Oriental traffic rules and my Dad's Scooter
The Occidental world prides itself on its orderly traffic behavior. Rules exist and work, lane driving is a habit and a toot on a horn is often met with a frown (except in NYC and Washington DC, where the term "a taxi-second" was invented.
I was aware of the Hindus following a karmic path when it came to driving, but to my pleasant surprise, our neighbours to the North-East, have a similar inclination. Read this, for a peek into their mysterious ways and this, on how they navigate a left turn.
In India, when I was growing up, the pride and joy of a middle class family was the ubiquitous Bajaj scooter. My father started out with one too. Those were the days when the choices, when it came to personal transportation, were plentiful . An Ambassador car, an Italian Fiat, or a Bajaj scooter. Trying to make ends meet, my father's trusty scooter was our family's caravan.
Like any Hindu ritual, starting up the scooter and heading out for an ice-cream in the evening, followed a strict set of rules. My father would first "gear up". This meant wearing a jacket, donning a helmet and a pair of gloves and finally, his pride and joy, an expensive pair of sun glasses. Three mandatory scooter leanings and after a couple of well timed kicks on the starter, the scooter would roar to life. This is where things got complicated.
My spot, when I was a little kid, was one between my dad and the handlebars. It was an excellent spot because I felt like I was in control over my family's destiny. Alas, after a few struggles on this fine point with my dear father, I was banished to the worst spot, between the two seats (front and back), atop the bloody petrol cap. What a fall from grace.
My mother used to take her rightful place, on the back seat, sitting side aways. Married women wearing saris had little choice in this matter. My sister, the youngest, was then hauled up like a bag of groceries and made to sit on my mother's lap. Note, I was still atop the blasted petrol cap. Off we went, winging our way through Delhi's roads with nary an accident at a stately speed of 25 miles an hour.
In terms familiar to generals, I was on "difficult ground". My hands were occupied hanging on to dear life, namely, the front seat or my dad's broad back. This allowed my sister, whose hands were free, to place many a well timed blow to my head, shoulders and arms. And people have the gumption to ask me why I was mean to her and fought when we were kids. Pshaw. Those blows hurt!
The scooter though, showed its versatility during traffic snarls. Sneering at the cabbie on the left and at the rickshaw wallah on the right as we navigated our way to the front of the traffic signal was, as one credit card company puts it, priceless! We were also taught about practicing the "I'm sorry grin", with arms wide open, when the scooter gently brushed against the expensive car in front.
My occidental friends often wonder where we Indians get our easy going attitude? While driving, I tell them sagely, while driving. Apart from Delhi, where the weather makes us lose our temper, have you ever heard of a south indian on a scooter cutting off another scooter because of road rage? Impossible.
I still hold a grudge against my parents for being made to sit atop the cap. To add insult to injury, one of my chores was to clean the bloody scooter! Child Services, oh how I missed thee when I was a kid. Many years and pleas later, we finally upgraded to a Maruti 800, every middle class Indian's dream to upward mobility. I looked at it and cursed. My mathematical brain had figured out that there was a lot more surface area to clean henceforth!
I was aware of the Hindus following a karmic path when it came to driving, but to my pleasant surprise, our neighbours to the North-East, have a similar inclination. Read this, for a peek into their mysterious ways and this, on how they navigate a left turn.
In India, when I was growing up, the pride and joy of a middle class family was the ubiquitous Bajaj scooter. My father started out with one too. Those were the days when the choices, when it came to personal transportation, were plentiful . An Ambassador car, an Italian Fiat, or a Bajaj scooter. Trying to make ends meet, my father's trusty scooter was our family's caravan.
Like any Hindu ritual, starting up the scooter and heading out for an ice-cream in the evening, followed a strict set of rules. My father would first "gear up". This meant wearing a jacket, donning a helmet and a pair of gloves and finally, his pride and joy, an expensive pair of sun glasses. Three mandatory scooter leanings and after a couple of well timed kicks on the starter, the scooter would roar to life. This is where things got complicated.
My spot, when I was a little kid, was one between my dad and the handlebars. It was an excellent spot because I felt like I was in control over my family's destiny. Alas, after a few struggles on this fine point with my dear father, I was banished to the worst spot, between the two seats (front and back), atop the bloody petrol cap. What a fall from grace.
My mother used to take her rightful place, on the back seat, sitting side aways. Married women wearing saris had little choice in this matter. My sister, the youngest, was then hauled up like a bag of groceries and made to sit on my mother's lap. Note, I was still atop the blasted petrol cap. Off we went, winging our way through Delhi's roads with nary an accident at a stately speed of 25 miles an hour.
In terms familiar to generals, I was on "difficult ground". My hands were occupied hanging on to dear life, namely, the front seat or my dad's broad back. This allowed my sister, whose hands were free, to place many a well timed blow to my head, shoulders and arms. And people have the gumption to ask me why I was mean to her and fought when we were kids. Pshaw. Those blows hurt!
The scooter though, showed its versatility during traffic snarls. Sneering at the cabbie on the left and at the rickshaw wallah on the right as we navigated our way to the front of the traffic signal was, as one credit card company puts it, priceless! We were also taught about practicing the "I'm sorry grin", with arms wide open, when the scooter gently brushed against the expensive car in front.
My occidental friends often wonder where we Indians get our easy going attitude? While driving, I tell them sagely, while driving. Apart from Delhi, where the weather makes us lose our temper, have you ever heard of a south indian on a scooter cutting off another scooter because of road rage? Impossible.
I still hold a grudge against my parents for being made to sit atop the cap. To add insult to injury, one of my chores was to clean the bloody scooter! Child Services, oh how I missed thee when I was a kid. Many years and pleas later, we finally upgraded to a Maruti 800, every middle class Indian's dream to upward mobility. I looked at it and cursed. My mathematical brain had figured out that there was a lot more surface area to clean henceforth!
posted by orphean at
9:47 PM
4 Comments:
Hehe. Nice one. As a kid I had similar experiences, albeit on a bicycle in Veraval, Gujurat. The way I used to force my dad to "race" other bicyclists, while being laden with the week's groceries and yours truly brings back fond memories.
My dear brother, your memory is - as usual - blurred with time. As you got taller and were banished to the back, I got heavier and was brought forward and thus, could not have hit you. However, since you have always had ape-like long arms, I'm sure I was the beneficary of the said blows.
Pretty on the spot..though I must add, me having been on the "rickshaw" to your right that was laden with 10 little kids, their book bags and lunches (all thanks to my dad's phobia for two wheelers and hence never owning one) - I have a different (maybe slightly envious)view of the scooters that treaded their way through the traffic..
nice one..
the next step...might be a good idea to write abt ur driving skills on the wide roads of delhi-south block, yakking away to glory and hitting the police check-post(luckily, minus the traffic cop)
:-)
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