Having lived in Delhi since 1958, I have watched with increasing dismay and despondency, the growth and proliferation of not just cars but also a new species of drivers, the government drivers. These are persons who drive vehicles owned or rented by the government. They have multiplied like rabbits and pose the same level of nuisance to other road users. Indeed, so outrageous is their behaviour that many people in Delhi have decided to paint a sign on their private vehicles that says ‘On Government Duty’ or more simply ‘Government Vehicle’. The idea is to get preferential parking or the license to jump the red lights at traffic signals or drive recklessly or even to just feel nice that no one will check your conduct.
But it’s not always that easy for the ordinary citizens because the police can tell the difference between a genuine government vehicle and a pretender. Because a real government vehicle is never driven by a guy who is dressed in designer clothes and who is usually quite well-mannered. A real government driver, the truly genuine article, is just the opposite. That’s why even if you can’t judge a book by its cover, you can certainly judge a government vehicle by its driver. They have that air about them, like they think they own the roads and the parking spaces.
So what is it about these guys? What explains their unruliness on the roads and in parking lots? Where does that sense of entitlement come from? I have asked both the government and the non-government drivers these questions. The former don’t understand the question. They take their rights for granted. The latter simply utter frustrated expletives because they get hauled up by the police while their government counterparts are allowed to do as they please. At airport or railway station pickup points, for example, not content with the special VIP places, these fellows wait with impunity at the general places while others are chased away. If James Bond had the licence to kill, these fellows have the licence to be an utter and complete nuisance. It’s hugely annoying, but if you tell a cop, he tells you to go away instead and not so politely either.
Many years ago, I had the utterly humiliating experience of the policeman banging his stick on my bonnet while gesturing to me to leave. I did so and watched in my rear view mirror a government car take my rightful place. Then the cop and the driver got into a friendly chat. Humiliation. Rage. Frustration. All of no use. White colonial masters have been replaced by these brown ones.
But there are exceptions when the ordinary citizen goes one up. A former very senior and ranking officer of the Reserve Bank of India once told me how when he came out of the arrivals hall at the airport, he had to wait for his car to come, while the man who was walking just ahead of him had his car waiting right there at the curb. No hanging around for him, even for a minute.
The RBI man asked his protocol officer — the protocol thing is another story, for another day — who the man was. The reply proved that for every big shot in India, there’s an even bigger shot. Apparently, and I don’t know if this is true or just a rumour, there are a few private number plates in every city that are unburdened by normal rules. These numbers are so exclusive that even government vehicles of VIPs don’t have them. These poor sahibs have to rely on their drivers, instead, for getting special consideration.