Before emigrating to Dillistan, you may have read many paeans to the Metro – how it has radically improved the life of commuters in the city, how more people should use it more to help de-congest the roads, how it is a greener and cleaner option.
Ignore all that. A true Dillistani only uses a personal vehicle, the selection of which should follow one simple rule –
Meri gaadi badi toh main sahi.
The bigger your vehicle, the more you can weave through lanes without indicating, the more you can honk-force others out of your way, the more you can ignore red lights. And of course, the lesser chance of somebody dinging your vehicle, because who knows how influential you must be if you can afford that big beast.
A Dillistani’s choice of vehicles, in declining order of tu-kya-ukhaad-lega-ness, are:
- A government car. Security guard + beacon + escort vehicle. Seriously, who’s going to mess with you?
- A truck. Preferably filled with sand or bricks. This will make people think you’re part of the builder mafia, and since there’s nobody more powerful than them, you’ll get a wide berth. Oh, and because they have kick-ass horns.
- A bus. Pack it with your friends and hangers-on and pretend you’re on public duty, but really just go where you want. Nobody will raise a protest, because that’s how the regular ones function anyway. .
- A tractor. Everybody will think you’re a farmer. And since all the ‘farmland’ belongs to the super-elite, or those from Gurgaon, nobody will dare even look in your direction.
- An imported luxury saloon. Because anybody’s who rich enough to pay those kind of prices and that level of import duty is obviously rich enough to have a few cops, judges, and politicians on their speed dial.
- An imported 4×4. As above. Plus the big wheels obviously mean you’re bad-ass. .
- An imported convertible. As above. Plus, it means you can race down and threaten anybody else.
- A local 4×4. Still with the huge wheels.
- A local luxury sedan. You may not be able to make life for somebody completely miserable, but you can still inflict enough grief.
- A mini-van. You’re full of schoolchildren, who are desperate for any excuse to call you names and chant slogans and generally embarass the heck out of you.
- A family car. Extra space means you know enough people who you can call up to come along with hockey sticks.
- A powerbike/cruiser. Because you can put on a bandana and pretend to be a Hell’s Angel.
- A compact car. Keep some water and lots of cloth handy, because you’re going to get perennially shat upon.
- An auto-rickshaw. Everybody hates you, and will use you for target practice.
- A standard bike. Everybody will hate how you zip in and out of the gridlock, and will use you for target practice.
- A cycle. Hahahahahahahahahahaha…. sorry sorry … ahahahahahahahaha.
If you’re walking, of course, you don’t count at all – because you must be poor or mad.