Drive Me Deadly
Driving under influence is everybody’s problem
Last night, I had the rather unique experience of attending a stand-up comedy act in a concert arena. It was for the sheer size of this performer’s devoted fan base that such a massive venue was chosen to host an event that usually commands spatial intimacy. There simply isn’t a pub or theatre in the city of New Delhi that could accommodate them all.
The show was two hours long (including the opening act), on a Friday night. Now, the caveat of this situation was that alcohol is typically a shoo-in with comedy shows, following the long history of stand-up acts burgeoning in bars and pubs. Even so, the public drinking norms of the city couldn’t possibly be bent for this (admittedly epic) performance. The fans, of course, were stoked but considerably low in roaring exuberance with the dearth of intoxicants in their bodies.
Immediately after the show was over, I was engulfed by a sea of bodies making their way out of the arena. Most were pressing smartphones to their faces, fervently coordinating with drivers to airlift them from the impossibly packed venue, or making plans to continue the night’s programme. I spilled out of the flood gates and stopped a small distance away by a vendor selling spiced sweet potato, a wintertime staple in my city. As I stood absorbed in the smoky, sweet flavours, I overheard a garrulous group of boys behind me.
“…woh kutton jaisi awaaz nikaal raha hai. Saale ko meri ek baat nahi samajh aa rahi,” (…he’s making dog-like sounds. F*cker can’t get a thing I’m saying!) proclaimed one of them, making no attempts to stash his glee. He was clearly on the phone at the same time.
A spatter of guffaws.
A second one piped, “Toh woh aa raha hai ya nahi??” (So is he coming or not??”).
“Abey o! Gaadi start ho paayi? Pehle chaabhi daal! Phir hi toh ghumaega!” (Dude! Could you start the car? First put the key IN! No point in turning it before that!), said the guy into the phone.
More laughter, this time with boisterous back slapping. I turned to check them out. They looked just short of twenty one. The boy on the phone was a tall, lanky fellow with barely a shadow of a beard. Here was a group of visibly well-bred, innocuous kids setting a plan into motion that began with them being picked up by a friend who was so high, he couldn’t see two feet ahead of himself.
“Ab kahan?,” (Where to next?), said a heavyset guy.
“Apna usual,” (The usual) said the guy with the phone, putting the device into his pocket seemingly convinced that his friend had managed to start off.
I was joined then by my own friends,who plucked me away leaving my mind at considerable unease with what I had just witnessed.
You might say I have no stakes in the way these boys choose to shun their morals. But my discomfort isn’t a result of moral responsibility, but social responsibility. These boys, with their encouragement (and seeing their visible gusto, possible participation as well) of driving under influence, were a hazard to others on the road. It’s like a suicidal person who’s worthy of all the compassion in the world till, in a fit of unchecked rage, he kills someone. All of a sudden, he’s a threat.
Besides, these boys are exactly the kind of company your mother warned you about. They aren’t friends. Friends don’t put other friends in situations that can cost them their lives. That friend who convinces you every other weekend that driving drunk is alright is least concerned about you. He cares only about your company, which he seems to value most when neither of you are in senses enough to care who’s with or around you.
We feel guilt when faced with situations warranting an ethical discourse that we are compelled to leave unaddressed. What was I compelled by? The ridicule, or presumed indifference of a too-cool-for-rules society. I was, at the root of it, affected by the same sense of irresponsibility in not addressing the situation as these boys.
Some time ago, I was travelling in an auto helmed by a particularly chatty driver. Amongst talk of his love of movies, his experiences in travelling around India and his insistence to converse in English (which was extremely broken but admirable in spirit), he spoke of a time when he witnessed a rape attempt in a part of Delhi not too far from where I was at that moment. I listened, aghast, as he described in vivid detail how the man first stabbed the woman in the face and then attempted to tear her clothes off. The first thing I asked when he finished was what he did about it. He said he hid and watched. Upon asking why, he replied, “Kaun in jhamelon mein ghusega? Aaj aap ka koi khoon karne ko try kare, koiii aap ki madad nahi karega. This Delhi saab” (Who’s going to bother getting into such situations? If someone tries to murder you today, nobodyyy’s going to help you. This is Delhi, sir).
As horrifying as this is, how different was his situation from the one I had faced outside the concert arena? I too, turned my back on a crime being committed that could have lead to the loss of innocent lives. Drunk driving may sound diminutive stacked against rape and murder, but it is a felony with deadly consequences. Turning a blind eye to a potentially lethal crime is an offence, the slightest penalty of which is a sense of guilt.
I have few friends, and I certainly don’t want some of them dead as a result of their own foolhardiness or anyone else’s.
The power to save lives lies with you at your next party.
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