powai, but the tricks from Scene I don't work any more since the part under construction has a railing. We're forced to follow the cars ahead of us, obviously to Gokul's dislike. There's a traffic policeman (havaldar) guiding the traffic in front of us. He spots Gokul who is constantly weaving in and out of the rest of the traffic. Out of consideration for his restlessness, the havaldar points towards us, whistles and formally opens up a fresh piece of newly constructed road to create a new lane behind where he is standing. Gokul's joy knows no bounds. He up-shifts instantly and pushes down hard on the accelerator, head-on into the havaldar. The havaldar leaps out just in the nick of time, whistling away frantically, partly in fright, partly in anger. Gokul gives me a puzzled look, "Usko hat-na chahiye tha na?" I can bet that the cop will henceforth leave his kindness at home before showing up for work.

This entire episode jogs Gokul's memory to the "good old days". "Arre yeh toh kuchh nahin hai. Ek baar toh maine havaldar ko sach mein uda diya tha". The mother of all stories. Act 0 is as narrated to me by Gokul in flashback mode. Trust me - translating will make the punch go away.

Act 0

"Baarish ka time tha. Dopahar ke kareeb 3 baje rahenge. Vashi mein main Sumo chala raha tha. Ek havaldar khopche mein khada tha, bina headlight ke 2-wheelers ko pakadne. Mereko woh dikha hi nahin. Usko bhi main nahin dikha kyunki wahaanse sirf 2-wheelers hi ja sakte the. Bahut paas aa gya tab dikha. Abhi agar gaadi mein utni jor se brake maarta toh gaadi skid ho sakti thi. Baarish ka time tha na! Toh phir kya, maine usko uda diya. Uske saath ek aur havaldar khada tha jisne pehle socha ki bike pe mera peechha karega. Phir usne dekha ki uske partner ki haalat itni kharaab thi ki usko bachane mein jyaada dumm tha. Mera number plate note down kiya hoyega usne, lekin baadmein kisine kuchh bola nahin, matlab woh havaldar shayad bach hi gaya hoyega".

He's not wrong you know - the havaldar almost certainly would have lived. What better reason to be assured of that - Gokul is still on 4 wheels. Licensed to kill.

Backdrop 2: Calcutta

Hero 2: Name's Ravindra aka Ravi (pronounced as "row-bee" in Bengali, and henceforth referred to as Robi or Robida). Robi is also a rental car driver.

Intro: Robi's also lean, but taller than Gokul. In stark contrast to Gokul's surprised "why-are-people-angry-with-my-driving" looks, Robi has a somewhat mean face that smiles but with sly tacit sarcasm. But did I not say he is talented? For starters, he starts the car in Gear-2 for reasons that I can best comprehend as laziness to shift gears. For the first 15 mins that I sat next to him, I was almost convinced that Tata Sumos are now manufactured with Gear-1 to the bottom left corner. After the first 15 mins, I felt for his engine.

Robi's most impressive skill is his judgement. He can feel every corner of the Tata Sumo as if his soul was bonded to it (watch Avatar, and this will start making more sense). When he backs up the car, he knows better about the exact location of the rear than even someone who is sitting on the back-seat, right next to the rear window-pane. Quite naturally, Robi can move a car out of tight spots even when practically surrounded by cars and/or road dividers on all 4 sides. A much needed skill for the Calcutta traffic that frequently comes comes to a standstill just like in Los Angeles.

Act II, Scene I

On Calcutta's bypass (you can call it a close cousin of an freeway), Robi sees an empty stretch of road. His foot digs deep onto the gas. The world in front of me starts going out of focus, but my eyes are glued to the speedometer. When the needle reaches its out-of-my-cars-skin limit of 130 kmph, the entire car starts vibrating heavily. If you didn't understand the practical effects of resonance taught in Physics class, this is your one chance.

Act II, Scene II

We're at the same freeway. A close cousin of Robi's (the relation obviously comes from driving style rather than a blood relation) is driving side-by-side, almost racing with Robi, at 120kmph. There's an auto at a 10 car distance ahead of Robi, going at best at 50kmph. The cousin's car is to Robi's right, with the divider on the cousin's right. Robi wants to win the race, and honks like crazy, but the auto won't budge. The cousin is obviously trying to gain on Robi, but Robi in turn is trying to overtake his cousin so that he can first pass him, and then avoid the auto. The cousin, being Robi's cousin, will find it an insult to be passed.

Robi however has somehow now pushed his nose ahead and is half in his lane and half in his cousin's lane, with the auto at a 3-car distance in his original lane. With both cars honking incessantly, and none willing to budge or slow down, it seems that Robi's collision with the auto's back and the cousin's collision on Robi's right side is almost inevitable. At a 1-car distance away from the auto, Robi presses hard on the brakes (telepathically, his cousin does the same), and almost magically, both accidents are avoided within the blink of the eye. To be honest, I wasn't even blinking - my eyes were wide shut. In all the melee, I have a revelation - Seat-belts claim to save lives, but they can't protect flaccid hearts.

The final reaction: Robi rolls down his window, spits gutkha to his right showing disgust to the cousin, who yells back in retort. And life goes on.

Act II, Scene III

There's traffic stacked up in front, but Robi's mind works faster than a computer (a la Chacha Chaudhry from Diamond Comics) He is looking into his mirrors for an answer. All I see is that we're in the right-most lane, with the divider to our right side (remember that we have right-hand driven cars in India). Robi has suddenly found gold. He takes our car in reverse to the reach an opening in the divider, sneaks out to the opposite side, drives nonchalantly on the wrong side against the dazzled oncoming traffic, and sneaks back into the correct side using another opening in the divider.

If Gokul can drive on the divider, Robi can drive around it.

Act II, Scene IV

We're finally heading for the airport. I ask an innocent question in broken Bangla, "Robida, airport jonno koto shomay laagbe?" (How much time will it take to reach the airport?) He doesn't say a word, but I'm quick to read the answer on his mischievously gleaming face. Its almost screaming back at me - "How quickly do you want to get there?" Thats when reality dawns upon me - Why did I even ask?