I don’t scream obscenities at people’s faces while I’m driving. I live in the city of civility after all. Tehzeeb ka Shahar.
No, I’ve taken to something that’s way safer and almost as gratifying: screaming obscenities inside my car with its windows firmly shut.
Ever so often, I even throw a rude gesture into the mix. This I do only after I’ve ascertained that the receiving end does not have any political affiliations whatsoever.
In Bhaiya land you know a car belongs to an Adhikari before you know what make it is.
It’s best to, quite literally, steer clear of Toyota Fortuners and Mahindra XUVs. Especially the ones with flag holders (doesn’t matter if they have a flag or not) and window films (the exact shade of Amawasya). Inside one of these is either a Politician or a Zombie. Both spontaneously combust when exposed to daylight.
Driving across town, I was particularly nasty with my expletives today. That’s because I was on a mission. I was, in fact, racing against a deadline. Urgent AND Important this work of mine. Not a joke it was, serious stuff theek hai? Super serious.
By the way, Do you know who really causes road accidents? (Not speeding. Arrey Modern life is toh fast-paced only na. What to do?)
Demented steering huggers in the fast lane! That’s who. Don’t they know the pecking order?
The fast lane isn’t for you if you think all gear shifts above the second have been placed there by Satan.
The worst part? These buggers know they won’t be blamed for causing accidents! They don’t even bother to adjust their rear view. I have these dream sometimes where I’m driving a Tank on the fast lane, crushing retards who clock below 60.
Then you have your honkaholics. Because they believe with utmost shiddat that the guy in front of them represents everything that’s wrong with their life. Plus Inka baap koi hai.
And yet, one can curse people and feel good about it. The good thing about living in a country crammed with 2 billion people? You’ll never run out of people to curse.
Deadlines, however, you can’t cuss your way out of.
Viciously sneaky abstract temporal constructs, Deadlines.
Not people are they? but the fact that they aren’t people does not stop them from being assholes of the worst sort: Slow when you don’t want them to be, fast when you don’t want them to be, and much like honk-freaks they give you unspeakable headaches.
In a way they are every kind of bad driver rolled into one.
So there I was, sandwiched between bad drivers and worse drivers as the deadline whooshed past me. I rolled down the window, threw caution to the wind and yelled at everything that carried itself on wheels.
Everything that carried itself on wheels yelled back.
That’s when I had an epiphany.
You don’t need to meditate in the Himalayas to experience the oneness of humanity. What you need is a good yelling at by a sea of humanity suffocating within a miasma of our own making.
Only the choicest expletives! Only the choicest toxicity.
Brought to you by humanity.