I can’t pinpoint exactly when motion sickness started affecting me. In Jalpaiguri, I used to take the bus to school and back without any issues. But after moving to Hyderabad, something shifted. I began to feel nauseous during the bus ride to school, often vomiting. My school’s sick room, a simple space with a bed, became my sanctuary while the staff called home for someone to come get me. By the time I reached home, the sickness would be gone, and I’d play like nothing had happened. This pattern continued for a couple of months, eventually fading away, only to reappear later in life, making road trips to hill stations a challenge. Even if I didn’t throw up, the queasiness would remain, a constant annoyance. My son, unfortunately, seems to have inherited this from me. I hope that regular travel between Ooty and Coimbatore will eventually help him overcome it.
Despite my struggles with motion sickness, I got my driver’s license 28 years ago and have driven extensively across India—in Kolkata, Delhi, Mumbai, Pune, Ooty, and many other places. Each city has its unique driving quirks, but Delhi stood out. I had a white Maruti 800, when I was living there during my first job. It was secondhand but sturdy, reliable, and always by my side, just like Herbie.
Herbie, the iconic Volkswagen Beetle with a mind of its own, is a beloved character from a series of movies produced by Disney. There were 5 films in this series. Throughout the Herbie movies, the car’s charm, resilience, and ability to form strong connections with its drivers remain consistent themes.
My Maruti never broke down, except once with a flat tire, but even then, it happened right in front of a petrol station, where help was at hand. Driving in Delhi, however, was a whole new challenge. It was not just about managing the roads; it was about handling the unpredictability and chaos that came with Delhi’s aggressive driving culture. As a female driver in Delhi, I encountered my share of aggression, but my Maruti and I navigated through it all.
There are some hairy tales though, during my time in Delhi.
The Noida incident took place in the middle of a blistering Delhi day, when the sun cast unforgiving shadows on the streets. I was on my way back from Noida after dropping off a friend, exhausted from a few days of wedding celebrations. My phone was dead, and I had no cash. We had been staying at a friend’s place for the wedding, which was in Shankar Vihar, while my home was in GK2. I thought it would be a kind gesture to drop my friend off at her place in Noida, but little did I know the trouble it would bring. From Shankar Vihar to Noida to GK2, the drive felt endless, even though the traffic wasn’t as crazy as it is today—this was back in 2001. In retrospect, my choice to drive the extra distance to be nice might not have been the best decision.
After I dropped off my friend, I started heading home. I followed a truck through a bustling intersection, not realizing it had just run a red light, leaving me stranded in a sea of cars surging from every direction. Out of nowhere, a scooter smashed into my car, and suddenly, I was swarmed by a crowd. The noise was deafening—horns blaring, people yelling, fists banging on my windshield. It was like I was at the center of a storm, with chaos swirling all around me.
The mob seemed ready to burst through my car windows, but thankfully, my doors were locked and the windows rolled up. I knew better than to step out of the car, and instead, I stayed calm and spoke through the closed window. I apologized to the injured scooter rider, who came over with a big bruise and noticeable limp, and explained that I had no money on me. I offered my phone number and car details, promising to cover his medical expenses, and even offered to take him to the hospital in my car. He declined my offer to go to the hospital but took my number. Meanwhile, a police constable arrived on the scene, asking me to accompany him to the police station. I refused, insisting that I had already given my information to the injured man, and that I had no intention of leaving my car. The constable seemed to understand the volatile nature of the crowd and started dispersing them, asking them to move along.
The entire time, I maintained a calm demeanor, despite my racing heart. I smiled through the window, assuring everyone that the situation was under control. Slowly, the crowd dispersed, those who were sprawled on my windshield smiled back at me, and slowly slid off. The constable signaled for me to move forward. As I drove away, I felt my heart relax, realizing I had been holding my breath. With a calm demeanor and a few well-chosen words, I diffused the situation and got back on the road. It was a close call, but my trusty Maruti and presence of mind saved the day.
Another time, late at night, I was chased by two young men in a Maruti Esteem. They were blaring loud music and driving recklessly, seemingly enjoying the thrill of the chase. I kept my composure, accelerating and then suddenly braking before a sharp turn, causing them to overshoot. I quickly turned and sped off, leaving them behind. It felt like a scene from a high-speed action movie, but it was my reality in Delhi. The whole time, I was praying that nothing should wrong.
The third incident, oddly enough, happened while my father was visiting on official business. He was staying at Banga Bhavan, so I went to meet him and stayed there for a day. It was around 9:00 PM, and we were driving through the somewhat darkened streets of Delhi. The signal on Barakhamba Road turned red, so I stopped the car. My father was sitting beside me, and everything seemed normal—until it wasn’t.
I have a sixth sense for trouble, especially in Delhi. I glanced over my shoulder and saw a man peering into my car through the rear window. His eyes met mine, and I didn’t like what I saw. I turned to my father and said, “I think this guy has done something to the car. He’s acting strange.” My father wasn’t sure what to make of it and dismissed it, thinking I was overreacting.
But my instincts were right. As the light turned green, I tried to move forward, but the car stalled. The signal changed, traffic was backing up, and the car refused to start. Fortunately, Hailey Road, where Banga Bhavan is situated, was just ahead, so we managed to push the car off to the side, but my heart was racing. Local people helped us out, and we managed to get back to Banga Bhavan. By the next morning, my father had asked the guards to inspect the car, and it turned out that the fuel line had been tampered with. Some guy on the street had pulled it out, causing the breakdown. And this happened while my father was right there with me—imagine if I’d been alone on an empty road. It was chilling to think about.
In Delhi, one always needed to be on high alert. It made me learn to stay cautious but not let fear hold me back. You have to stay sharp, always thinking ahead. My own Herbie was my reliable companion through it all. “I think you underestimate the power of the little guy.” – From “Herbie Rides Again” (1974).
