:30 (Mumbai, India)

If I hear another fucking car horn hooting, I am going to go ballistic! Near the end of my two hour, 30 KM away, 15 million people in my way trip to the airport, I asked my driver if he could just hold back a little. But even though he did – the other millions refused. Everyone was into it. Like hooting the horn was a new cool hip trend – or like they were talking some automotive language that humans could not understand.

"What's with these petrol prices?" the Tata says.

"Who cares? We don't pay!" says the VW cutting off the Tata.

And the two vehicles beep-beep-beeeep their laughter.

I was amazed how the cars squeezed each other – nearly always colliding – how two lanes of cars crisscrossed in front of each other to make three sometimes four lanes of traffic. The cars shared almost a new kind of intimacy – like the regular Indian men who walked along the sides of the road holding hands.

This doesn't even include the hundreds of bicycles and motorbikes.

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