Road Rage Management 101

This is not a rant against erratic motorcycle riders; in fact, it is the complete opposite. And no, that does not mean it is a prose for beautiful motorcycle riders. This piece is a ragy (if this word exists) rant against idiotic car drivers. Oh there are plenty of them out there and they’re not limited to the opposite sex. Not saying all females drive bad; some don’t drive at all. I only wonder what would’ve happened to me had my accident been with a lady driver. Tauba tauba. LOLJK.

Tuesday, 9 AM

It was just one of those days when you feel something is off. Mostly because you’ve woken up on time, gone to the gym on time, come back on time and alas, gotten ready for work on time as well. It doesn’t happen too often with me. I should’ve known this day would throw in more surprises as it progresses.

So I am riding my motorcycle, off to pick up my girlfriend, to go to work when I get stuck in this mini traffic jam pretty close to where I live. I’m at a crossing of sorts, waiting for the traffic to clear up so that I could head straight. There are cars all around me and there’s this one particular maroon sedan on my right; more like a moron sedan, I’d come to know later. It takes about 5 seconds for the cars to start moving and naturally I rev up my engine and start moving ahead along with them. Not more than a foot has been crossed when that maroon moron also starts moving and turns towards his left. I fall down and he drives his car over me and all four wheels crush each and every bone in my body and I am here writing a blog about it just 2 day after the incident? Just kidding.

As I was saying, the guy starts taking that left turn and I remember noticing that he hadn’t given an indicator to turn left. It was a safe assumption that he’d go straight like me since he was not a she. Had it been a she, anything would’ve been possible; and I would’ve stayed a mile away from that car in the first place. But he was just like a she. With a mooch; without the boobs. Before I could react, or speed away to avoid getting crushed under his car, he continued to turn even after hitting me and I fell down on the road. He didn’t stop even then and took out his AK-47 and shot at me 4700 times. That didn’t happen but it would’ve been pretty cool if it had and that I’d survived it to write this blog. As I fell down on the road along with my bike, I started kicking and punching his bumper just to tell this blind man that “HEY MAN STOP CAN’T YOU SEE THERE’S A PERSON ON YOUR LEFT!?!?!?!?” We motorcycle wallahs are also human. He then probably noticed or heard or felt the thumps on his bumper and brought his car to a stop. My leg almost came under the tyre and I rose up in anger.

Road rage began!

I got up in anger and took on the role of Samuel L. Jackson from Pulp Fiction. I went down to thee with great vengeance and furious anger and wanted to destroy his fatherhood. That didn’t make no sense. I simply got up and took a couple of seconds to realise what was happening. I saw the guy sitting inside the car as if nothing had happened. My motorcycle was still lying on the road, almost under his car, spewing petrol all over the street. I didn’t bother and headed towards the driver’s side window. I still had my helmet on along with the 2 bandanas which I wear to protect my head and face, my gloves to protect my mulayam skin of my hands and the shades to protect my eyes. I looked quite the biker and not the usual aam aadmi kinds riding a 100 cc motorcycle. It might not be much, but my Avenger still packs a punch and is a lovely ride.

*bang bang bang*

Guy rolls down the window.

“Bhenchod kya kar raha hai? Chalani nahi aati kya?” I started yelling. Like a Delhi Boy.

“Arre. Wo indicator diya tha na...” This uncle was 50 years old and was mumbling nervously. There was a traffic jam getting built up right behind us but I didn’t bother.

“Kaunse indicator be? Koi indicator nahi diya tha tune. Abhi bhi nahi de rakha. Jhooth to bol mat. Kyuki jhooth bolna paap hai ghar ke neeche saanp hai kaali mata ayegi ghar chura ke jayegi.” I did not actually say out loud the kaali mata bit but so wanted to.

“Nahi maine diya tha na indicator. Arre sorry bhaiyya.” He started pleading already. I felt a little weird as this had never happened with me before. I’ve somehow managed to stay away from ‘incidents’ like this. I didn’t know how to react; I wasn’t thinking much and simply went with the flow.

“Abbey saale bhenchod indicator diya bhi tha to kya saale main dikhayi nahi diya? Ek baar gaadi chhoo di meri bike ko to bhi pata nahi chala? Bhenchod chadhaye ja raha hai poora gira diya mere ko BHENCHOD!” I put both my arms on the frame of the window and held his collar and dragged him out of the car breaking the seat belt using my bare hands. No, that didn’t actually happen.

“Bhaiyya galti ho gayi. Maaf kar do please aur jaane do. Bhaiyya dhyaan rakhunga main agli baar abhi sorry please galti ho gayi jaane do yaar.” He was on the verge of tears and was trembling with fear. Wo haath jod ke daya ki bheek maang raha tha.

Daya ki bheekh = Please don’t break my door.

“Dhyaan se chalaya karo yaar aur nahi chalani aati to mat chalao.” I quietly walked away from the man and let him go. He was old and pleading and there really wasn’t much I could do about this ‘accident’ as such. I’m really not the kinds who’d randomly pick up a fight with someone over a scratched bumper or something.

What really bothered me was the fact that the guy didn’t even care to step out of the car to check on me. It was clearly his fault and I had fallen down on the road. It is basic humanity to be concerned about the guy you’ve accidentally hit and not to shy away like an idiot. I wasn’t riding recklessly, I wasn’t trying to cut through the traffic like the usual bikers, heck I wasn’t even riding like Ajay Devgn with my feet on 2 separate motorcycles. All I’m trying to say is that all bikers are not chutiyas. Show some respect. Just because you have a big car does not mean you can boss around the smaller ones on the road.

Gaadi se bahar nikalke barabari kar, fir dekhte hain kisme kitna hai dum.

Even I drive, probably more than I ride. But driving a car does not mean I can hit anything smaller than me and get away with it. Stay aware of your surroundings and even if you end up hitting someone by mistake, make it right. Otherwise beware for rage, road rage. Next time I won’t be this kind.

PS – Just kidding. I am a very kind, calm and a non-violent person. Also, my mother taught me how to drive a car and she’s the best driver I’ve ever come across in my life. Hence, no hard feelings against female drivers. Someday, you’ll get better. Cheers. Also, PFB a picture of my injury.