Janhavi Gadkar is now more famous than any lawyer of her age. That it’s the kind of fame nobody wants is entirely her own fault. The question most frequently asked in television discussions about her murderous journey to notoriety was this: as a qualified and practising lawyer shouldn’t she have known better? In fact, you don’t need a law degree to realise that driving after six pegs of whisky (equal to three doubles) and lots and lots of beer, you shouldn’t be behind the wheel of a car. All you need is common sense. (By the way, she and a friend put away five pitchers of beer, which is 20 glasses, in two hours. That’s one glass per 12 minutes per person. Add three doubles of whisky to that and you come to an impossible amount of alcohol in the blood stream).
Looked at objectively, cases of drunken driving, especially those which result in fata-lities, draw dispropor-tionate coverage in the media, considering how many people die in the country due to other kinds of accidents like industrial mishaps, crossing railway tracks, etc. This has to be because each case is different and interesting in its own way, and also because the accident involves a car, generally the vehicle of the well-to-do and the victims are more often than not poor, so that conscience-cleansing tears of indignation can be shed by people like us. Would this particular accident have drawn as much public attention if the car had been a tempo and behind the wheel was a professional driver rather than a young woman lawyer?
I have recently re-turned from a brief visit to Britain, a visit which involved a fair bit of inter-city travel by road. I was once again struck by the road discipline and courtesy exhibited by every driver without exception. I was also amazed that the temptation to commit minor transgressions, was firmly resisted. For example, at 7 am on a Sunday, when there was no traffic on the road, you could be sure the driver would stop for a red light.
There are a number of reasons for this. First of all, road manners and courtesy are an intrinsic part of the training imparted by driving schools. Second, driving tests are extremely tough and take into account your obser-vance of road discipline. Third is a set of strict laws governing traffic offences, their impartial enforcement and the point system for offen-ces, so that a repeater would be in danger of losing his or her licence. I remember being driven in a powerful Indian car on the M4 motorway (the car was a Jaguar, now owned by Tata).
The chauffeur cruised at a speed near the speed limit of 70 miles per hour. Not a single car on the road was going over the limit. “Since you never know where there’s a camera or radar,” said the chauffeur. “You would be foolish to exceed the speed limit.” The speed checking, penalty and identifying the errant driver are all automated and impersonal so that there is no chance of escape should you be caught. The only solution is to observe the law.
Contrast all this with our situation. In a megapolis like Mumbai, with its ever-growing population of cars, there are just 3,312 traffic policemen in the whole city. Between them, they have just nine — yes nine — speed guns to check over-speeding. The force has 90 breathalysers of which as many as 40 are out of order. Even these do not have enough disposable tubes so that if you are asked to blow in one, it’s more than likely that other people have used it before you.
As for training and driving tests, the less said the better. Your driving school instructors will ensure that you unlearn every manner that you may have imbibed at home. On the road, it’s dog eat dog and a courteous driver who stops for you is seen as being soft in the head. As for driving “tests”, a friend recently took one. He had to drive alone about 100 metre from the starting point to where the examiner was standing, do a turn and drive back to the starting point. That’s it and this is in Mumbai where you need real road skills to survive.
And enforcement? What was Ms Gadkar’s response when she got out of her battered Audi? She tried to buy the victims out with money, even though she had killed two of them. Maybe money can’t buy you love, but in India it can buy you most other things. especially those whose job it is to enforce the law.
There are a few other points to consider. Ms Gadkar walked out of her totalled car virtually injury-free because her Audi’s air bags opened and cushioned her from the impact. The car she hit was a taxi and a Maruti Omni at that. Older taxis in Mumbai seem to be exempted from the compulsory seat belts, which is absurd. But even seat belts are unlikely to save the front seat passengers of an Omni that has no nose or engine in the front as a buffer for its occupants. Why has this particular vehicle been approved for use as a taxi?
Another big deterrent to rash driving in the West is the insurance system. In India, you buy insurance for the car; the age, previous record of the driver, etc. are deemed to be irrelevant, whereas overseas, they play a large part in determining your premium. If you are young and have a bad driving record, the premium will be prohibitively expensive.
Finally, whatever you do, there will always be a Salman Khan or a Janhavi Gadkar on the road out to menace whoever crosses their path. But to reduce the possibility of them running amuck, there are many practical measures that can be taken by the state as this article has outlined. Paucity of funds can hardly be an excuse: the revenue that comes into the government kitty from cars is huge, so it’s only a lack of vision that prevents money being spent on equipment, training and all the other things that will ensure that our roads get a bit safer than they are.
The writer is a senior journalist
