2 minutes reading time
You ever tried crossing the street in India and suddenly had a near-death experience courtesy of a huge ass car? No engine revs like yesteryear moto kids — these beasts don’t need to announce themselves. Their existence is already a declaration of war on pedestrians, bikers, and anyone who had the audacity to assume one-way signs mean anything on this planet.
Mahindra owners don’t drive. They bulldoze. The roads belong to them, the rulebook is a napkin they used to mop up their EgoSlurp™ cold coffee. Don’t expect them to wait at a signal, follow a lane, or not risk your life just to shave five seconds off their commute. Asking a Mahindra bro to obey traffic is like asking me to find love: cute, but hopeless.
A Mahindra approaching in the wrong direction on a one-way is basically the IRL version of “do you even know who my father is?” And their favourite pastime? Spicy hit-and-run roulette. They don’t even blink if your existence is slightly inconvenient. Pedestrians? Pawns. Bikers? Speedbumps. Street dogs? Just another screech on the brakes, if lucky.
Why do all the bad bastards buy Mahindras, and sometimes Fortuners? Because nothing says “I’m an unstable warlord with mommy issues” like driving a ten-ton SUV through a market at rush hour. These chaps love living dangerously, preferably at someone else’s expense.
Could there be a gentle Mahindra owner out there? Maybe. But there could also be a russel viper with the venom gland surgically removed—possible, but I wouldn’t stake my life on it. Stay away. That friendly-looking Thar owner is probably one wrong U-turn away from blessing your obituary.
If you see one—don’t cross the street. Cross realities. Become vapor. Let them have their way, and keep your limbs, dignity, and life intact. It’s not cowardice. It’s survival.
Listen to the lonely, sad, autistic ADHD guy, good at only two things: masturbating and spotting vehicular idiots. I will never find love, but I sure as hell know which cars to avoid.