Poda, my-rage

I've expressed my love for driving on more than one occasion up here. The following incident is true word for word. Read and let read.

The car had been deposited in the service centre for its periodic overhaul and i was entrusted with the job of driving it back home while dad made the necessary financial exchanges and rode home in his bike. So with the vehicle out from the service station, we did a few quick checks (signs of uncleaned niches, the customary oops-sorry-sir-the-wiper-blades-must-have-been-overlooked excuse, to name a few) and the baby was ready to roll. The smell of cleaning fluid filled the cab as I got it out onto the road, and the car felt as sprightly as a newly serviced vehicle feels.

All was well on a cloudy November evening until I got to this junction near the posterior end of Chalai. There dwells quite a busy intersection there, guarded by a traffic policeman ever ready to pounce on you if you aren't wearing your seat belts. I did have the necessary strap embracing my torso, so he merely glanced in my direction. The road has signals guarding the left, forward and right. As I approached the lights, they turned to red and I stopped in the lane which was supposed to proceed left.

There is this convention regarding the left lane in this place, which tends to approximate on the fact that the left lane signal is an appendix. Basically, every Thomman, Dinkan and Hariharan ignores the signal and pass right through. It was under these circumstances that I committed the grievous error of having stopped at a red light. A Maruti 800 drove up behind me and started honking its guts out. A glance at the rear view mirror showed a kinda middle aged guy driving, with presumably his wife inhabiting the other seat up front.
I remained still. The reason? Firstly, the light was red. And secondly (before you call me a sissy), there were some people crossing the road to my left (which the gentleman still leaning on his horn behind me couldn't see). Hence, like I said, I stayed put.

But not without doing something I love. I imitated his honking, tone for tone and rhythm for rhythm. It went on for a couple of stanzas, before he vented his ire and shouted at me from the back. At this point I had had enough of it and took off across the road, ignoring the stop sign. This happened in something like fifteen seconds or so. Now, the chap ended up tailing me and honking as if asking for way. I was belting out a steady forty kmph but he wasn't satisfied. There were a couple of trucks to my left, in plain view from his car as well, so I guessed the guy was just trying to take out his irritation. I went back to imitating the honking. At this point something clearly happened to him and he started honking continuously, doing a peeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep. I answered with an equally long peeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep (I had my blood rushing at this point), and finding the left side clear, let the goddamn chap overtake.

As he drew up to my right, I knew what was about to happen.

"Odikkan arinjoodeda mairey!", he spat forth. (Dontcha know how to drive, you #&*^#)

And then, came out my first ever reply to road rage. I was beside myself, and shouted out in full volume:

"Athu nintachann, po mairey!" (That's your dad, go to hell you #&*^#)

My face flushed when I shouted it out (it was quite loud) and I realised what I did. Of course it was good while it lasted, in case you're wondering.
The bloke had overtaken me, and had heard it. I noticed his brake lights come on, as he attempted to slow me down. I daresay I did feel a bit scared at this. I hadn't given a thought to how hulking a chap was sitting inside, or considered the fact that I hardly presented a formidable image myself.

But no, he merely slowed down and said a few words which weren't reaching my ears in the din, and all I saw were his hands which were pointed at me as if threatening me (with no doubt, dire consequences). I honked another pattern (yes, that is fun!) and left him to drive away.

I spotted the unfortunate fucker held up at the next junction where I took a different turn and reached home safe and sound. And fast.

Now, I might have been wrong in some matters -
1. Not having followed the so-called convention while the red light was ablaze. (and not having chosen to mow down the people in that lane)
2. Committing a fallacy in deducing that his dad was the one who should be addressed 'mairey'.
3. Generally leading to flaring of tempers by irritating people.

However, if this is the case with middle aged motherfuckers who accuse the younger generation being irresponsible and flouting rules, this is a fuckin bat to their faces. There are just as many hopeless cases in their generation as there seems to be in mine. If haughtiness rules here, hypocrisy reigns supreme there.
Alright, he might have been in an emergency, you might click your tongue. I have one word - HEADLAMPS. Put the fuckin headlamps on, and drive with a pair of fully functional balls.

This goes equally well for those who cry their hearts out regularly on The HIndu Open Page, saying the world is going to end because of the younger generation. You say rash driving? Please drive well yourself. We listen to crap music is it? Recognise Kambhoji played on an electric guitar with distortion before I do and I will admit that.

You feel we have no respect for elders?

Then mairey, Y U CALL ME MAIREY?