Road Rage

The guy who picked us up from the station today and was entrusted with the simple, straightforward and you-can’t-possibly-go-horribly-wrong-with-this responsibility of dropping us at the office premises was such a colossal dunce. Downright annoying and oh-please-let-it-be-legal-to-strangle-him kinda bloke. This chap drove the car as if he was possessed. No, not in a Michael Schumacher kinda fashion. It was as if the spectre of a particularly lazy species of the tortoise family had entered his corpus instead. Add the dual disabilities of extreme deafness and hopeless numb-headedness to the said tortoise and you have the man sketched up just right.

This frightful character who was deemed fit to navigate the foul roads of Mumbai by some lamebrain of a transport supervisor, got me considerably worked up in the wee hours of a bright, sunny morning, a morning that should've progressed mirthfully, had it not been for this dimwit. Rows and rows of vehicles (yes, even the laggardly rickshaws & tempo types) overtake our car, quite justifiably, as the road ahead is uncluttered, unpopulated, free for the uninhibited soul to tread upon. But no, our chap here is in no particular hurry. Ah, we're gonna reach anyway aren't we? I mean, even if I don't want to, I will be coerced to by a plethora of honking motorists behind me. Allow me to indulge, meanwhile, in simple pleasures like toying with the FM stereo, even though the vehicle bang ahead has traveled atleast a kilometer away from me. Oh, I find the seatbelt amusing too. So much so that I may just attach and detach it several times, just to check if its length can support my wide girth. When that bores me, I think I will stare at the bloke sitting next to me (who is probably fuming, turning a bright shade of pink by now) or even better, pick at my stained teeth. Meanwhile, a barrage of motorists who pass by, give me a glance that surprisingly seems nasty, which I do not appreciate at all, considering what a nice, little chap I am. Oh, chuck it all. I think I will just ignore them and trundle along at my own sweet pace.

Mind you, I am NOT exaggerating at all. These are the exact sequence of events that took place, the exact lethargic indifference that the driver displayed and the exact feeling of increasing frustration that I was containing in myself (a mere 20 min ride took an agonizing 45 mins); what with myself already running an hour late. I say, to the bottom of the heap to all such inept species-on-the-roads and please-oh-please God, I hope I don't ever meet the idiot again.

Coz I don't know what I'd do to him.