Wanna go for a drive?

There are no two opinions about it: driving in India is a nightmare. It's not that the traffic is undisciplined; it is so chaotic, it is a jungle out there. No! Jungles have certain rules about them. For instance, you wouldn't see a deer chase down a cheetah and paw it down on the National Geographic, would you? So! lawless jungle it is. And what an endearing lawless jungle it is.

And did I tell you the roads were a joke. Case in point, my autorickshaw ride from Dombivili West to East. I was visiting Mumbai to attend a wedding and the nice south Indian boy that I am, I decided to wear a dhoti for the big occassion. For those of you unfamiliar with the dhoti, it is a white piece of cloth that you drape around your waist, like a toga. I am not totally unused to it myself and can pull it off any day of the week. This particular ride was a little over 3 kms. And by the time I reached my destination, the dhoti had loosened to such an extent that I had not a little trouble getting out without making an exhibition of myself. Later, I ran three flights of stairs and half a dozen times while I was at it and nothing happened to the dhoti. It stayed on my self like a stain on a new dress.

The cloud, however is not without its silver lining. For starters, it is a good physical workout. Some say, better than an hour at the gym. Also, driving on such roads detracts people from over-eating (lest they throw up on the way). The National Obesity Institute says that people who have to drive more than 5 kms in a day are less prone to obesity. They also point that the hearts are stronger because they can't be scared by sudden events. Like an old lady (with two bags of groceries in her hand and a bag of flour perched precariously on her head), jumping in front of your speeding car or a cyclist who hurls himself from the left corner to the right end with a bus on his tail. You try scaring someone on the roads, cry boo, wear a dracula costume with red blood dripping from your fangs. Zilch. Nada. You wouldn't get as much as a moan.

In the boring west, pedestrians take pride in being able to strut across roads without checking both ways at pedestrian crossings (zebra crossing, if you please). To them, I'll say, here in India, you can walk in the middle of the road with such impunity that one may think that you own the road.

And there is the thrill. People don't have to spend tons of money to holiday in, say, the Gold coast, pay atrocious amounts to enter the theme park and ride on rollercoasters or try bungee jumping. Everyday is a rollercoaster ride. Every trip to office is a near-death experience. No wonder then, that Indians are very philosophical.

Silver lining, I should say it is a silver cloud.

So come on, ye boys and girls. Hearts in your sleeves, put your feet on the brakes and the thumbs on the horn and... lets go for a drive.

Ordinary person's guide to nostalgia

Until recently, I couldn't tell the difference between Left and Right. (I had trouble picking my right from left. Every time I had to tell directions to somebody, I had to check a mole on my left thumb to identify it as my left hand). But we are not talking about my hands here. I am talking about politics.

Like a 'proper' Tam Brahm guy, my political inclinations were non-existent. I mean, it was not 'absent' non-existent. One did watch BBC or CNN once in a while to help with the TOEFL preparations. And read the papers. I spent the most time, when I had my daily dosage of 'The Hindu' (while sipping filter kapi) on sports columns. You know how it is... you go with the general opinion. The widely-accepted stance. The safe bet.

I cried my eyes out when Rajiv Gandhi was assassinated (I wasn't even 10 at that time). I didn't support the Americans when they waged the war against Iraq (I am talking about the First Gulf War) because I adored Mr. Saddam for standing up against the superpowers (I didn't know Kurds existed). In a fight between David and Goliath, you have to take sides with David. I cheered when India flexed its nuclear muscle. I was moved to tears when an actor in a Indian movie said that Kashmir was OUR land and even a handful of our soil is not for others to usurp. Palestine was a complicated international situation that world leaders were working hard to solve.

Emergency was a grand period in Indian history because trains ran on time, government servants did their jobs and slums were cleared to make way for a beautiful city. I burst fireworks when India defeated Pakistan in the 1996 world cup quarterfinal in Bangalore. United Nations, I believed was a powerful, autonomous world body that ensured peace and prosperity for everyone. World Bank was a philanthropic organisation that gave (note, gave, not lent) money to develop the infrastructure in developing countries. Colombia was a country of druglords, Brasil of footballers and France of romantics. I hadn't heard of Chechnya, Bosnia, Eritrea or Sudan. I called an Iranian, an Arab and didn't realise it was an insult (It was my Guardian Angel's blessing that saved me from being beaten to death).

Development, to me was skyscrapers (a skyline to take beautiful pictures in front of), foreign cars (that can go from 0 to 60 in 1.2874 seconds) and thirty-two brands of toothpaste in airconditioned supermarkets. And the chocolates. How can I forget those Kit Kats and Ferrero Rochers? Or Pepsi and Coke? And Parker pens and Swiss watches? And the mobile phone towers every meter and half. These were the signs that we were catching up with the west.

Oh! Those blissful days.