Driving in Chennai – A daily adventure

The Woman from Madras Musings does not like to drive these days. It is increasingly stressful to find onself behind the wheel, what with increasingly congested traffic conditions and shortening tempers. Last month, WMM was stuck in a jam on the way home. It was quite chaotic, for the lane was not particularly wide and open to two-way traffic to boot. So when a bike rode straight into a luxury car up ahead, WMM was only surprised that it hadn’t happened sooner. The hood ornament marked the car to be a particularly expensive brand, and the mishap had left ugly dents and scratches on the bottle-green body. WMM’s own driver told her in hushed tones that the cost of repairing the damage was bound to be punishing. (WMM has never understood the allure of luxury vehicles. They seem to have consistently terrible mileage and their speed is wasted on crowded city roads. And now it appears that they’re fragile and high maintenance too. What, WMM wonders, is the point except to show that one has money to burn?)

While WMM was contemplating the curious appeal of luxury cars, the driver of the vehicle in question – who also appeared to be the owner – stepped out looking positively apoplectic. The bike rider – now stuck in the traffic jam a little further ahead for all his earlier hurry – was forced down from his vehicle and subjected to the car owner’s rebuke. It was loud enough for most of the road to hear, and WMM was taken aback at the bitterness of the exchange. She hadn’t seen the incident clearly herself and was unable to say who was to blame; but she thought the castigation to which the bike rider was subjected to was hardly befitting a civil society even if the accident was his fault. The car owner unleashed a torrent of swear words and at one point even raised his hand as if to strike. WMM was shocked, and so were the onlookers; she had never seen such a thing on Chennai roads before this instance. But no one stepped in mollify the parties until the hold up began to cause impatience. A few bike riders near the duo insisted they take their argument off the road and helped clear the way for the other vehicles. Like everyone else, WMM too drove away leaving the pair to argue. The ugliness was disheartening, but what could have been done?

There are also problems when it comes to parking. Recently, WMM and the Better Half had to shop at Parrys. The B.H called the store to enquire whether they had parking space. He was promptly told that yes, there was parking space, provided the security guard was intimated; otherwise, B.H was sternly warned, the vehicle would be towed away. The security guard, added the service operator before ringing off, could be recognized by his khaki attire and bushy moustache. B.H found the whole thing suspicious and told WMM as such. Since they were in a bit of a hurry, WMM thought that blind obedience was in order and convinced B.H to follow the instructions. Sure enough, when the tow truck came B.H’s car was shown mercy unlike a few other hapless vehicles on the same stretch. Both B.H and WMM were left feeling mildly uneasy by the whole thing.

And then there was the time when WMM came upon someone trying to paste stickers on her car’s windshield. She had just come from visiting the Eternals, and managed to prevent the act in time. Other cars, she noted, had not been so lucky. One sedan parked ahead of her car had been plastered mercilessly. The Paster was unrepentant. The cars, it was claimed, had been parked outside the home for ‘days together’, which the Paster supposed was not ‘right to do.’ WMM readily supplied the information that her car could not have been parked for more than a few hours (the Eternals, sadly, are quite forthcoming when they feel WMM has overstayed her welcome) and that she planned to drive away in the next instant. The Paster grew silent and hurried away, fists tightly clutching posters and gum – there were a few more cars down the road. WMM found the whole thing questionable, to say the least. The cars were parked neatly away from oncoming traffic and there were no signs prohibiting parking. If a car really had been parked in place for days together, a complaint on the Namma Chennai app could have been a better option to taking matters into hand.

WMM is not sure she enjoys these daily driving adventures. She is planning to take the bus more regularly.

Walk talk

The Woman from Madras Musings came across a post on social media ruing attempts to promote walkability in Indian cities – the plan, the poster said, worked in western countries because they were blessed with cooler climes; how is it to work in Indian cities which are hot and dusty, particularly the ones in the South? WMM thought that the very question gave the poster away as someone unused to public transport. Commuters who travel every day by bus and train walk to and from stations in the same heat and dust; does the city not owe them good, broad pavements to walk on? Quite a few others on social media raised another point that WMM thought was quite reasonable – it’s not just climate that promotes walkability but also tree cover. WMM got to thinking about Chennai, which does have some lovely tree-lined patches that are a pleasure to walk in – Adyar is a good example. Perhaps it is time to press for better pavements and tree cover too.

Elevator tales

The Woman from Madras Musings was visiting friends for dinner. She had just passed through the building gate with the B.H. and a few others when she noticed two dogs at the far end of the car park. One was a golden retriever, a floppy-eared, friendly chap who was wagging his tail so hard that WMM rather thought that he would fly any moment. The other was a tiny dog, a breed that WMM cannot name; but he was so very fluffy and petite that he looked like a doll. Both were excited beyond measure to see the group. Deciding that a warm welcome was in order, they ran towards WMM and Co., causing one of the group – let us call him Victory – to let out a strangled squeak of terror and flee to the elevator. The dogs of course saw the whole thing as be a great game and took after him, tails wagging furiously. By the time WMM and Co. reached the lobby, neither the elevator nor the gang of three were to be seen. It was only upon reaching the terrace when she saw V rooted to the ground, white as a sheet; the dogs were having a free run of the terrace. It transpired that V had tried to hide in the elevator and desperately pressed the button to go up; but the elevator doors were slow in closing, and the dogs joyfully got in with him. He had had a harrowing time, he said, and asked to be made a stiff drink at the earliest.

Curiously enough, all it took were a couple of stiff drinks for V to lose his fear around the friendly beasts. When WMM left the party, he was taking selfies with both.

– WMM