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Traffic: Why we Drive the Way we do
(And What it Says About us) EVER since human beings found ways to propel themselves artificially, traffic has been mankind’s bugbear. Pompeii had one-way streets to regulate wagons better, one of Caesar’s titles was curatores viarum or "director of the great roads", and one of his important edicts was to ban the entry of carts and chariots in Rome, with certain exceptions, of course. Speeding restrictions go back to the 15th century in which in London, drivers were asked to ensure that their cart travelled at the same speed whether it was loaded or not, or else they had to pay a 40 pence fine and / or face imprisonment. By 1720, traffic fatalities from "furiously-driven" carts and coaches were the leading cause of death in London, displacing fire and "immoderate quaffing". A disconcerting observation that Vanderbilt makes, and supports with piles of data, is about the sketchiness of what we really see when we’re driving. We just don’t pay attention. Though, most of us, who are not brain surgeons, driving is probably the most complex everyday thing we do in our lives." Vanderbilt says this is so
because researchers have estimated that there are anywhere from 1,500 to
2,500 discrete skills and activities we undertake while driving. Even
the simplest thing — shifting gears — is a decision-making process
consuming what is called "cognitive workload". When we forget
that driving isn’t necessarily as easy as it seems to be, we get into
trouble. We should take some lessons from ants, whose
"three-lane" traffic management comes across as a wonderful
collective endeavour to reach common goals (food and habitat). The author visited Delhi and found the driving mantra: "Good horn, good brakes and good luck." He was also fascinated by how during rush hour traffic, 48 modes of transport vie for space on the road where peak-hour traffic can be 2,000 cars and 6,000 cycles per lane per hour! At this time, the cyclists squeeze into lanes meant for cars. This slows down the traffic to a crawl. Observing this, the author appreciates how the lane system, devised for homogenous traffic, is defeated by the sheer diversity and density of traffic in New Delhi. You can gauge a nation’s driving behaviour by its levels of corruption, he maintains, and gives the example of Belgium and the Netherlands. Both have similar level of economic development, but in Belgium the fatalities are higher, as is the level of corruption. The book is car-centric and Vanderbilt has not explored mass transit vehicles and pedestrians in the detail that one would have liked. This minor quibble apart, there is no doubt that this is a book which leaves the reader better informed and its conversational style makes for interesting reading. The way he brings together history, sociology, statistics and plain ol’e human interaction makes leaves us hungering for more. Through Traffic we take the path less travelled and an everyday phenomenon becomes a fascinating journey into human culture, animal behaviour, mechanical engineering and national idiosyncrasies. That we learn much more about what we routinely take for granted actually means a lot at various levels. If we can introspect, he gives us an opportunity to learn to pay more attention, and in the process, travel safely.
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