The Gap, the Wedge, and the Streak

While hunting for the underlying logic of Mumbai’s traffic chaos, everything came together last week and a Unifying Theory of Traffic emerged. Illustration by C Y Gopinath using AI

One day in 1992, Ramu the Bamu learned that he had to go to Pune to attend a meeting. Back then, reaching Pune could take as long as eight hours on a two-lane road wide enough for a truck.

And there were lumbering trucks aplenty, slowing down everyone behind them to their pace. An impatient taxi driver would edge into the wrong side of the road and, seeing no oncoming traffic, quickly overtake the truck and fall in line behind the next truck ahead.

The buccaneer taking Ramu the Bamu to Pune decided to save time by just staying in the wrong lane permanently, zipping past the trucks all together rather than one by one. My brother, may God rest his soul, saw a hill coming up. What if there was another vehicle approaching at high speed from the other side?
"Please," he implored his taxi driver. "Please stay in your lane."

"When you have to go, you have to go," the driver sang merrily. "I will die when it is so written."

"Where is it so written that you have to take me with you?" screamed Ramu the Bamu, just as they crested the hill.

As he had feared, another vehicle was bearing down on them at break-neck speed.

"We're both going to die," said Ramu the Bamu. He closed his eyes, so that his life may flash before them.

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There is now a six-lane expressway to Pune, and people stay in their lanes. In panic-stricken Mumbai, however, the lane is seen as a devilish government tactic to restrict, harass and slow you down for no good reason. Everyone else seems hell-bent on blockading your simple journey from point A to B: autorickshaws, cars, tempos, motorcycles, trucks and sometimes cement mixers. They're screeching and honking in Dolby stereo; your eardrums are in shreds.
What should a driver do?

In the last six months, researching Bombai, the book I am writing, I have hunted for the logic under Mumbai's traffic chaos. Last week, everything came together and a Unifying Theory of Traffic emerged that captured the mind of the average Mumbai driver perfectly.

It consists of three words: Gap, Wedge and Streak.

The Gap is the space between vehicles. Every driver on a crowded Mumbai road is a gap-hunter, looking for a space that can accommodate their vehicle. If four trucks (width ~244 cm) stood side by side on the four-lane Western Distress Highway, only a motorcycle (~83 cm), a handcart (~99 cm) or a pedestrian (~50 cm at the shoulders) would squeeze into the gaps (~111 cm each). However, an auto (~136 cm) could easily move into the space between two cars.

But we have a problem. The gaps are not fixed but fluctuate, narrowing and widening arbitrarily as differently sized vehicles move in search of squeeze-sized gaps. The more manoeuvrable autos and motorcycles have the advantage because they can turn sharply on a dime.

The war of the gap-hunters ensures that every vehicle on every road moves opportunistically, depending on the gaps opening or closing in front of them.
The Wedge comes into play when traffic is frozen, say at an intersection where the north-south traffic is jammed, blocking the east-west traffic. My auto driver is boiling with rage, barricaded by two Beamers standing bumper to bumper. How he hates the rich! But he decides to become a Wedgie: he moves his auto forward just two inches to invade the second Beamer's space. He's wedged himself, effectively immobilising that car with the threat of a collision.

When the front Beamer moves a few inches forward, the auto pushes deeper until the wedge widens into a gap and he sails through - leading a triumphant cavalcade of honking autos and cars through the breach.

The Streak, the most daredevil manoeuvre of them all, happens when a vehicle approaches a fast-closing gap at high speed and decides to make a dash for it. Instead of braking, he accelerates sharply, hoping to blaze through. All Swiggy, Zomato and Zepto drivers are implicitly streakers.

The Gap, the Wedge and the Streak form a uniquely Mumbai philosophy. You'll see it at Churchgate and VT when steaming masses of humanity find footholds and niches in trains designed for a quarter that load. You'll see it in those who arrive with suitcases and dreams of fame and stardom. One day, after months, they will see a gap - a key grip just resigned in Mira Nair's new film; the quick one will get that job. That's how Ankur Tewari got into the film industry and ended up as the music director of Gully Boy.

It's why people press against each other in queues: if you leave a gap, someone else will fill it. The one who controls the gaps, wedges and streaks wins the game.

Oh, and about Ramu the Bamu. The only reason he survived to tell the tale is that the other taxi, coming towards them, was also travelling on the wrong side of the road. The two felons passed each other without incident.

The driver continued joyously belting out Jina yahan, marna yahan in his manic voice.

You can reach C Y Gopinath at cygopi@gmail.com

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