India is a fairly busy place as you may or may not have heard. The easiest way to get around Delhi; I'm afraid, is to drive on the scary, scary streets. To drive (or even to be a passenger) is to take your life in your own hands and hope for the best.
Shortly after arriving I made the comment that driving in Delhi was proof of Darwin's theory: survival of the fittest. My cousin's husband corrected me and pointed out that it was really "survival of the craziest." He is a very wise man. It is no small coincidence that the only person in the Blogger Bitch family who has been crazy enough to drive is Hubby. I'm strictly a backseat kind of gal. Hmmm that didn't sound quite the way I intended. Oh well.
If you only had to battle other cars it wouldn't be (much) of a problem to drive. Unfortunately the car to everything else ratio is frightening. Here is a mental picture for you: one car, one bus that knows it owns the road, 4 tuk-tuks that move more slowly than the 8 bikes and finally 15 motorbikes. These vehicles aren't spread out over a mile or two, but rather the square foot that makes up your half a lane of space.
A unique safety device here in India the car horn. On a good day, the driver will sound his horn about three times every five minutes. (For those of you in Delhi thinking, "Only three!?" please remember that I said it was a good day.) Many people's side view mirrors are broken or completely missing but their car horns work perfectly. If the light just turned green and you're 5th in line to move, no problem: honk your horn! Want to change lanes and know that an indicator will be ignored, no problem: honk your horn!
Driving in Delhi is an adventure for the ages... or something.