AmreekanDesi

Here’s priceless advice from a jaded veteran. Nine ways to keep your head on the crazy Delhi roads.

Roll in Style. Get a Tank. You will never get stuck in a traffic jam ever again. Look around for an Arjun MBT. The Indian army doesn’t seem to want it, and you might just get a great deal there.

It works three ways. First, people would get intimidated out of your path. Second, you can just fire up your 120mm gola and blow up anybody holding up traffic. Last and most practical way – you can simply go over hapless cars stuck in front.

Try finding another ATV that makes your life so easy.

Of course, you might not be able to meet the speed limit on the road that you just cleared up. (more…)

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So Delhi nearly drowned earlier this week. The reason – a few hours of relatively heavy rainfall.

Everybody has been going crazy due to the incredible heat. Farmers have been going crazy in the absence of rain. People are dying. Farms wear a barren look. Everybody is yearning for some respite.

When the respite finally arrives, what do we have?

Massive (in the true sense of the word) traffic jams all over the city. Flooded drains. Submerged underpasses. Missing electricity.

The Moolchand Underpass went Underwater

Water water everywhere
Not a chullu bhar to drown

I personally endured a 5 hour commute when it usually takes just one. My colleagues didn’t fare any better. From newspaper reports, nobody reached home on time that night.

The ordeal was to continue into the next day though. Another long commute to work. Some people reached their offices. Some gave up midway and went back home.

And they all stood patiently…waiting to get to work

Even though Delhiites aren’t quite known to be patient!

This from the biggest city of one of the self-proclaimed superpowers of the world. A nation aspiring to greatness. A PM who wouldn’t take anything less than a permanent seat in the UN security council.

The MCD officials were probably too busy inventing people on the payroll to worry about basic stuff such as cleaning up flood drains, or whatever else it takes to keep a modern city from getting drowned after a little downpour.

As usual, the game of passing-the-buck has begun, and nobody is going to be held accountable for the sad state of affairs in the capital of India. Life will go on.

Jai Ho, my dear land of ironies.

What is Jugaad, did you ask? Well, it is the lifeblood on which India runs.

Sample this.

A less Jugaadu person might have  tried to get a mechanic, or petrol. But why bother when you have a friend with a strong leg?

Driving in Delhi is an experience unlike anything else. If you think you know driving, try driving in Delhi for a week. You will return with a new perspective on life.

Delhiites give a new meaning to driving. Once these people sit inside a vehicle (or on it, in some cases), they undergo a transformation. They are not human anymore. They are warriors, ready for business.

Honking Away to Glory

Horns mean different things to different people at different times. For some, a horn is a way of informing everybody that you are out and about. These people will honk whenever they do anything. They will honk when they start the car. They will honk when they stop the car. They will honk when they pass a car. They will honk when a light turns red, and honk louder when it turns green.

As soon as a traffic light turns green a thousand impatient horns go off. God forbid if you get nervous and drop the clutch necessitating a car restart. Heaven have mercy on you if your car refuses to start. You might just die from the shame of a million glares coming your way.

Lanes are a Pain

Less sophisticated societies use devices known as indicators to alert other drivers when they turn or try to change lanes. Not in Delhi. Firstly lanes are meaningless here. The misinformed and misguided government comes in and marks a three lane road. Little does it know that we the people can actually manage five lanes on such a road. It’s called sharing. A little horn here and a little nudge there, and we can achieve optimum utilization of our roads.

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Readers might rewind their brains to many years ago, when there was this huge outcry about an American company acquiring patent rights over Basmati rice.

Yes, the very same Basmati rice that we Indians have been cultivating for, for, forever.  How dare they? Basmati is India, spelt in seven letters.

Well, they were told to stick it, and after a big campaign, most of the patents were revoked. More importantly, Ricetec lost the right to claim the Basmati brand.

Trust American ingenuity to come up with alternatives.

Presenting, for our very own readers, for the first time, here’s Basmati’s American cousins.

Big brothers Kasmati and Texmati.

Kasmati is Indian Style Basmati. Texmati is Long Grain American Basmati

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