Terror
February 11, 2006
A couple of weeks after arriving in India we changed drivers. Rahul our first driver was affable and competent but I had a tough time communicating with him since he didn’t speak English. Having just begun our one year stay in India, I felt more comfortable traveling around unfamiliar streets with two young children in the hands of a driver who knew what I was saying. Our new driver Dubey is equally affable, speaks English, but frankly is not competent. I used to think that to drive in India you just need to have courage and not much more. However the stark contrast between these two drivers has shown me that driving in India is truly an art.
In our month or so with Rahul at the helm there was only a singular occasion where I had a fleeting suspicion that our car may have bumped an autorickshaw. But I was never sure and there was no reaction from the other driver. Rahul also had an uncanny knowledge of the streets of Mumbai. I would only have to name a destination (and that is often times all I could do) and he would nod his head knowingly and we would navigate the busy roadways and arrive unscathed. He also had several paths he would take to Sandrine’s school and depending on how how late I was, would take the appropriate path to get us there on time. There was one time when we had a flat tire and I got out of the car wondering how I could help and he just told me, “Wait in car Madam. No problem.” He changed the tire by himself in the hot sun with two kids, a maid, and myself inside with the AC on.
Dubey…ah yes Dubey is an entirely different story. He speaks Hindi, Malayalam (spoken in Kerala), and English so communication isn’t an issue other than the fact that sometimes he chooses to hear what he wants to hear. Early on he told me that he used to work as a driver in the Gulf. He had also mentioned to my husband Bob that he used to drive very large vehicles. He probably didn’t need to explicitly tell us this since he drives like he is in the biggest vehicle on the road, not reality since we are in a 4 door sedan. He steers our car in the path of oncoming vehicles as though it is an Army tank. And he could definitely use a refresher on the rules of the road, especially the one that states that busses have right of way. We have even drag raced with a bus, during the adrenaline pumping 30 secondsI just closed my eyes and sucked in my breath, far too stunned to speak. I am happy to report that we won by a hair. Dubey floored the accelerator and succeeded in narrowly passing the bus just in time to make a left turn at the next intersection. Of course, Dubey muttered “idiot” after we had passed the bus as if it had been the bus driver’s fault. It wasn’t as I can attest along with the gaping passengers in the bus who were probably wondering what idiots were in the white sedan that raced below it like Jerry to it's Tom.
There was another time I was on the phone with Bob, who was on the way home with Dubey, and we were in mid conversation when all of a sudden I heard an intake of breath and a sharp, “Watch out!” followed by a dial tone. I looked at the phone and immediated phoned Bob back. “Are you okay?” I asked sucking in my breath. “We hit another car,” said the calm voice back at me. Later I found out that Dubey had hit a car while trying to turn left. Mind you that the car he hit was in the lane left to him and was going straight. Dubey clearly believed he was in the right saying only, “I gave my turn signal. He should have known I was going to turn left.”
We have on several occasions bumped pedestrians’ arms as they walk innocently down the roads oblivious to this new terror roaming Mumbai streets. I have grown accustomed to scrunching my shoulders together as we approach pedestrians who walk too close to the path of our vehicle in a futile effort to will our car to narrow. We have even bumped a woman holding a baby. When Bob accosted him about this Dubey just said that if the mirror had hit them then it would have been his fault but since it was the side of the car it must have been their fault. They seemed okay. The worst incident to date occurred once when I leaning towards Nikhitita, who was in her car seat. I heard a woman shriek. I jerked toward the sound, glancing out my window just in time to see a woman pick herself up off the ground. Thankfully she was alright but both she and her irate male companion proceeded to rap on the front passenger side window of our vehicle screaming in anger at our driver. Dubey shouted out that she should face the road next time. A fair point, but if inattention meant asking for a nudge from a car there would be bodies stewn all over Mumbai. After a heated exchange we were thankfully waved on our way ready to wreak havoc on the next unsuspecting pedestrian, autorickhaw, car, or maybe even bus?
A couple of weeks after arriving in India we changed drivers. Rahul our first driver was affable and competent but I had a tough time communicating with him since he didn’t speak English. Having just begun our one year stay in India, I felt more comfortable traveling around unfamiliar streets with two young children in the hands of a driver who knew what I was saying. Our new driver Dubey is equally affable, speaks English, but frankly is not competent. I used to think that to drive in India you just need to have courage and not much more. However the stark contrast between these two drivers has shown me that driving in India is truly an art.
In our month or so with Rahul at the helm there was only a singular occasion where I had a fleeting suspicion that our car may have bumped an autorickshaw. But I was never sure and there was no reaction from the other driver. Rahul also had an uncanny knowledge of the streets of Mumbai. I would only have to name a destination (and that is often times all I could do) and he would nod his head knowingly and we would navigate the busy roadways and arrive unscathed. He also had several paths he would take to Sandrine’s school and depending on how how late I was, would take the appropriate path to get us there on time. There was one time when we had a flat tire and I got out of the car wondering how I could help and he just told me, “Wait in car Madam. No problem.” He changed the tire by himself in the hot sun with two kids, a maid, and myself inside with the AC on.
Dubey…ah yes Dubey is an entirely different story. He speaks Hindi, Malayalam (spoken in Kerala), and English so communication isn’t an issue other than the fact that sometimes he chooses to hear what he wants to hear. Early on he told me that he used to work as a driver in the Gulf. He had also mentioned to my husband Bob that he used to drive very large vehicles. He probably didn’t need to explicitly tell us this since he drives like he is in the biggest vehicle on the road, not reality since we are in a 4 door sedan. He steers our car in the path of oncoming vehicles as though it is an Army tank. And he could definitely use a refresher on the rules of the road, especially the one that states that busses have right of way. We have even drag raced with a bus, during the adrenaline pumping 30 secondsI just closed my eyes and sucked in my breath, far too stunned to speak. I am happy to report that we won by a hair. Dubey floored the accelerator and succeeded in narrowly passing the bus just in time to make a left turn at the next intersection. Of course, Dubey muttered “idiot” after we had passed the bus as if it had been the bus driver’s fault. It wasn’t as I can attest along with the gaping passengers in the bus who were probably wondering what idiots were in the white sedan that raced below it like Jerry to it's Tom.
There was another time I was on the phone with Bob, who was on the way home with Dubey, and we were in mid conversation when all of a sudden I heard an intake of breath and a sharp, “Watch out!” followed by a dial tone. I looked at the phone and immediated phoned Bob back. “Are you okay?” I asked sucking in my breath. “We hit another car,” said the calm voice back at me. Later I found out that Dubey had hit a car while trying to turn left. Mind you that the car he hit was in the lane left to him and was going straight. Dubey clearly believed he was in the right saying only, “I gave my turn signal. He should have known I was going to turn left.”
We have on several occasions bumped pedestrians’ arms as they walk innocently down the roads oblivious to this new terror roaming Mumbai streets. I have grown accustomed to scrunching my shoulders together as we approach pedestrians who walk too close to the path of our vehicle in a futile effort to will our car to narrow. We have even bumped a woman holding a baby. When Bob accosted him about this Dubey just said that if the mirror had hit them then it would have been his fault but since it was the side of the car it must have been their fault. They seemed okay. The worst incident to date occurred once when I leaning towards Nikhitita, who was in her car seat. I heard a woman shriek. I jerked toward the sound, glancing out my window just in time to see a woman pick herself up off the ground. Thankfully she was alright but both she and her irate male companion proceeded to rap on the front passenger side window of our vehicle screaming in anger at our driver. Dubey shouted out that she should face the road next time. A fair point, but if inattention meant asking for a nudge from a car there would be bodies stewn all over Mumbai. After a heated exchange we were thankfully waved on our way ready to wreak havoc on the next unsuspecting pedestrian, autorickhaw, car, or maybe even bus?
posted by Danakka @ 12:09 AM
1 Comments:
At 6:53 PM,
Danakka said…
You are a reqular comedienne Chweetie!
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