Heavy traffic, poor infrastructure and absence of a road culture bring out the worst in drivers. A zip through metros...

Take a drive down any metro in the country for the quintessential Indian experience:

It is a harmonious anarchy. One good place to start is Delhi. At the Income Tax Office junction, one of the busiest crossings, right under the Delhi Police headquarters, drivers clamour for every inch of space, rev up engines at the red light and jackrabbit their way through the maze of traffic. After all, minor bumping on the road invites nothing more than a few invectives. That is if you can hear them. Drivers in the city honk at even potholes and speed-breakers!

Driving at 70 kmph on Noida mode (crossing), you get overtaken from all sides by cars doing speeds above 100 kmph. It resembles the starting lane of a Formula-1 race where drivers clamour to make that first turn. I do the best thing possible in the circumstances: turn on the indicator of my car and move to the slowest lane on the left. For once, I don't mind the world passing me by. But time moves slow in Old Ahmedabad, where crawling at 10 kmph, I have to drag my feet on the road, my scooter perilously close to the wheels of buses and camel-carts. Overtaking an autorickshaw, I see its driver put his foot out of the vehicle as if to kick my scooter. I slow down to avoid it, but a friend tells me that it is an accepted sign for a right turn. The autorickshaw drivers here signal with their feet.

On the other side of the Sabarmati, in modern Ahmedabad, nothing is more modern than its cars, wide roads and tall buildings. People open their car doors while driving to spit pan juice. Most vehicles here have a generous red sprinkling.

Pull over for a thought, readers. Why do we step on the accelerator when the traffic light turns red? Or overtake from all sides, chase pedestrians on to non-existing footpaths, refuse to wear helmets, use high-beam lights to blind others, talk away on cellular phones while switching lanes and park under the 'no-parking' sign?

But everyone asks the same set of self-righteous questions. Everyone has the it-was-not-my-fault attitude, especially after accidents which kill 215 people every day in India. In other words, there is an accidental death on the roads every 6.5 minutes. According to figures by the Road Safety Cell of the Union ministry of road transport and highways, there were 3.9 lakh accidents in 2000; 78,911 were killed and 3,99,265 injured.

Over the top:

Quick thrills could kill Say what you will about poor traffic sense and awareness of road rules, but Dr T.S. Reddy, head of the traffic and transportation division at the Central Road Research Institute in Delhi, says Indian drivers are the best where skill is concerned. "Considering the conditions in which we drive, our drivers are not killing many people," he says. "Since our speeds are lower than in foreign countries, we manage and manoeuvre vehicles with less damage."

Reddy believes driving needs both road sense and the necessary infrastructure. He has a point. In the last 50 years, India's automobile population has grown 170 times while the road infrastructure has expan-ded only nine times. The country's vehicle population is over 5.5 crore and growing at a phenomenal rate of 25 lakh every year. Negotiating through such messy roads is a horrible deal. Manoranjan Batabyl earns his living by driving century-old trams on the busiest streets of Kolkata. David, the foreman at the tram workshop, believes Manoranjan is the best driver-he can drive without brakes!

It is another force of habit that bothers Dubey, a taxi driver (from Uttar Pradesh) in Mumbai. Inching his way through peak-hour traffic, Dubey points out the bad drivers. "See how he brakes," he says pointing to an Accent Viva. "These youngsters don't know how to drive. But they have power steering, power brakes and God knows what else." Advances in technology help one 'zip' through traffic (thanks to power steering), have 'total control' (anti-skid braking systems) and 'total safety' (with air-bags, crumple zones and side-impact beams). But restraint is the last thing automobile manufacturers preach, what with slogans like 'Rule the road', 'refined aggression' and a two-wheeler named 'Eliminator'. No wonder Dubey thinks life was easier until new-generation vehicles appeared on the roads.

For some, technology is just useless. R.A. Thakur of Kolkata prefers to keep the side-view mirror of his Indica folded lest someone should hit and break it. Others stick their rear-view mirrors (some even the windshield) with slogans and faces of their favourite actors.

Daredevils:

A recipe for disaster Thakur can hardly be blamed because all vehicles-taxis, trams, buses and auto-rickshaws-are so severely dented that most look like battered tin boxes. The rule here is: Acknowledge the right of way of everyone else. Even at the busy five-point crossing, there are no traffic signals. The lone sergeant-as a traffic cop is called-uses all his faculties to control the junction.

The crucial test of nerves for me comes when I am sandwiched between two buses. The bus on the right wants to go left and the one on the left wants to go right. A defensive driver, I make way for them. And lo, I am bang on a tram track with one heading straight at me. In typical Kolkata style, I power the car to the right, unmindful of the traffic behind. The taxi to my right and the vehicles behind it screech to a halt, leaving me to think about my guide's advice to allow him to chauffeur me around.

"Transferring our headache to the driver ushers in peace of mind. Teaching for hours after a horrifying drive is the last thing I want," says Pranava Manjari, an English lecturer in Delhi. Her driver, Chunni Lal, switches lanes without batting an eyelid at speeds ranging from 60 kmph to 70 kmph. "If you don't drive like this in Delhi, you won't get anywhere. And I am a safe driver, sir," he says, pointing out that the Zen has not a single scratch-an achievement in Delhi's bumper-to-bumper traffic.

Driving a car through Lakdikapul area in Hyderabad could make one go in circles. I want to turn left, but the traffic pushes me to the right. "At this rate, you won't survive in our city," says Rehman, my guide. "Think of yourself and don't bother about others."

Within an hour, I drive like a Hyderabadi, winning Rehman's approval. The most striking feature of driving here is long stretches of unimpeded speed-usually on the countless flyovers-punctuated with dead stops because of bottlenecks. While traffic rules are enforced on 'elite' roads, it is freewheeling in the narrow bylanes. Getting used to these two worlds is the challenge.

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