What one day of driving in Delhi can teach you

It was 10am and I was driving in Delhi. I had the navigation of my phone on, because I had to go to a place in Delhi I wasn't familiar with. Colonies in the capital are like cities onto themselves, and gates shut at night without warning, and definitely without declaration. I've often been stuck at night, ankles aching, heart pounding, in bustling Chittaranjan Park and Greater Kailashs' lanes; lanes peppered with "tyres will be deflated signs", or in leafy Vasant Kunj, staring at a once-open gate with no security guard. But today, I was going to be alright, because I was going to be on a main road, and not a residential colony, I told myself. 

Driving while listening to an annoying American accent on a phone's navigation, is like trying not to burst a vein. One has to think mathematically in metres (I can't think of doing this anywhere in my life, except in craft class) while desperately trying to understand which Indian road sign sounds closest to the ones pronounced in a decidedly American accent by the app. Some kid had broken my windshield wipers. That didn't matter, I told myself, too. I was, as always, trying to be zen, because ideally you should drive on Delhi's streets without remembering anyone's mothers and sisters, while everyone else is remembering your mothers and sisters. 

Then, it started raining. Eyes were squinted to look through one suddenly impossible windshield, as the remnants of the wipers languished sadly. The cool, disembodied voice on navigation continued its directions, and I was at least confident I wasn't driving blind (in metaphor). 

And then, I was staring at a dead-end. Try as technology might, no amount of GPS or satellite mapping can accurately foretell the construction going on in Delhi. Between one Metro construction and another upcoming elevated road, obstructions and no-roads ahead are everywhere, and all that can help you is not a snarky app on a smartphone, but rolling down a window and shouting questions to the universe. Or the nearest person. The map of Delhi-as-it-is, with its upturned manholes, its various construction schedules (which are not coordinated, no) and motley signs of men-at-work is like asking for a magical, infuriating, petrol-busting Marauders Map. I wonder then if we could have more than just traffic apps - these apps show you live information of where traffic jams exist, bottle-necks, and old bottle-necks that are miraculously and momentarily un-choked because the trucks have not yet come in. Would it be possible, I wonder, to have an app that showed traffic and construction schedules? My mind wanders to a little true story about a woman in the United States who called up a radio station to complain about a "deer crossing" sign. The deer shouldn't cross here, she said, make the deer cross elsewhere.

Absurd, but true. A bit like driving in Delhi. No, I decide, I don't think there could be an app for all that goes on (and under) Delhi's roads. I don't think anyone knows what is going on here, and how soon the freshly carpeted and laid new road will be dug up again, by labour not even provided with uniforms and safety gear.

Construction and destruction is everywhere, and so is the dust. Everyone has something to say about Delhi's dust, its poor air quality and its pollution. The embassies have alerts, the prime minister has declared a National Air Quality Index with new colour coding (though air quality has been consistently monitored in several cities, and the problem is really in follow-up action) but the Aam Aadmi Party is oddly quiet on this issue. I expect a re-branding soon, and maybe in a colour different than one the PM is suggesting?

After my meeting, I head home-wards on a familiar road. There, a never-bottlenecked area is like trying to get into the International Trade Fair. Cars and bikes are in haphazard chaos on the road, stuck, jammed, crammed, almost sewed together. People cross the road, haphazardly hopping between an inch here and two centimetres there. What's the matter, I wonder. Then a vision reveals itself: it is a group of traffic cops, impounding old vehicles. Many cars have been asked to get to the "side of the road" (which does not exist) and many other old-looking vehicles have been halted. More than 200 diesel vehicles were impounded in two days, belying any doubts cast on the traffic police's effectiveness, when it wants to be effective. I wonder, while I am driving but not really, because I am stuck, how a ban on diesel vehicles - this one is on ten year diesel vehicles - can be declared in a matter of days. The National Green Tribunal announced the ban in a court order. I think of the kaali-peeli old ambassador I would go to school in. How will the cops get around I wonder, given that they drive ancient gypsies? And what about ministry cars? 

The ban was enforced immediately, and the traffic cops were hauling old cars to the "side of the road". A long jam and much dust-swirling later, I am home. Later, it is recorded that many impounded cars have also been stolen. With perhaps more than a small bias towards well-running ambassadors, I ponder that old cars with valid fitness certificates should be allowed to run in Delhi, and newer cars, too, should be tested for fitness and pollution control.

The next day, papers tell me that the National Green Tribunal has put the ban on ten year old diesel cars on temporary hold, to make place for people (and government departments) to sort out their alternatives. That sounds more reasonable than immediate and urgent picketing. But then, another headline accompanies the first. Haryana has refused the existence of their (already existing) thick forest in the Aravalis. This frees up about 80,000 hectares of land (800km) for real estate and deforestation. The state suggests no new forests will be declared. This will impact the last big green lung in the NCR region. 

I think about one state starting to do something about air pollution, and its neighbouring state chopping down its oxygen pumps. Is there an app for the loss of common sense in the face of public issues? The chaos, clearly, has come full circle.