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Tuesday, February 12, 2013

Life goes on

   Noon. Twelve fifteen. The office bus is late. Nothing unusual. The driver smiled when he stopped at my bus stand, he knew the bus will not reach office on time. I sat on the aisle seat just behind the driver. A clear view of the road lay ahead of me. I adjusted the seat, relaxed and looked out to the crawling motorcycles and ant shaped auto rickshaws. Clever quotes on the autos made an interesting time pass during the long journey.

  A girl in a pink and white dress was sitting next to me. An expensive mobile in her hand, she spoke discreetly into her mouthpiece. She covered her sweet nothings with her dupatta, I could hardly hear her. I sat there gazing into the big windshield in front of me, occasionally trying to eavesdrop into what she spoke. Only hearing aids can help amplify her voice.

  The bus snailed through the thick traffic, everything moved at a slow pace. The driver turned onto Cenatoph road. A few bicycles raced past our bus. A motley crowd had gathered outside the Biometric center of the American Embassy. The driver whistled an old Tamil song and took the road below the flyover on a Centoph road. Red signal. A hundred more seconds to go. Why didn’t he take the flyover? I wouldn’t ask him. I’m just an observer.

  Forty seconds more. At that junction where eight lanes converged, a white Honda city turned to its right. Big noise, a man leaped into the sky, fell on the road, tumbled and went out of view. A crowd gathered, the man was out of sight immediately. The driver of the car, a white haired old man, came out of the car. Huge dent. A disfigured bonnet. A few feet away lay the scraps of a motorbike, turned upside down.

  The wreckage still stood in the middle of the road. Vehicles honked loudly. The signal went down. No more timers. Police arrived, drew outlines around the bike and the car with a white chalk piece.  The old man, completely taken back by the turn of the events stood near his car. He looked anxious, but calm enough to stand there amidst all the clamor. He must have faced tougher things in his long life.

   The crowd dispersed, the girl next to me shifted from her accident commentary to the low voice, an auto passed by with a message written in bold, “Thambi helmet a podu, illannae unna sutthi poduvanga kodu.*” Our bus moved forward slowly. Life goes on.

   

Saturday, February 09, 2013

After dark and patient Dogs


      It is dark, the street light shedding just enough light to show me the bright bulb at the fast food center half a kilometer away. For a first timer, it may appear to be the end of the road, but the road curves ever so slightly to the right. 

   As you walk forward, you can see an auto rickshaw stand. Autos of various types parked there meekly, probably brooding about their long day on the road. A few homeless people sleep on the pavement under stitched up sacks, so quiet and static that tomorrow is no bother to them. The mosquitoes are having a time of their life sucking the blood of the homeless people; they don’t seem to bother either.

  As you walk further, you reach the fast food center with makeshift chairs placed around the small blue painted shop. Some old Hindi song is blaring from a mobile on the table. At this time, the chef is waiting for his last customers to finish the Seizwan fried rice and Chinese noodles served on paper plates. The chef, a young man probably from a north eastern state is restless; he wants to hit the sack. He looks at me with an accusing eye, shaking his head as if to say nothing is left on the stove, don’t come to my shop. His boss would come now. The vessels need to be cleared, the chairs have to be folded, and the accounts have to be settled. The day is not yet over for him. He must be feeling jealous about all those people walking home. 

   Dogs sit around the shop patiently, waiting for the left overs at the end of the day. They remain motionless, as if they are dead for the time being. Why are they so patient? Is it because they know what is inevitable? The leftovers has to be cleared, there is no other way, there is no competition, the food will be served cold. The way they like best.They just need to wait patiently. 

   Isn’t it true even for us? The weak are not patient. It is a virtue of the strong. You are patient if you are confident; you are perturbed and irritable if you are not confident. Even the corollary is true; a perturbed man is often impatient. Most of our confidence comes from the vision we have, the farther we are able to see at that moment, the better we feel about handling the present. 

  The street dogs remain patient. They see themselves devouring the end of the day meal, the reward for their patience. I walk along the pavement, on the ever so slight curve after the Fast food center, leaving behind patient dogs and the impatient chef. A good night sleep is all that I want.


Saturday, February 02, 2013

Entrepreuners at the bus stand



    Waiting for the office bus is what I do at twelve in the Noon every day. A year ago, I waited for the bus near the Subway in DMS. Now that the Metro construction has submerged the subway, I have moved to the big tree near the Teynampet Fire station. The big burly fire engine at the Fire station is always ready for action. Held at its tires by two small stones on a sloping pathway, the fire engine can jump to action with the ease of dividing fractions. The old bus stop had one thriving business. A fruit seller selling gooseberries and guavas. With the new bus stop, came new business men.

1)      A lime soda seller

 The Lime soda seller has a blue three wheeler with the price of lime soda advertised all over it. Why are all the lime soda three wheelers blue in color? Probably to tell us that lime soda is cool. I might get into trouble if I say blue is the coolest of all colors, what if I hurt someone's sentiment. Or may be all the lime soda three wheelers actually belong to the same person who had stocked a lot blue paint to paint his porch. Or to paint as Lord Krishna during a fancy dress competition that did not happen. It might even be a big brand without a name, a nameless brand marked only by blue color.  

2)      A tender coconut seller

The tender coconut seller is never tender to any of his customers. He has a head like a shaved coconut, and he behaves as if the entire place is his own. I once bought a tender coconut from him, and he charged me an exorbitant 40 Rs for it. Probably because "Illichavayan" is written in italics across my forehead. In spite of the hot weather, I never felt thirsty at the bus stand again. Come to think about it, it is far fairly priced than the coffee I stopped drinking so long ago at Saravana Bhavan.

3)      An underwear seller

  The most interesting business enterprise in front of a Fire station should definitely be awarded to this gentleman. This underwear seller has a great affinity toward reading and applying daily newspaper in his everyday life. He makes use of the newspaper for everything in his little roofless shop. Every day morning, he sweeps his working area, a ten foot square foot area just in front of that huge Fire Engine, and rolls out two layers of newspaper on the floor. Then he goes about displaying his goods, the macho underwear in unimaginable colors and patterns, the hankies with myriad flowers, and vests as colorful as rainbow.  But what fascinates me most is the value addition of the quotes on the underwear he sells? 
Pearls of wisdom on your ass.