The mishap and the blame game
IT started as a tranquil afternoon, the kind that tempts you to believe the universe has finally aligned in your favour. My government vehicle, helmed by a driver whose calm could rival a monk’s, breezed through the winding mountain roads of a state famed for its warmth and hospitality. What could possibly go wrong? A lot did.
Three hours into this postcard-perfect drive, we entered a quiet hill town. The sun was sinking gracefully, the roads were as silent as a meditation retreat, and I was busy appreciating the rare calmness of life. And then — bam! — a jarring collision brought us back to reality, our peace shattered like a dropped clay pot.
We jumped out to inspect the damage. Behind us stood a civilian car, its front crumpled into the rear of our vehicle. Out stumbled the driver, visibly drunk, dishevelled and wobbling as if gravity was a personal enemy. As is customary in small towns, a crowd materialised out of thin air. It’s one of life’s constants in India — like cricket matches on Sundays or chai breaks at work. Our inebriated friend, undeterred by the solid evidence of his guilt, decided to argue. His logic? If we hadn’t been on the road, his car wouldn’t have hit us. A true masterclass in creative reasoning!
Fortunately, a policeman arrived, drawn to the commotion like a bee to nectar. With a calm efficiency, he began taking notes as we explained what had happened. Just when it seemed that the matter was straightforward, the crowd chimed in with their expert analysis.
“Yes, he’s drunk,” one proclaimed, “but weren’t you in your senses? Shouldn’t you have avoided him hitting you from behind?” Apparently, in the local version of traffic laws, a sober driver is somehow responsible for preventing a drunk driver from ramming into him. Their logic was as twisted as a mountain road, but they presented it with such conviction, you almost wanted to applaud their audacity.
A senior police officer of the district reached the spot to restore sanity. He ordered a breathalyser test, which confirmed what everyone already knew: our friend was drunker than a wedding baraat. For added entertainment, the officer asked him to walk in a straight line. What followed was less a walk and more an avant-garde Naagin dance.
Finally, the police officially declared the drunk driver at fault. However, as expected, the man’s finances couldn’t cover the damage to our vehicle. With no other option, we left him in the custody of the local authorities and resumed our journey, our vehicle slightly battered but our sense of humour intact.
The lessons? One, mountain roads may be picturesque, but they are never without surprises. Two, in India, even the simplest incident can turn into a full-fledged drama, complete with twisted logic, a lively audience and plenty of laughs.
