Are Indian drivers closet Formula 1 drivers or just plain suicidal

Nick-H

It's the drivers that should be reading them

Sorry to hear about your car. Another fact of life seemingly absent from this part of the world is that alcohol and driving should not be mixed.

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Bigzero

My car has scratches all over, and I have stopped bothering about them now. I took them to the mechanic earlier, and his response was, "why bother ? now that you have a few scratches you can drive without too much concern. once you touch them up, you will continue to be worried about your first scratch, and in all likelyhood, will get one in due course!". that calmed me.

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Peyompian

It took me about two months in Moscow, before I didn't seriously fear for my life every time I got into a car. Eventually I learned that there was a complex set of "rules" going on amongst the drivers that didn't involve signs, lines, or laws, and that I couldn't learn as a passenger in a lifetime. I imagine India is like that.

Nick-H

I get the impression that minor biffs, dents and scratches are settled, after the required amount of shouting and haggling, by the exchange of a few hundred ruppees. None of this hugely formal exchange of addresses and insurance details, followed my much goings on with the insurance companies that we are used to in UK

Bigzero

Nick,

All dents and scratches don't result in exchange of money. At least in Hyderabad. Most of the minor ones result in approximately 2 minutes of "you-did-it" stuff and then both parties go their own ways after shrugging their shoulders.

IVAN

On my first long range taxi trip across the country, the driver was driving at maximum speed on a road where one could see a crashed truck or car every few minutes.
I asked him about the safety on Indian roads and he replied, completely seriously: "The fastest you drive, the safest it is"!

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stormysky

Don't remember where I read this....

Driving in the US is on the right side,
In the UK it is on the left side;
Driving in India is plain suicide...

sk

PRIYA

Was wondering what he looked like - quite cute huh!? And he finished his GP even if he wasn't placed. I would've thought that India would be in the forefront of GP racing before now - seeing the accident rate is really low compared to the number of drivers on the road at any one time and the speed they travel

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soulfood

More pics for you lainsmac - Narain Karthikeyan.

PRIYA

Thanks for the link soulfood - plenty+ pics to look at!!!

soulfood

I guess the following thread deserves a mention here

Videoclip - bumpy rikshaw through Varanasi

enjoy

natasha chanda acharya

This is an excerpt from the Himalayan Memoirs by my friend Binu Jose Philip.
This bit is from "to Leh". You guys will really enjoy this.

...After breakfast, we broke into some
really wild mountains and our driver, who was nicknamed Hoshiyar Singh
by one of our fellow travelers in the bus, came into his element. Just looking
out of the bus, down into the valley below, put the fear of God in me.
It wasn't any more dangerous than any other ghat road. The scale of
the heights and distances involved had a digit added to it, that's
all. The effect of a fall of 100 feet or 1000 feet could be the same but
my heart hammered away, refusing to believe this simple logic. There
were hairpin bends every 20 meters and double hairpins half as
often. And there was Hoshiyar Singh, driving along with half his
attention on the rear view mirror, trying to keep the bus that we had
gained as company at breakfast behind. Our bus didn't have a four
wheel drive. It almost didn't have a 2-wheel drive!

Some way ahead there was a Tata Safari purring along sedately, and
guaranteed to beat the mobile antiquity that was our bus. But, no. H.S
was not about to take the challenge lightly. Our bus suddenly veered
off the road, right onto the mountain side! I for one was totally
unprepared for the flash back of my life and was trying to break off
the front seat with my hands when I noticed that this was being done
deliberately! Not only had both the buses given the road a miss, but
were racing each other up the mountain side. My blood pressure would
have done a boiler proud. We hit the road again, perpendicular to it,
and left it behind. Now the Safari, with a bewildered driver behind
the wheel, I am sure, was only a few meters ahead. More rally driving
on the mountain side, and we could see the safari behind us, taking
the hairpin we didn't take. H.S. was happy now because the real
competition, the other bus, hadn't overtaken us and decided to stop
scaring the mountains. We hit the road again and rode on it this
time. This was a feat that was repeated a few more times. It wasn't as
scary later on but the mental picture of the bus driving on the
slopes of those giant mountains was always scary.

The unofficial mountain cross had taken us to the first real
high pass. Baralacha La. There were no glorifying structures to
celebrate the pass. Only one small slab saying this is Baralacha La
and you are at this altitude. For a road that meanders through the very
ceiling of the world, this small something looked appropriate. What
can you build which would stand tall amid the world’s highest mountain
ranges?

The mountains were not as rocky as before. There seemed to be a lot of
sand around. It looked rather like the Nevada that I had seen in
pictures. There soon appeared intriguing structures like spires and
arches and domes and pillars. Then the bus was in the same mountain as
these structures and there was a check-post there. Indian nationals
was spared and we could thus touch foot on at least one of the many
mountains that were, err.. conquered in spirit.

Now H.S had demonstrated that the mountains quivered before him. Next
came the nice guy part. Within two mountains (that is the best unit of
distance for this part of the world) the opportunity presented itself.
A maruti van had overturned at a curve, no doubt taking the Himalayas
too lightly. H.S. stood on the brakes, jumped out and with the help of
a few others, had the van right way up. From then on he stayed behind
it because I think he knew what lay ahead. Within another couple of
mountains the van got stuck in the mud. The first person to jump out was
H.S., of course. Even I decided to lend a hand and helped in pushing
the van out. Difference being, H.S. pushed and came back and resumed
driving. I came back and gasped for half an hour. I was also rewarded
with a Himalayan headache, excuse the pun. Lesson XXX: Never forget
that high altitude means what it says. At 4500-5000 meters, even
breathing hard is an exertion enough unless you are acclimatized. I
was smirking at George when I went out to push, he smirked through
the rest of that day.

The terrain had changed drastically by the time of the mud bath.
There were warning boards galore: "Falling stones!" "Landslide!!"
"Shifting mountains." Around here, entertainment came in all forms.
Some of you may have guessed from the keyword "mud". The sides of the
mountains were dirty brown with loose clay, sand and pebbles inching
down slowly. To add spice to this, we had a river flowing right beside
the road and in places, on the road. It was the color of mud and was
flowing mud more than muddy water. H.S. was unconcerned and took the
curves with elaborate nonchalance. I was beginning to suspect my
fingers would have to be surgically removed from the seat in front. For
about half an hour, the terrain remained like this. Then we again
started gaining altitude and the mountains started becoming more solid
and rivers stayed were they belonged, down below and away from the
road. The road climbed steadily, the bus was groaning pathetically and
I almost felt like patting it.

All for a good cause. Soon I was part of the team that conquered
Baralacha La, in a bus, but what the heck. At that altitude
the only celebration I could indulge in was to take a
really deep breath and hope that the road decides to loose some
height. There was no consideration given to my plea. The road
continued to climb or remain at the same altitude and we passed
through Sarchu and onto Nakila La which was a little higher than
Baralacha. By now, I had enough of conquering passes but H.S. seemed to
be thoroughly enjoying the sleeping presence of the conductor right
beside him and went on flooring the accelerator pedal. For a good
reason too. Yet another pass was waiting for us to conquer it,
Lachlung La. We had touched 5000 meaters while still being attached to the
ground! I let out a celebratory wheeze, then went back to analyzing how
many neurons it would take to give a headache to a whale and how many
more where involved in giving me the current headache.

Now instead of the typical abrupt drop of altitude, the road wound
down very gradually. Driving along so near the sky was slightly
scary. We hit a military camp in a few minutes and got a bonus stop of
half an hour since there was a convoy of trucks, a few kilometers long,
that had to pass. I exaggerate. Not a few kilometers but there were around
200 of those truck monsters. Later, I found that this was the Pang
camp. At an altitude of 5 KM, seeing so many trucks and seeing that much
military presence was a revelation. I forget what the revelation was,
it was pretty impressive nevertheless. It was c-c-c-cold outside.
Walking around to get some circulation going would bring the demonic
headaches and breathlessness up to Olympic standards. All I could do
was hug myself and valiantly shiver.

We moved ahead and out of the camp, and after a few ten kilometers hit
the "Worlds highest Idli Dosa point," or so the board in front of a
group of restaurants on the road side claimed. It was nice to know
India will be Indian, no matter what the altitude.

We crawled up and took a hairpin and ahead was spread the vision of
the most amazing valley that could exist. The setting itself was
breathtaking. Imagine a broad canal and magnify the image that has
formed in your mind by a factor of hundred. Now you'll have an idea of
what it looked like. We had hit the "More Plains". Aptly named. Two
ranges of almost equal height bordered it. The space in between was a
perfect plane with the only features being a huge canyon running
through the middle and the road running parallel to it. The distance
between the base of the mountains on either side would easily be over
2 kilometers. The height of the ranges should be at least half a
kilometer and the total length close to 80 kilometers!! Putting it
differently, the drive through that valley lasted about two hours. And
the road was flat, as flat as you can wish. The canyon seemed
mysterious and was begging to be explored. But H.S. didn't seem to
share my urges and so I slept through at least half the drive through
there. George later told me that we had encountered a Yak herder and H.S.
gave him some water. I would love and hate to be in the place of the
Yak herder. How wonderful it is to be a part of this enormous phenomenon.
On the other hand, if I have to walk from one end to the other
for some water, err.. I think I'd rather take the bus.

To say that the drive was monotonous will be an understatement. Since
the mountains tend to keep away from the road there is not much
attention needed, as any oncoming traffic is visible kilometers away.
It was not surprising thus, that I noticed H.S. nodding off, but I was beyond
fear by then and went back to my personal nodding with a smile. H.S.
was most probably capable of driving safely while snoring. Now, when I
write this, the fear I should have felt then creeps in. Better late
than never? With an abrupt turn into the ranges on the right we got
out of the that fairy land. H.S. had decided enough is enough and both
the buses stopped within another kilometer. H.S. got down, lied down in
the geometric middle of the road and slept. There I was, fighting a
demonic headache, searching for some breath-ability to the air and
being chilled to the bone simultaneously. None of this stopped me from
drinking in the uniqueness of the terrain. Never again will I see it
the same way as I saw it then. Never again will the mountains
look as inviting as then nor the barrenness look as beautiful. True, I
can visit again. But I will know what is in store for me. I will know
what comes next, I will know that the valley will end and that there
is no bridge across the canyon. I will remember to remain awake to see
the Yak herds. But what the heck, these gargantuan mountain ranges are
sure to have enough surprises in store for me, how many ever times I
visit.

In half an hour, H.S. was completely recharged and we boarded the bus and
charged on towards Leh. Now the inexorable ascend resumed. On the way,
we passed the absorbing spectacle of a smoking Sumo. Not an accident! A
very much mobile White Sumo with thick black smoke boiling out from
under the bonnet. The driver appeared confident and waved us (H.S.) on.
Looking at the terrain that lay ahead, I sent a silent prayer for the
soul of the Sumo. It was still visible another 10 or so hairpins
later, way below, still smoking away to glory, still moving!

We were gaining altitude like nobody’s business, and with good reason.
We reached Tunglung la, the second highest motorable pass in the world.
We were at the highest point we would touch in this trip. 5200 meters.
It was cold and difficult to breath for others, I was deciding the color
for my coffin. It was still awesomely beautiful. There were quite a lot
of peaks below us. The mountain ranges stretched from infinity to
infinity on all sides. But some of those ranges were below my feet.
What joy to have those leviathans of sand and stone below one’s
feet. H.S. was least affected by these conquests. The oohs! and aahs!
were limited to a selected few.

H.S. had started whistling and we picked up speed and started to
descend in earnest. Hmm... the clues were all pointing towards an
approach to Leh soon. We queried the fellow sitting nearby and
confirmed our suspicions. It was just another hour! Meanwhile we
exited the twisty mountain roads into comparatively un-twisty mountain
roads. It was all downhill till Leh, we had it from reliable sources.
Surprisingly, it was true. H.S. looked a little out of sorts by then.
What is the fun if there are no mountains to be conquered, these
cultured roads are for Kids!! By 5.30 PM, we had reached the outskirts of
Leh. A very welcome tea stop. While sipping it, a group of soot
covered people walked by. After a few guesses ranging from Oil Well
fires to a new style statement, the truth hit us. The smoking Sumo had
arrived!! We confirmed. Yes. It was parked some way behind. A black
matte finish with white streaks. It could be all white below and quite
possibly, it was the white Sumo we passed earlier.

H.S. got us going a little before 6:00 PM. A sinfully red sunset was taking
shape outside. On either side of the road there were prayer wheels
galore. Some had associated pagodas and such while the others stood
alone. Their charm was infectious and all buildings enroute looked
prayer wheel-ish. The setting sun flattered the countryside
shamelessly. By 6:00 PM we had reached the valley where Leh nestled. H.S.
jumped out and strode off without even a glance at the bus. He had
driven from 4:00 AM to 6:00 PM, done off-roading at an altitude of
4.5 KMs and ridden perpendicular to many of those roads while the
conductor slept in the seat marked, "Don't sleep in this seat",
helped an ailing Maruti find its own legs or wheels, watered Yak
herders and had also taken us to Leh. Hats off...

xealot

Another long but very enjoyable post!

Is this book already available?

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Laziness is not a real word! It's most literal translation is "Differing Priorities"

readmymind

thank you for sharing that, natasha.ca. i found it amusing and i could almost feel myself gasping for air.

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~ everything is right for it's place and time ~

natasha chanda acharya

It hasn't been published. haven't even approached publishers. maybe someone can help!?