Dry and Dusty

I saw death hurtling towards me as her soft fingers clutched me fiercely. The driver dodged yet another monster truck on a single lane highway. Foul obscenities floated outside the open driver window and wafted away in the wind. Never to find their intended recepient. During the routine december migrations to India, we often find ourselves scared to death during these routine commutes. The symphony of blaring horns becomes a part of our existence. You can imagine my surprise when i noticed that our driver hadn't used the horn even once. I mention this to him, saying "I'm impressed". You drive like an american, i say. He flashes me toothy grin, and says " I used to drive the class C automobiles". I raise my eyebrows and nod along to hide my autognorance. Over the course of the commute, i notice another couple of things. The cassette player(yeah!) is hanging out of its box. I silently toy with it for a while and my glance surges towards the rearview mirror. There isn't one. As we dodge another mobile, i confirm with him my lingering suspicions