I believe in preparing myself for driving in India.
I believe in keeping a novel stashed in the front seat pocket just in case some chief minister and his motorcade are in town.
I believe in taking driving lessons between 8 am and 11pm – when the police have gone home.
I believe in checking the newspaper for upcoming petrol strikes, just so I can fill mine up the day before.
I believe in driving far way from auto-rickshaws, at least not when I want cramped children falling through my window.
I believe in driving to the right of public buses (passengers tend to hang off each other near the door on the left side).
I believe that Indians don’t share the English love of queuing.
I believe that there are three things one can count on: good horns, good brakes, and good luck.
I believe that Indian roads are far from being capable of handling the traffics, beggars, handcarts, chai (tea) and peanut stalls, and who knows what else.
I believe that speedy driving in normal Indian roads is for those with the mental make-up of Genghis Khan.
I believe in leaving an hour early for an appointment that would otherwise take me ten minutes to reach in any other country.
I believe that using arms as indicators is a sure-fire way of having them amputated on the road.
I believe that pedestrians can appear out of anywhere, at any time. So can cows, chickens, dogs, and other animals.
I believe that Indian driving is not for the faint-hearted.
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