Perilious Chennai Roads

From all of you who own two wheelers of some kind, I am sure I will receive a patient ear. For the roads in any city but due to my residence in Chennai, my accusations will be limited to this city alone, anyways, it is indeed a war zone out there on the roads. The front line soldiers are the interpid two wheelers who courageously expose themselves to the perils of nature and mankind. Alright, I got a little carried away there. This is not Braveheart I know. But lend me your ear and I shall recite you incidents that will scar me for life.

It was ten in the morning, the sky was clear and bright, I was riding on my bike to college. As I was passing Queen Mary's College on Beach Road, a whizzing blob landed square on my new Rs. 1000 dupatta that was draped across my chest. First I thought it was a freakishly heavy leaf that fell from one of the trees that I just passed. But when I looked down my worst fears were confirmed. It was those blasted birds. One of them pooped on me. Ok, explain to me one thing, so if you stand under a tree you are an easy target, all they have to do is sit above and do their business. But what baffles me is when I am travelling at 40 km per hour, and I am not the only soul on that road, it was after all office going hours, what are the odds of landing one right where your heart is on a day you wear a new dress?

Cursing like an inebriated sailor I pulled over and wiped as much of it off and continued to college. The day and the dupatta was ruined to say the least. Over the years I have realised that there is this sick magnetic force that draws birds to poop on me but this was by far the most ambitious and loose bowelled ave I had the pleasure of driving under.

Now my experiences do not stop there and are not limited to the animal world. It is four in the evening, as Chennai has it, the sultry weather is on medium simmer. Sweaty and caught in one of those freak traffic jams I slowly maneuver my bike into the shade of a bus nearby. Unfortunately it was at that precise moment some imbecile decided to empty his oral contents on to the road. Jeez, I have a tough time dealing with just watching people spit on the roads but when a stream of tobacco juice and god knows whatelse splatters all over my handle bars and my shirt, I was ready to throw up right there. But as luck would have it, the traffic decides to uncongest itself and move on in lightening speed leaving me, mouth agape in revulsion, coughing in the dense smoke of a baldly tuned bus with remnants of somebody's chew toy drying on my hands and shirt.

Now, when I describe the road as a war zone, do you understand the extent of my fear. Every morning, I do a mirror prep thing, running through all the hurdles I will face between my destination and starting point. Try to stay away from buses, and do not travel under any shady areas, stick to the middle of the roads and move in crowds, keep eyes open for manholes and ears open for chewing of any kind. Avoid gravel, sand, water and oil if it can be helped or do not brake when driving over these surfaces, even if it means running someone over. Because believe me a human is a softer surface to fall on than a heated tar road. I do not mean to sound callous but I have broken my bike several times trying to avoid those wobbly cyclist who decide to change lanes without a moment's thought. The best part is while I am lying on the ground wondering why a man is holding my scooter's engine on the other side of the road, I can the see that blasted cyclist wobbling in front another bike at the next junction, unscathed and indifferent.

Need I even have to mention the horn twitchy ambassador cars and call taxis that drive a millimeter behind my bike's bumper. I have an old and tormented vehicle that refuses to go above forty on a really good engine day, but when these agressive four wheelers start honking as loud as ships caught in a fog, it really pisses me off. Now what are they thinking that I am deliberately driving at snail's pace so that all the people behind me can get to their destination late. Or that I have this sick tendency to drive slowly and smell the carbon floating in the air while watching the blackened buildings on both sides of the road.

Thanks to the copius rains, our analytical brain needs to gauge the distance of oncoming traffic while passing puddles of water on the road as well. One needs to calculate the exact time you will pass that puddle so that you can determine whether another vehicle will splash by you at the same time, and if your calculations say that this is bound to happen, you either pray that the driver has the road manners enough to slow down or stop where you are and wait for the vehicles to pass first. Another concern is the possibility of an open manhole waiting for you in that harmless looking two inches of water across the road. For that the only solution is to follow the path of a vehicle in front of you, but nowadays there are thougtful bouquets of tree branches planted in these holes so that at night instead of falling headlong into a tunnel of sewage you merely topple over some flora and lie sprawled in some slush at the mercy of on road traffic.

In between checking out gorgeous people staring at you seductively from billboards above you, keeping the autos at bay from making spilt second U turns in front of your brakeless bike, I think for all us two wheeler drivers a mere driver's license is not enough. We definitely need a medal or certificate of some kind to voluntarily go out there and face the challenges fate has to put us against on road. It takes a preety sharp mind and thick skin to weather these abuses everyday.