Bon Voyage?

Chennai ( or erstwhile Madras ) is a bustling metropolis of South India. And like all the overwhelming cities ( in terms of size as well as in the sheer size of their population ) in the country, it has its own share of infrastructural problems. Take the public transport system for example. The rickety buses seem as though they belong to the pre-independence era. The buses are literally lop-sided, tilted at an acute angle to one side, with people hanging out of the doors or clutching onto the windows for their dear lives. And the buses somehow manage to break down every time the heavens start pouring (at their misery) which, thankfully, doesn't happen often in Chennai.

The city also has a local train service. But the service is very erratic and the trains seem to follow the CMST (Chennai Metro Standard Time)which is 30 minutes behind the IST (Indian Standard Time). So, if one wishes to go to Spencer's Plaza, he or she is completely at the mercy of the fleecing auto-wallas of Chennai. For the less informed, Spencer's Plaza is a mall and is one of the two-of-its-kind in the city. In order to relieve ourselves of the stresses that stem from studying at a 'practically' all boys college, the male students often go on a pilgrimage to Spencers to pay tributes to the Goddess of love and beauty - Venus.

So one fine,bright,sunny afternoon, I found myself standing at the college main gate looking for an auto to take me to Spencers. Armed with a not-so-good Tamil vocabulary (which basically consists of just 4 words - "aama"-yes , "illai"-no , "yevelo" - how much and "nai"-dog), I approached an auto-walla standing there.

"Spencers ?" ,I asked enquiringly.
He nodded.
"Yevelo ?"
Pat came the reply, "150".
Now since the correct rate is Rs.60 , I decided to put my foot down and said with whatever little authority I had, "Illai, 60 only".

Judging by the look on his face, I was sure that he wouldn't have agreed to go for Rs.60 even if I had agreed to marry his ugly daughter (which I am sure she was, if the look on her father's face was anything to go by). I dearly wanted to utter 'nai' but somehow refrained myself from entering into a verbal confrontation in a language in which I wasn't very proficient. I flagged down another auto and repeated the same set of questions upon which he agreed to take me there for Rs.60. Hearing the correct rate, I instinctively hopped in. But suddenly I realized that something was amiss and then in a flash of brilliant intuition it dawned upon me - how had he agreed to go for the correct rate? WITHOUT ARGUING? I was soon about to find out.

As we approached a traffic signal, the light suddenly turned red. However the auto-walla shot past as though he was driving an all together different planet where red symbolized GO-AT-FULL-THROTTLE. Speed breakers seem to have been made for lesser mortals. Mr.F1-Auto-Driver seemed completely oblivious of any such obstructions, traveling over them at 60 miles an hour which resulted in me banging my head against the roof innumerable times. And what I had been dreading soon came to pass by when he turned on the radio - at full blast. Mysteriously, some red-blue-green lights also seemed to come alive within the confines of the auto, giving it the effect of a mobile discotheque. My only assurance was that it wasn't as claustrophobic inside the auto and also that the decibel level of the vehicles outside sometimes exceeded that of the music. When a song finally ended, the RJ would come on and announce in a slick voice, "You are listening to Radio ABC 81.1 - Whatte Fun!". Fun my ass!!

Finally the auto-walla did stop at a traffic signal, an action effected by the presence of a policeman. Looking outside, the driver saw an auto-rickshaw whose driver was glaring at him menacingly. A heated exchange of words seemed to take place between the two of them in the universal wordless language of the auto-wallas. Tyres screeched. Rubber burnt. And as soon as the light turned green, both the autos were off...at full speed, in the quest of the Imaginary-F1-Auto-GrandPrix-Championship. By Gods grace, a bus stopped to let its passengers get down, which forced the other auto-rickshaw to slow down. My auto managed to squeeze in between the bus and the road divider, thereby winning the race and the non-existent trophy.

At long last, the auto reached its destination. When the auto came to a final halt, I disembarked hastily and thanked the auto-walla and God for my safe journey. After paying my dues, I rushed inside. And ogled away to glory!!

P.S- This one is dedicated to Ms. Bon-Travail. Hope her 'travels' are as uneventful as mine. ( Bon travail is French for good work and not happy journey!! )