So last night I was involved in car accident. I’m getting a bit worried about this new trend I’m on involving cars and being hit. I really hope the third time isn't the charm/end of me.
Anyways this tale begins the way all good stories in Hyderabad should begin – with hot wings. See my friend Gopal invited me out to some sports bar. I normally don’t care for sports bars in Hyderabad – or really care much for Hyderabad in general – but this time there was a hook – the potential for authentic, spicy, and tangy chicken wings at this new bar.
And, for once, I wasn’t disappointed. The wings were AWESOME. They had 4 different flavors – just like America’s favorite restaurant – Hooters. Asian ginger chili was particularly good, but buffalo is always great. Oh except one wasn’t so good. Habanera extra spicy. That one made me cry. No seriously – tears came down my face it hurt so bad.
Oh and one more piece of background information that might be more relevant than dead poultry – Gopal only recently learned to drive stick and to drive in India.
So we’re heading out of the bar. None of us has really drank (believe it or not) tonight and it was maybe 10pm on a Wednesday night. We’re heading straight down a road at a moderate speed when BAM (not the Emeril Lagasse kind unfortunately). Some fat ass slams his car into our side, then swerves off the divider and goes crashing into the other side of the road. We pull over. Our car definitely has dents in it and some kind of fluid (not gas) is leaking from the bottom. The other guy’s car is pretty fucked up. So is the other guy. He’s trashed. Unbelievably trashed.
Case closed right? Drunk driver hit us from the side. In any civilized country he’d be on his way to jail in 10 minutes, we’d have all the info we need to collect from his insurance, and we’d be home in an hour. But this isn't a civilized country, this is India.
The guy, who I’ll go ahead and nickname “Fucker”, was with 4 of his friends. As you’d expect, we start ranting at them in a mix of Hindi and Telegu with lots of “fuck yous” sprinkled in for good measure. Fucker can barely stand and keeps asking us essentially what the big deal was and why don’t we just go along. He’s also very touchy-feely with us which kind of makes us want to burn our skin off. We finally figure out how to call the cops and ask them to come to the accident site.
Fifteen minutes later two police men roll in on a scooter. Neither of the two is armed. Neither of them even have paper. Or a clue. However they do have a bag full off…..BIRY-fuckin-ANI. Only in Hyderabad.
Oh wait – sorry I forgot the best part. THE COPS ARE DRUNK TOO.
Meanwhile fucker and his 3 friends have called everyone they know and slowly at least 15 “friends” (i.e. goons) start assembling at the site. What’s remarkable about these 15 men is that they all look EXACTLY THE SAME. They all have the same tell-tale going-to-have-cardiovascular-issues potbelly. They all have the same annoying mustache. They are all atrociously ugly. They are all buzzed. And worst of all, they are all wearing tacky shiny shirts.
We finally force the caravan to make the move to the police station so we can file a report. Since the cops can’t transport anybody on their dinky scooter and we refuse to let fucker get into his friend’s car and ditch us, I’m forced to ride in the back with this trash dump of a human being.
A few minutes later we arrive at the police station.This is where I lose all faith in India humanity.
The police could not possibly be less competent or more blatantly corrupt. They would literally be taking our side – and then step outside for 5 minutes with one of the goons – and come back and start yelling at us. One of the goons even asked ME to step outside to discuss. As if his 500 rupees was going to convince me to abandon a friend who knew where to go for the best hot wings in the city.
Oh incidentally I think its telling that the cops and the criminals looked exactly the same. Ugly.
Fucker even had the balls to make the argument that he wasn’t the driver. This despite the fact that there were at least 4 witnesses (including me) who saw him and were standing right there. This was too much even for the cops. So one of them punched fucker in the back and all of a sudden he remembered that he was, in fact, as it turns out, the driver. Ooops.
Meanwhile, the goons kept trying to force us to “compromise” rather than press charges and we’d have none of it. They made the really compelling argument about how fortunate we were that they weren’t asking us to pay for the damage to their car. One of them walked by me and commented about how much “fun” we’d have later (i.e. when they followed us and beat the crap out of us). I gave him a big fat NYC style FUCK YOU and flicked him off. I’m really mature.
Later I saw this same guy bending over and I saw his fake, parrot green “Playboy” banded boxer-briefs. That’s when I knew I’d be just fine.
Anyways to make a long story short everything did not turn out just fine. The police kept trying to convince Gopal not to file a case because it would require too much work on their part (they openly admitted this was the reason).
When we insisted they said they’d provide the report in the morning. When we asked for something in writing that we’d get a report in the morning they refused. When we tried to write down the cops names and numbers they yelled at us and accused us of not trusting them (can you imagine?). Simultaneously the dirty goons were making arguments with the police about why they should rip up the written statement Gopal had produced. The goons argument involved 1000 rs notes. Around 2AM, the goons won, we lost. We left empty-handed. The goons stayed behind to finalize the terms with the cops and we left alive. Incredible India!
The illustrious Jubilee Hills Police Station.
Dirty goons
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