Hey all, wassup, hello, hi, what ho! and all that.
I've said this before and I shall say it again. Any normal self respecting Hyderabadi normally drives on the road like its family business. I mean, if you took this chappie and put him on Mohammad Ali road in Mumbai (I still like to call it Bombay, tch.), he would drive like Mr. M. Ali was his father. The endorphin/adrenaline kick is well, really a kick here and the absolute lack of any thrill ride parks in Hyd is also explained by this phenomenon called traffic. Death defying stunts and car sequences belittling the scenes in "Ronin" are but a daily occurrence for our subject Mr. M. Ali's son. Suffice to say, if you can drive in Hyderabad, you can drive anywhere on this planet. Which is all good and all that.
But (There is always one, the but, that is.) if you can park in Hyderabad, you can't park nowhere else.
(This sentence, on the whole, is for my American friends who are basically from here but have stayed near the hood for a couple of years and call petrol 'gas', and use double negatives everywhere.)
A typical parking scenario is depicted in the illustrations below:
So there you have it. I can withstand the driving, but please, for the sake of my shattered nervous system and Ursa major, please learn to parallel park. C'mon O Goltis of Goltiland, fear not, for like you can always teach an old dog new tricks, you can also learn to park. For your sons and daughters toil in Boston, Mississippi, and other places, for they call petrol 'gas', for they use 'uh huh, I see that, uh huh' even when talking to Salim chicha with lubber chappal, for whom the USA is "Our country" (I find this tough to tolerate. Alright, so you've stayed there for some time, this still is YOUR country. ), for their sake, learn to forking park.
Muchos Gracias.
I've said this before and I shall say it again. Any normal self respecting Hyderabadi normally drives on the road like its family business. I mean, if you took this chappie and put him on Mohammad Ali road in Mumbai (I still like to call it Bombay, tch.), he would drive like Mr. M. Ali was his father. The endorphin/adrenaline kick is well, really a kick here and the absolute lack of any thrill ride parks in Hyd is also explained by this phenomenon called traffic. Death defying stunts and car sequences belittling the scenes in "Ronin" are but a daily occurrence for our subject Mr. M. Ali's son. Suffice to say, if you can drive in Hyderabad, you can drive anywhere on this planet. Which is all good and all that.
But (There is always one, the but, that is.) if you can park in Hyderabad, you can't park nowhere else.
(This sentence, on the whole, is for my American friends who are basically from here but have stayed near the hood for a couple of years and call petrol 'gas', and use double negatives everywhere.)
A typical parking scenario is depicted in the illustrations below:
So there you have it. I can withstand the driving, but please, for the sake of my shattered nervous system and Ursa major, please learn to parallel park. C'mon O Goltis of Goltiland, fear not, for like you can always teach an old dog new tricks, you can also learn to park. For your sons and daughters toil in Boston, Mississippi, and other places, for they call petrol 'gas', for they use 'uh huh, I see that, uh huh' even when talking to Salim chicha with lubber chappal, for whom the USA is "Our country" (I find this tough to tolerate. Alright, so you've stayed there for some time, this still is YOUR country. ), for their sake, learn to forking park.
Muchos Gracias.
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