(24 Jul 11)
Goans are dyslexic. Not
all….those without valid driving licenses aren’t included in my list. Let me
narrow that down: most Goan drivers don’t know which side is left and which is
right, one of the symptoms of dyslexia. One Way and No Entry are one and the
same thing, a belief shared by Hindus, Catholics, Muslims, locals, visitors
from Karnataka, Maharashtra and elsewhere. (Actually it’s the same with queues:
Goans, like other fellow Indians, do follow the rules benignly, it’s just that
they aren’t sure which end of the queue they’re supposed to join). Does it
matter which end of the road you’re exiting or entering? Nope. I’m the bitter
non-example that does things as written in the pamphlet dished out by the RTO’s
office, which confounds other drivers and earns me others’ ire. My bad.
I learnt to drive a four-wheeler recently, rather late in life. Having
driven a two-wheeler for decades in towns like Ghaziabad, Jodhpur and Bareilly,
I can confidently claim that, like most Goan drivers, I too can drive
‘ambidextrously’, on both sides of the road, irrespective of the direction in
which I’m heading. I’m still not an expert at getting onto main roads from
bylanes or into bylanes from inside compounds. I still come to a halt and look
on both sides before letting the gear slide into slot number 1. Local tradition
dictates you have to be in fourth gear, at 50 kmph, and swing right in the
centre of the road you are turning onto. The logic is brake lagaane wala brake lagaaegaa. Figure that out in Konkani. I
live in Caranzalem where the current local language is Bihari/UP Hindi.
Where was I? Ah… on the road… I think the Sri Sri gurus and Babas should
add on a modern technique to ancient meditation tricks. It’s called Parking in
Panaji. You could rename it Paying for Petrol. Does wonders to train you to
tackle irritable nerves. The ‘truth’ dawned upon me just a couple of days ago.
I felt like Buddha or Vivekananda, and all the drivers around me seemed
hypnotized by the halo that erupted around my ears that morning near Azad
Maidan, around 1100 hours. Pity no television cameras recorded it. On a small
slope (caused by dumped mud), my car stalled and began to slide backwards.
Before I could grab the handbrake, the car behind me --- millimeters away---
honked like the Rajdhani on fire, lest my back rest upon its front. No way that
driver was going to reverse to help me out. Oh no, it would reduce his manhood
to raisins!
This reversing business is quite exciting on narrow roads with steep
sides or unyielding stone walls. If I encounter an oncoming car and there isn’t
space for us to cross, I yield and agree to reverse. Very slowly. Inch by inch,
bending and stretching my neck, shoulders, waist. Eventually the guy in the
other car gives up, reverses his own vehicle rapidly, graciously allowing me to
shift gears and make my way forward. No accidents, I wave a thank you, he waves
in despair or relief, and all’s well.
Same morning, same place in Panaji, same exercise of searching for a
vacant slot, a guy in front changes his mind and wants to back out of his slot.
Suddenly, straight onto my crawling car, without warning, without looking in
the mirror or anywhere at all. I honk with all my might. Puump, my car whispers
hoarsely. He can’t hear it. Actually, neither can I with the noise around. I’m
going to get a fog-alerter fitted so I can fool people into believing it’s a
twenty-tonne truck they’re dealing with. Frail scooties and mopeds scare the hell
out of traffic, should work with a low-cost second-hand car.
I admire two-wheeler drivers who take instant decisions to turn without
giving any warning (signals be dammed) to the on coming traffic behind him.
Brave fellows and women. We should give them a special allowance for giving
surgical practice to doctors at GMC in poly-trauma, neuro, spine, ortho, dental
and other injuries. Indeed, the GMC aught to start a department for Car-reer
Casualty arrivals. Smashed skulls, snapped bones, gushing blood, none of these
work as well as a properly banged up car… at 6 am on a busy market road. Two cars, one obviously rushing at a
desperate speed, the other maybe parked, maybe cruising… when bang, both
drivers have their steering wheels touching their chests, headlights crunched
under their feet, glittering glass pieces all over the neighbourhood… and, the
three neck-rattling speed-breakers be praised… only one passerby injured.
At that hour, couldn’t be drunken driving… so one can only be assured
that it was habit, and the belief that accidents happen only to others, lesser
mortals all, never to ‘us’, that made the accident happen.… the belief that
whoever wants to get out of the way will do so… the belief that the thrill, the
euphoria, car-ries Goan drivers directly to heaven.
It’s been three days now since that happened: the cars in Taleigaon are
crawling through the village… the reason? The wrecks are still lying there,
shocking potential ‘accidentalists’ into taking their foot off the accelerator.
Car-ing attitude, eh?
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