Had been ages since I’d taken an amusement ride. Roller-coasters, fast-springs, rotors, loved them all back in Dubai. Even the weird little ride in Mahabalipuram, where a little boat crawls to an elevated point and then comes crashing down into a pool. Suddenly, you’re all wet, your cellphone shows the wrong service provider, your i-Pod sounds nasal even if Himesh isn’t singing, and you’re in front of a board that reads ‘Funny Thunny‘.
For the lesser privileged folk non-Tamils, Thunny in Tamil translates to water in English. So, before I digress into Tamism, hush. Where were we? Oh, right, amusement rides.
My favorite amongst them, by far, were the bumper cars. Folks warned me to avoid ‘accidents’, but a few minutes in the park with arrogant Arab kids taught me otherwise. My plan was straightforward - crash into every car that didn’t look like an Indian drove it. An Arab was the norm, a Paki was a bonus. So I was a kid, I can be pardoned for being racist, relax. The point I’m driving home is, bumper cars were fun.
And they still are, especially in Bangalore. I can’t tell you guys how much I enjoyed my outing at the amusement rides today. Actually, I can.
For starters, I walked all the way from my office at EGL on Inner Ring Road till the stretch of Airport Road that enters Domlur, a distance of two-odd kilometers. It was cold, it was raining, and I managed it without a jacket or coffee. On the way, I asked several ricks. About six autos shook their heads when they heard me go ‘Chinnappa Gardens’. Like I was asking them to take me to Iraq or something. Three other autos asked for ‘twenty rupees more, saar’ to which I responded with a ‘thank you’ and walked on. Five autos actually had the nerve to go ‘one-and-a-half-saar’, and needless to mention, that didn’t even merit a response from me.
Before one guy, God bless his soul, took pity on me and mercifully jerked his head towards the interior. That’s where the ride began, during which I witnessed the following stunts:
Stunt #1 - Missed-by-a-Whisker - the rickshaw on the left lane, upon seeing a BMTC bus halted at the bus stop ahead, and seeing a Qualis speeding on the right lane, floors the accelerator and screams the three-wheeler past the oh-so-tiny gap between the immobile bus and a Qualis on the far side, approaching at over 60kph. Two seconds later, the rickshaw driver’s state remains unchanged - absolutely unperturbed - while the passenger manages a few million Hail Marys. The driver in the Qualis comes up with an equal number of the choicest of Kannada swear-words including the much-revered and intense T-word which is a direct reference to the rear of the human anatomy.
Stunt #2 - Kiss my ass - the rickshaw, in bumper-to-bumper traffic, attempts to overtake a ABS sedan just ahead, and in the process, does not brake hard enough. The result? A broken tail-light, a scratch on the rick, some paint lost, violence, vulgarity and profanity. And a meter that refuses to pause.
Stunt #3 - Side-scratch - now, this one takes immense skill to execute, but once mastered, is the most useful in terms of inflicting damage and agony. The rickshaw brings himself to a very close position next to a crisp-smelling, fresh-from-the-showroom silver Civic, and stops at the signal. Sedan in question sees the green light, and in enthusiasm, starts moving. Just then, the rick makes that slight change of angle to induce a huge scratch on the Civic. The sedan thinks he’s at fault, but hey, we know better.
Stunt #4 - Break-the-speed-breaker - the rickshaw simply continues speeding upon seeing a speed-breaker. The passenger in the rear jumps as a result of the force from the impact. On the rare occasion when his head doesn’t bang against the rick’s ceiling, he has avoided a shock, and in the process, is in a better state to detect the sharp rise in the fare as a result of that jump. Let’s not even mention the spilt coffee. Most Indians would continue praying in such a situation, although a foreigner might search for the seat belts. Well, dude, we don’t make seat belts in rickshaws. Too bloody bad for you.
Stunt #5 - and this is my personal favorite - the two-wheeler-mimicry - in which case, the rickshaw lives under the dangerous assumption that he is, in fact, a two-wheeler and attempts to fit the vehicle through the most absurd nanometric gaps in traffic. Gaps, which Andrea Stancu on a diet would struggle to fit through.
Seventy rupees, non-inclusive of meals. Nothing better than a few hours at the amusement park on a drizzly Bangalore evening, I tell you. If you’re lucky, you’ll also pick up some crunchy, unwilted Kannada swear-words, including this by richksaw-dude Ajith at a certain Devegowda: to suggest that he isn’t educated enough, when translated, this is how it goes:
He doesn’t have two letters on his ass, and he came to rule the state? Somebody tell him to shut the hole in his rear and go back to eating his spherical finger-millet paste.
Entertainment. Thrill. Guaranteed.
