Eff one...

I’m a big fan of the sport. I have this 2002 Michael Schumacher – World Champion jacket that I’ll probably start wearing again in the next 15-20 years to my kids’ parent teacher conferences.
So it goes without saying that I was nigh excited yesterday. I shaved against the grain, put on the requisite 2 coats of aftershave (‘Harassment’ by Calvin Klein) as well as enough deodorant to tide over my natural pheromonal advantage. Cloth selection was done using a scientific algorithm known among laypersons as ‘The 80s are coming back’.

● The getting there
If you can get past the traffic jams and the cruel irony of the fact that you’re going to see what people do on empty roads, it’s pretty grand. Everything’s real slick and well labelled. There’re signboards with celebrities and famous people pointing the way. There’s also a few with Siddharth Mallya on them.
The UP police seemed to be pointing somewhere other than the sky and at each other. I understand some goats had to be sacrificed over copper bowls for this to happen.

● The place
Massive is an understatement. The track could have its own pincode, timezone and ‘Yo’
Mayawati so fat’ joke. That said, you can actually hear the cars from the parking. I can’t hope to explain how loud they are from 40 feet away. Imagine an airplane engine talking down to an incompetent daughter in law.
You can actually go on quoting Marcus Aurelius to people around you. They'll nod and agree. I can tell you this doesn't happen very often otherwise.

● The seating
Spending 36K on a ticket is something I don’t see myself doing unless they include an option to be fed peeled grapes and having your teeth flossed gently by comely women. But I digress.
From where I sat, I saw, in increasing order of visibility:
1. The TV Screen
Was about a 100 feet away. Imagine watching a movie through an out of focus sniper scope with someone playing loud Himmesh music in the background.
2. The Cars
Turns out you can’t tell Sebastian Vettel from Mark Webber without the help of the big pointy arrow in the sky. All you can do is make “Here’s a Red Bull car again. OMG they’re so fast. Must be drinking… Red Bull!” jokes to the person next to you. And hope they don’t carry sharp things.
3. The Butt
If your BMI exceeds 35, you wear tight clothing to a public gathering and you insist on standing up everytime a car passes in front of you (very often), please know that the people behind you are left incapable of seeing… anything. The shade helps a bit. Maybe.

● The people
Maybe I was just unlucky here. But a randomly polled sample of the people in my immediate vicinity revealed:
1. Irritating Douchebags
And I quote, “My daddy has 3 BM-dabloos. I crashed one the other day. LOL”. If someone says this loudly and their friends insist on laughing and making congratulatory hand gestures afterwards, you’re entitled by law to stab you slowly with everything that comes in a geometry box. Even the eraser.
2. 5-10 year olds
There aren’t too many sounds that can drown out an F1 engine going full tilt. Not even the benign pomposity of a Marcus Aurelius quote. So you’ll understand me when I say this… “That's one loud failure of contraception”.
3. The Floozies
Pretty young things. Present in much greater preponderance around said douches. I would elaborate, but that’s another rant for another day. Bring beer and Sprite. We’ll talk. Yes, I know she broke your heart.

● The race
Turns out, with all the above going on simultaneously, you can’t understand much. What also doesn’t help is the insatiable need to get on Twitter during said race and retweet people with pretty DPs. I’m told this is an evolutionary thing.
Herr Derr some white dude won.
There were some accidents. I guess the drivers finally realized they were driving in Noida.
Also, “lap dances” is clearly misleading advertising.

Am I going next year? I don’t know. The security people looked a little perturbed by my repeated “So what happens if something goes wrong? Do you hit F1?” questions. I don't think they're prepared enough. Plus, it helps if you know what's happening without having to look into the neighboring pretty girl's blackberry.
If you weren't there, you didn't miss much. If you were and you enjoyed it, well, go easy on the anti depressants.

I understand your experience may have been better. You may have gotten laid, sold your Metallica tickets on Twitter and/or your daddy might own 3 BM-dabloos. Let me know. I burn voices of reason for warmth.