Now, to be absolutely honest, it didn’t feel like a Maruti 800; it felt like someone had stepped on my foot. So I wasn’t in any great pain. But I was hopping mad.
For one thing, it was my left foot, which means that it was on the right side of the car – i.e., the driver’s side. So it wasn’t as if he couldn’t have seen it if he wanted to.
For another thing, how can you just go and drive over some poor, hapless two-wheeler-rider’s foot without the slightest provocation? I mean, it just isn’t on.
Well, as I say, I wasn’t really hurt and anyway the light had changed and the car had gone ahead. Being on my rattletrap Scooty, it looked unlikely that I could catch up with him, so there wasn’t anything I could do, so I just continued on my way.
Strangely enough, the Maruti 800 went a good bit down the ring road and then pulled over to the left. Whether the fellow had to take a leak, or whether he was waiting for me to catch up so he could make amends, I don’t know, and I didn’t bother to find out. I pulled up next to him and let him have it the best I could. To his credit, he didn’t try to turn the blame on me, or even to defend himself. He made guttural, placatory noises while chewing gum at me like a cow chewing the cud. So, having let off a bit of steam (but nowhere near enough) and having refused to let him get a word in edgeways, I drove off.
(The whole effect was somewhat diluted by the fact that my stupid Scooty stalled on me and I had to use my left foot to kick-start it, thus wonderfully demonstrating that there was, in fact, nothing in the least bit wrong with my foot.)
I had already noticed that his car had a Delhi license number. Is it just my prejudice or is it true that Delhi drivers are much more ruthless, callous and utterly lacking in the least bit of courtesy than the rest of the modern world?
Anyway, my foot is fine – thank goodness for my Nike sneakers!