Gurgaon is Delhi’s swankiest new suburb. As Delhi has expanded, a lot of its populace and businesses have moved there. Despite the increasing burden of traffic on the roads connecting the two, there has been little in way of improving the connecting links. One of the two roads connecting Delhi and Gurgaon is MG road, a narrow potholed nightmare. Regardless of the state of the road, motorists love to speed on this five kilometre stretch, being traffic to the suburbs, it consists mostly of massive SUVs and luxury sedans. Which when speeding always scare the shit out of me, for I with my 60kg body astride a 100kg bike am miniscule in comparison to these two-ton leviathans. Now half way between Delhi and Gurgaon lies the village of Ghitorni. MG road, narrow at best, becomes anorexic at this point, additionally the numerous rows of parked cars further eat into available tarmac. Traffic through this stretch is positively constipated and pedestrians intent on playing chicken with oncoming traffic further worsen conditions. Then you have the cows that at regular intervals venture across the road from one garbage dump to another.
Thus the stage is set for a fateful encounter between the two protagonists of my tale, Mr. Nose and Mr. Truck. Their meeting was propitiated by one of the bovine regulars of the road, who throwing caution to the wind, decided to follow her nose across the road to a more pungent trash heap. Unfortunately her chosen path coincided with that of one of the aforementioned speeding SUVs. The hapless driver was forced to jam on his brakes and fortunately (for all animal lovers) stopped short of the nonchalant beast. Unfortunately a Tempo (half truck, half pick-up) was unable to do the same and rear-ended the SUV. Now Tempo’s like all other commercial vehicles in India do not believe in brake lights, though some eventually relent and ritualistically paint red squares on their rear fenders. Now this is rather disconcerting for those behind them, for their size obliterates any view of the road ahead of them and no brake lights means no warning.
This is exactly where I was, behind the tempo, as I had been for the last five minutes, waiting patiently for a chance to overtake. When he finally afforded me the opportunity to get ahead, I took it. Distracted as I glanced into my mirrors, I did not hear the squealing rubber.
SLAM
That the only way I can describe what I experienced. As my rear wheel passed neatly under his carrying board, Mr. Nose got acquainted with Mr. Tailboard through a mutual friend Mr. Helmet.
The next thing I remember was feeling my face to check if my glasses were okay. Oh I don’t wear them while driving, then why does the bridge of my nose feel funny?
I pulled my bike to the side of the road, balancing it between my thighs I wiped my moist chin. My hand came away dripping blood, oh crap.
Now being slightly paranoid, I’ve always imagined what I would do in case of such a serious accident. I’d imagined that I’d carefully park my bike, throw off my helmet, exposing my manly face with an air of grim determination. Then ignoring all bodily harm I’d lovingly caress my bike, assessing all the damage. After all that was taken care of, I’d deal with all those responsible. Either through sheer physical strength or alternately using superior wit and intellect I’d humiliate them in front of the crowd.
What I did was, to get off my bike, watch the blood drip, trying to keep it off my clothes. Someone grabbed my bike to keep it upright while I was dragged off the road. I pulled my helmet off and threw it to the ground. It landed in muck, but I was too busy trying to wipe the blood off my face to notice. I remember looking up at all the drivers slowing down as they passed me giving me the honour-stare, reserved for injured motorists. Some woman screamed “Thoda dheerey chalao” (Drive slowly), I gave her the finger Then went back to wiping the blood that continued to stream across my face. I was dragged (I was very confused at this point so there was a lot of dragging involved) to a makeshift bed under an asbestos awning used by taxi drivers and was made to lie down till the bleeding stopped. Once the flow had abated somewhat, I found a nearby roadside barber and washed my face and hands.
As I stood next to my bike surveying the damage, reflecting and trying to compose myself, I noticed all the blood I’d left on the damp ground. Were this a Hindi-movie, I would be instantly inspired by the sight of my blood on the soil of my motherland. Thus motivated, to the accompaniment of some truly bad music, I’d become a social worker by day, and vigilante by night. I’d help the old and infirm, whilst at the same time take down murders and rapists and anyone who dared to desecrate the sacred soil of the motherland.
This was not a movie so I lit up a cigarette and stared at my bike while a kid called Sunny recounted the whole incident to me, just in case I’d missed it. My nicotine craving taken care of, I got back on and drove back home. Slowly. (No animals were hurt in the typing of this post)
Thus the stage is set for a fateful encounter between the two protagonists of my tale, Mr. Nose and Mr. Truck. Their meeting was propitiated by one of the bovine regulars of the road, who throwing caution to the wind, decided to follow her nose across the road to a more pungent trash heap. Unfortunately her chosen path coincided with that of one of the aforementioned speeding SUVs. The hapless driver was forced to jam on his brakes and fortunately (for all animal lovers) stopped short of the nonchalant beast. Unfortunately a Tempo (half truck, half pick-up) was unable to do the same and rear-ended the SUV. Now Tempo’s like all other commercial vehicles in India do not believe in brake lights, though some eventually relent and ritualistically paint red squares on their rear fenders. Now this is rather disconcerting for those behind them, for their size obliterates any view of the road ahead of them and no brake lights means no warning.
This is exactly where I was, behind the tempo, as I had been for the last five minutes, waiting patiently for a chance to overtake. When he finally afforded me the opportunity to get ahead, I took it. Distracted as I glanced into my mirrors, I did not hear the squealing rubber.
SLAM
That the only way I can describe what I experienced. As my rear wheel passed neatly under his carrying board, Mr. Nose got acquainted with Mr. Tailboard through a mutual friend Mr. Helmet.
The next thing I remember was feeling my face to check if my glasses were okay. Oh I don’t wear them while driving, then why does the bridge of my nose feel funny?
I pulled my bike to the side of the road, balancing it between my thighs I wiped my moist chin. My hand came away dripping blood, oh crap.
Now being slightly paranoid, I’ve always imagined what I would do in case of such a serious accident. I’d imagined that I’d carefully park my bike, throw off my helmet, exposing my manly face with an air of grim determination. Then ignoring all bodily harm I’d lovingly caress my bike, assessing all the damage. After all that was taken care of, I’d deal with all those responsible. Either through sheer physical strength or alternately using superior wit and intellect I’d humiliate them in front of the crowd.
What I did was, to get off my bike, watch the blood drip, trying to keep it off my clothes. Someone grabbed my bike to keep it upright while I was dragged off the road. I pulled my helmet off and threw it to the ground. It landed in muck, but I was too busy trying to wipe the blood off my face to notice. I remember looking up at all the drivers slowing down as they passed me giving me the honour-stare, reserved for injured motorists. Some woman screamed “Thoda dheerey chalao” (Drive slowly), I gave her the finger Then went back to wiping the blood that continued to stream across my face. I was dragged (I was very confused at this point so there was a lot of dragging involved) to a makeshift bed under an asbestos awning used by taxi drivers and was made to lie down till the bleeding stopped. Once the flow had abated somewhat, I found a nearby roadside barber and washed my face and hands.
As I stood next to my bike surveying the damage, reflecting and trying to compose myself, I noticed all the blood I’d left on the damp ground. Were this a Hindi-movie, I would be instantly inspired by the sight of my blood on the soil of my motherland. Thus motivated, to the accompaniment of some truly bad music, I’d become a social worker by day, and vigilante by night. I’d help the old and infirm, whilst at the same time take down murders and rapists and anyone who dared to desecrate the sacred soil of the motherland.
This was not a movie so I lit up a cigarette and stared at my bike while a kid called Sunny recounted the whole incident to me, just in case I’d missed it. My nicotine craving taken care of, I got back on and drove back home. Slowly. (No animals were hurt in the typing of this post)
4 comments:
I already left a comment on this one and it didn't show up!! All I said was that I really like the paragraph about the bloodstained soil and finding revenge. How funny!
Though your pride isn't intact at least the rest of you is. It's smart that you actually wear a helmet. People that ride motorbikes in the USA think it's not "cool" to wear a helmet.....Ahhh...but I guess it's cool when you get your brains smashed in? I've gotten into debates with people who have said that it is actually more dangerous to wear a helmet...leaving me thinking they are taking up valuable space here on earth and maybe it's a good thing that they aren't wearing one.
*Also isn't that how it always goes down...you think of this masterful scenario in your head of how to do things and then when it actually happens....PHHHHH...total brain fart...
@jill
thanks for the comments, i recieved both in my mail
@ confusion
it's the same in India, people hate wearing helmets. In delhi they are compulsory by law so everyone has to wear them, but they take them off at every opportunity. In other cities, hardly anyone wears them.
Have you heard of the darwin awards, people who dont wear helmets are probably in contention for them.
Ps. thanks for brain fart, im not gonna forget that one in a hurry... lol brain fart. Ilove that one
dude, first off...bike accidents are shit. Hope you are ok otherwise and the bike's ok too...this being india, we just have to be careful on part of others who are on roads too... it has to be a 360 degree vision, cuz no matter how carefully you drive somewhere there is an idiot on wheels.
oh and on my blog, i used to write long posts earlier but wasn't getting any good reader flow...but i will try that again soon.
thanks!
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