It’s a racy affair by night

Every Saturday night while the party unfolds at city nightclubs, a gang of action junkies sits planning its own potent adrenaline rush. The entry ticket to this action-plan has no admission fee. Drama unravels and the party begins well past 2.30 am on the KBR Park road.

Nizami Hyderabad soon turns into Frank Miller’s Sin City where the ‘Salesman’ drawls, “turn the right corner, and you will find... anything.” These long winding roads will soon transform into a race track with jazzed-up cars whizzing past.

A little while earlier, not knowing what to expect, this correspondent sits with a friend in the car waiting for things to heat up. Was the secret tip just a carrot luring a story-starved reporter? We wonder if maybe it was a crank call, we should just head back home and get some shut-eye. He says, “Let’s wait for 10 more minutes, it is much too early, the cops are still patrolling.”

The wait is not long. As the cops melt away, the street comes alive with cars and bikes. The erstwhile deserted tarmac is suddenly crackling with up to 10 bikers performing dangerous stunts. The racing bikers egg each other to catch up. A few carelessly try performing wheelies and stoppies. They are racing on the wrong side of the road. This place has death written on it plainer than a mortuary ward.

Soon enough, a yellow Swift with vibrant black stripes comes ripping past. Is that a drunkard at the wheel? Why is he driving so sharply, he is bound to lose control! An Innova comes rolling along and in a few minutes, a black car with flashy lights under the hood burns tracks at more than 120 kmph. The smell of singed rubber fills the air.

Foreign cars make a starry appearance as well. These drivers know that street-racing is banned, so most drive without number plates. You start to wonder where are the cops?

The street racers have a ready audience. More than 100 people in cars and bikes watch from the periphery. A cigarette vendor does swift business. He is there every Saturday to cater to the eager audience. “You will see bikers biting dust, even on some Wednesdays. The games go on till 5 am,” he reckons.

The cabbies don’t have it easy, most are driving cautiously on the side. Barricades on one end are a distant reminder of how drunken driving is an endemic problem in the city. What about street racing?

By now, this stretch of the road is thick with action. As road repairs go on near the Jubilee Hills check post, all the workers have protecting them are a few flimsy traffic cones.

In five minutes, bikers scoot screaming, “Police aa rahi hai! Bhaago!” As expected, a police van starts beat patrolling down the road to chase away the spectators. The cigarette seller picks a few dabbas and runs to the other side. A few youngsters run dangerously on to the other side, without a glance at the speeding cars.

The police keeps gate-crashing this party again and again. These youngsters are now ready to leave. The party is over, the buzz dies down. “Maybe, next time?” we overhear a few youngsters say. You have to wonder, next time what? This time we got away alive.

There is the grim admission that our police are kept busy with these dare devils on the loose. Maybe the guys could at least get a tiny breather on Saturday. It is 4 am. Note to buzz-junkies: avoid this place. Life has enough thrills to chase. Death is not one of them.