SFV Traffic Regulations – challenges and responses

So, yet another landmark decision takes effect today. Or, a major one since the new MC took over recently.

This should keep us engaged for the next few days trying to learn entry and exit points, and unlearn the practice hitherto, more importantly overtaking within the premises, now that the complex is replete with speed-limit signs.

It might take us well a week before we get accustomed to the new regulations. Till then the cardinal principle is: follow the security chap’s directions. He has no agenda to put us into any inconvenience; just implementing orders.

Like when you see a group photo, the first instinct is to check how well you look in the snap. Similarly, when a new rule is enforced the first impulse is to see if it affects you adversely or favourably. Viewed from that standpoint I would say that with this arrangement, I am the monarch of all I survey… Yes, I have the best of both worlds. I can enter either from Alder or Cedar gate, if and when I take my car out, that is.

Speaking of the gamut of driving and traffic rules, I cannot help going down the memory lane. Decades ago I went to get my two-wheeler Learners Licence. I thought I had just to deposit the fee and collect the licence from the Officer inside. I had no clue that the wall of his room would be decorated with signboards and he would pick one and ask me for its significance. “What does this convey?” he asked me pointing to one of them. ‘I think you have to be careful, there is something up there.” He pointed at another, and asked: “And this?” I answered, “here too, sir.” When I answered the same for the third question he got irritated. “Bhai Sahib, there is something wrong ahead in all these cases, precisely why we install these signboards to warn. But I expect you to know what they specifically are. You understand? You seem a nice guy, so I am excusing you. Otherwise I would have instantly disqualified you.” He then asked me to wait outside, buy a traffic-sign leaflet, learn the significance of each sign for the next thirty minutes and re-appear. I got it in that attempt.

Months later the second confrontation was for my permanent licence. The driving test is done in India Gate grounds. I was told he would ask two-wheeler aspirants to drive as though they were writing the figure 8. Once bitten twice shy. So, the week preceding the test I attempted 8 at least 108 times  - narrowly missing skidding on a few occasions. On the D’day we were about twenty, some for car driving. The inspector got into a car, asked the aspirant to drive to Janpath and park near Air India office, and the rest of us to follow the car. We did. On arrival, he disqualified the entire squad. “How could you do that, sir? The driver of the car in which you sat might have made some mistake, but you can’t disqualify the entire lot for that, we argued. He patted on the back of the nearest – read, me. “Yes my friend, the car chap entered Air India parking area from the Exit gate and, accustomed to herd mentality, you all followed him. Now all of you go home, deposit afresh test fee a week later and try your luck. Got it,” and walked away. I got my licence in the next attempt.

This time I was riding my scooter. The DTC bus was charging me from behind like a CPWD bull. I had two choices: cross the road before the signal turned from amber to red or, stop suddenly at my peril. I crossed but was a little late, and the police constable stopped me. I explained to him in English, deliberately. “You see it was amber, and I should be given the benefit of doubt, more so because a DTC monster was chasing me from behind, as though he was hellbent to avenge for some misdeed of my previous birth.” He let me go. The senior inspector who always waits a little away by his bike, asked the constable, “Kya hogaya?” to which he replied, “Yeah kuch angrezi mein bol raha hai, Saheb.” By then I was a mile away.