The Italian Yob

CARLO PIZZATI ASSERTS HIS PRIVILEGES AS A SON-IN-LAW OF THE LAND IN THE MAZE THAT IS CHENNAI TRAFFIC

- Carlo Pizzati

It’s time for that Italian manoeuvre to beat the traffic. Cross over, start a U-turn by rolling down the window, waving my arm wildly at incoming traffic and warn I’m going to go for it.

Then shove the nose of the car into the opposite lane, force an auto-rickshaw, a moped, a bike and a car to slam on their brakes and let me ease into their lane, shaving a millimetre off the bark of a nearby poplar tree.

“Amazing what a white arm can do in Chennai traffic, ay?” I comment to my wife and to my mother-in-law, who’s nervously clutching the fake leather seat in the back.

“Oh, you think it’s that post-colonial power still?” my wife asks.

“Guaranteed. Did you see anyone complain? No one. It’s that crazy Westerner again. They’re too shocked to start an argument. Not a beep, nor a peep. White man’s privilege!” Traffic in Chennai? Worst traffic in India. I mean there’s Auroville. That’s right—try driving out or into Auroville at night and you’ll see. You probably think peace and quiet, spirituality and brotherhood. Forget it. Wild cattle roaming the dark, narrow and badly paved roads. Bicycles without a headlight in zero public lighting are more likely what you’ll get.

Everyone’s used to the skinny holy cows roaming about the highway on the East Coast Road as the engine hits 120 km/hr. And I’m no newcomer to bovine- dodging either.

But Auroville at night, I promise, will make you lose one point of your eyesight and maybe a square cm of hair somewhere in your receding hairline. Not to mention the washed up, weathered vellais: Italians, Germans, Belgians, French, Canadians, Americans who go Easy Rider, ‘head out on the highway looking for adventure, for whatever comes our way...b-b-b-booooorn to be wiiiiiild!’