Banalytics #1

Let me begin by making it absolutely clear, with the aid of a pictorial equation, what the following is in comparison to the field I’m aiming to mirror:

Now that that’s out of the way, let’s begin. As a budding all-powerful manipulator of droves of data that dare to derail the most diligent, it logically follows that applying what one learns at work, to the dullest, the most mundane of everyday observations and activities, can only be of help at this fledgling stage of one’s career. With that in mind, I strove to inculcate said habit and applied it to the morning’s drive to work. For my fellow citizens of New Delhi, this includes a drive through the majestic Inner Ring Road and past the liberating expanse of the DND expressway, and finally culminating somewhere near what can only be described as the badlands of UP.

For those not quite as well-initiated with the roadways of our nation’s capital, here’s an idea:

The above route is best explained by segmenting it into the below stages:

1. 0800–0825||Stage 1, aka from the residence of the beleaguered to the residences of the bourgeoisie: Post a frantic ridding-your-car-of-the-metal-tetris-puzzles-that-are-parking-lots session, the drive is relatively smooth along South-West Delhi roads. Only some minor hiccups present themselves herein, which are mostly solved by some (by city standards) positively polite swearing and honking. People are, of course, friendlier early in the morning, and acquiesce to not driving on the wrong side of the road only slightly grudgingly. As one skirts just-south-of-central Delhi, the honeymoon period starts to cease to exist, and the volume of traffic begins to manifest itself as the first beads of sweat as you begin to worry about who’s going to dent your car next:

2. 0825–0845||Stage 2, aka I’m gooiinngg unnddeeerr… : So now the Utopian phase is well and truly over and somewhere beyond Lajpat Nagar shit starts going down. There are two-wheelers hovering in frightening densities, buses are plying these fairly arterial routes in equally arbitrary orientations to the parallel, and both show equal disdain to horn-based/vocal complaints. The bleariness of sleep-hangovers has long since been wiped from the eyes. The RJ’s voice is just another distraction; the volume knob on the radio goes down and the AC is turned up. Despite the abundance of flyovers there still seems to be far too much volume on the roads than can be accommodated. Jaywalkers are a common occurrence, however they aren’t quite prepared to brave the ire of the vehicular crawl (yet), and may be equated to constants in a integration problem- they’ll always have the potential to be a nuisance right at the end, but for the most part they’re easily dealt with (some will actually use the foot-over bridges). The air is by now well-populated with colourful and decidedly non-affectionate curses:

3. 0845–0905||Stage 3, aka the Fatting of the Lamb: Past the haphazardly-navigated stretch somewhat perversely named Maharani Bagh, the expanse of the DND flyway beckons. Vehicles that were mired in the realm of sweat, tears and spatial uncertainty gaze in wonder as they behold the Promised Land- 8 WHOLE LANES with the concrete shining brightest grey in a beckoning, nigh-seductive fashion. Here, the RJ once again gets some attention, a faint reggae song can be heard playing in the back of one’s mind. For the next few kilometers, you’d almost see fellow commuters smile at each other if they could clearly comprehend objects moving at some 1/10th the speed of sound. 
 But from this splendid dream, alas, one must awake, for morning in a bowl of light, is but condemned to forever fling the stone that puts the stars to flight. The sight of the toll booth brings one back down to earth, a gentle reminder, as in life, that the sweetest times are the shortest-lived, and the most often remembered.

4. 0905-The Timelessness of the Void||Stage 4, aka welcome to the Wasteland: The Time has gone, the Song is over, thought I’d something more to say. As the toll booth recedes in the rear view mirror and one reluctantly casts one’s gaze to what lies ahead, thoughts are limited to facing the Hydra that is the Noida roadways system. It is the post-apocalyptic, lawless landscape that is the science-fiction writer’s best friend, the battlefield of Kurukshetra once all the astras have laid the land to desolation and the soil barren, as the crows swoop for carrion…you get the gist. Gone is any semblance of order but for Darwinian natural selection; the traffic signals have long since given up trying to function and jaywalkers are king or queen of all they survey, promenading the roads with blue-blooded impunity. You can imagine what it’s like when the sight of your workplace and those making the daily bovine strolls therein comes as a relief.

So that’s the morning’s drive taken care of. The one back in the evening is a separate story altogether but I fear I’ve reached the end of my tether as far as current MS Office chart-making skills go, so until we meet again, remember:

“You must unlearn, what you have learned. You will know good from bad when you are distraught, at loggerheads. Aggressive.”

“For in roads we enter a world that is entirely our own. Let them swerve through the most crowded of lanes or stop midway for no apparent reason.”

“It’s not what I drive, but who I crush underneath, that defines me.”