While the Signal was Red and other Stories from the Streets

Don't Drink and Drive

2010-03-26T18:55:00.002+05:30

Someone! took the effort to write this poem. I am just posting it. Copyright belongs to the author.

I went to a party Mom,

I remembered what you said.

You told me not to drink, Mom,

So I drank soda instead.

I really felt proud inside, Mom,

The way you said I would.

I didn't drink and drive, Mom,

Even though the others said I should.

I know I did the right thing, Mom,

I know you are always right.

Now the party is finally ending, Mom,

As everyone is driving out of sight.

As I got into my car, Mom,

I knew I'd get home in one piece.

Because of the way you raised me,

So responsible and sweet.

I started to drive away, Mom,

But as I pulled out into the road,

The other car didn't see me, Mom,

And hit me like a load.

As I lay there on the pavement, Mom,

I hear the policeman say,

"The other guy is drunk," Mom,

And now I'm the one who will pay.

I'm lying here dying, Mom....

I wish you'd get here soon.

How could this happen to me, Mom?

My life just burst like a balloon.

There is blood all around me, Mom,

And most of it is mine.

I hear the medic say, Mom,

I'll die in a short time.

I just wanted to tell you, Mom,

I swear I didn't drink.

It was the others, Mom.

The others didn't think.

He was probably at the same party as I.

The only difference is, he drank And I will die.

Why do people drink, Mom?

It can ruin your whole life.

I'm feeling sharp pains now.

Pains just like a knife.

The guy who hit me is walking, Mom,

And I don't think it's fair.

I'm lying here dying

And all he can do is stare.

Tell my brother not to cry, Mom.

Tell Daddy to be brave.

And when I go to heaven, Mom,

Put "GOOD BOY " on my grave.

Someone should have told him, Mom,

Not to drink and drive.

If only they had told him, Mom,

I would still be alive.

My breath is getting shorter, Mom..

I'm becoming very scared.

Please don't cry for me, Mom.

When I needed you, you were always there.

I have one last question, Mom.

Before I say good bye.

I didn't drink and drive,

So why am I the one to die?

Terrific Police

2009-12-06T21:10:00.002+05:30

Over the last few days, almost a week infact, I have been wanting to post this. Everytime I have stopped at a Traffic Signal or crawled though a Traffic Mess, I have watched these Men (sopmetimes women) clad in White (or what was once a White, but now is a painstakingly washed cream) and Khaki Uniform, struggling through the dust and heat and pollution and barely human drivers to bring a sense of order into what is essentially a disorderly group of inept and inconsiderate drivers, Bikers and Autowallahs. To govern this motley crowd whose only common trait is indiscipline, needs a lot of courage and this post of mine, intended to be a series of posts, is about these great guys, seldom respected, but always resolute.

Cheers to Bangalore Traffic Police!

Loving with Gay abandon - on the Road in Bangalore

2009-08-02T08:59:00.003+05:30

Ever since that judgement, Yes! that one. The one which everyone is talking about, irrespective of their own sexual orientation or lack thereof! Well, ever since that judgement, it has become impossible to protect the exposed backside of my car, from the amorous tryst with the penetrative attacks of Bikers and Autowallahs on the streets of Bangalore. Do what you will, adopt a brisk pace through the difficult, dark, ill-lit streets of Bangalore, or take a slow, sedate, confident stand, they will, come what may, come after you.

In the last one month, the gluteal region of my car has been exposed to two such attacks. The last time it happened, it was a day-dreaming biker, possibly struggling through the difficult, recessionary times, who found solace in having a quickie with the attractive red-head that my car is! Net result, a despondent insurance company, possibly already in the red, pushed into deeper red by a red car.

If that was not enough, to add insult to injury - major reconstructive surgery is again required on the same backside. The culprit this time an auto, which found an innocent victim in a good looking car waiting in line for traffic to clear.

I must drill some sense into my car...She has this bad habbit of getting into wrong company.

Poor backside. Poor insurers.

WHY I THINK L.K. ADVANI IS THE NEXT PM

2009-05-12T16:39:00.005+05:30

While I was standing at one of the Traffic Signals in Bangalore, I got to think about the future of the Country (I know, I tend to do a lot of that, I am an NGO in myself). All said and done, I realised one thing, National Politics is best managed by National Parties. I hope the same realisation has dawned on people who voted on various considerations this Lok Sabha Elections. Some are going to vote tomorrow as well.

Hence, honestly speaking, I am quite ok with both Manmohan Singh and L.K.Advani as next PM, what I am worried about is a third unknown.

So what do I think are the chances of either of these gentlemen becoming PM? Very bright, if you ask me.

But before I publish my two penny worth of opinion, here's the mandatory DISCLAIMER. Since this is the opinion on ONE PERSON, and there is no science behind it, except a hastily prepared analysis of all the states (which I am not publishing), this does not qualify as an opinion poll. Furthermore, since the readership of my blog is in single digits - most of whom don't even vote - the chances of my influencing any voter is rather bleak.

My analysis of all the states, and various issues that plague them, tells me that BJP will emerge as the Single Largest Party with close to 160 seats, NDA and allies and potential allies (TDP, AIADMK, etc) will together get anywhere between 250 to 270 (262 is what I predict, but lets keep a margin) seats and the Govt. so formed will last a full term!

Had the Congress projected Sonia Gandhi (Not Rahul, I don't think he stand a chance, yet), the situation could have been different. I don't think people would have forgotten the way she was treated last time despite somewhat winning the popular mandate.

Here goes my reputation. In 5 days time, I'll either be a national hero or the laughing stock of all concerned. I wish our leaders staked their reputation as strongly on national issues!

A Beggars Song Continues

2009-03-25T20:23:00.000+05:30

I set out on a journey,
On my own terms and failed occasionally.
That I set out, isn’t it the key
I may yet arrive, finally.

I never promised the moon
Didn’t realize that was the case
And that it will be too soon
No pat on the back, no breathing space.

Every time I stood up and delivered (Wow!)
Mountains moved and praises rained.
No one asked, it was possible how
Memory fails, I think it pained.

My Life isn’t screwed
But Rape sure has happened on my soul
Every which way it is viewed,
I wonder, I am chasing what goal?

I sure want to give it voice
And shout at the top of my sanity,
Who’s listening, who gives me the choice
Who will on me take pity?

Clean air to breathe is not free
And love is measured in Kind,
While those who can, can’t see
When you squeeze a heart, blood you find.

Someone said, in the past long gone.
I am like a closed book (Have I sinned?)
Books neither read themselves, nor turn to page one
They are read, or flutter in the wind!

So take me out, and attempt to read
And you may find a slice of me
It may lead to love, or hatred,
But it would be because of me.

Friends, Family, Foes and Lovers
Brothers, Sisters, Mom and Dad,
I am not good, nor great, but really
Am I all that Bad?

I am not perfection,
Love me for my blemishes.
Not a certificate of excellence, or a citation
Surely, a few kisses?

O Sexy Sexy Mama - A Futile Debate

2009-03-16T13:32:00.006+05:30

This is not really a Traffic Signal Tale except that it happened while I was waiting for the signal to turn green at the traffic signal and heard the following song on radio O Sexy mama let us do the Sa Re Ga Ma, O! Sexy, Sexy Mama It’s quite a fun song actually and you do feel like Head-banging to the tune.

Now, my daughter (who is two years old) is really good with songs. She can already sing but Pappu can’t dance Saba – thank God for small mercies – and was picking up this one quite nicely before the Censor board intervened and said that while the song can continue as it is in theatres and Radio, the word Sexy has to be replaced by the word Crazy for TV. There goes my chance to, through the nice offices of my daughter, proclaim that my wife is Sexy, now, if I am to believe my daughter, My wife is quite crazy. ओ मेरी पागल माँ, according to the censors is a better way to address your mom rather than ओ मेरी सेक्सी माँ!

Incidentally this is a Baba Sehgal Song, the same Baba Sehgal who sang रुकमनी, रुकमनी, शादी के बाद क्या क्या हुआ to the tunes of A. R. Rehman and got away with singing words like खटिया भी धीरे धीरे खट खट करने लगी, आगे पीछे हुआ तो छट पट होने लगी …In the early 90s, I had to run the distant between the commode and the living room in less than 3 seconds at the same time buttoning my shorts when this song, on a cassette borrowed from a friend first played on the record player at my home, my father had a nice laugh at my discomfort, of course. Both of us realized soon enough that I knew exactly why Khatiyas do खट खट!

Twenty years hence another generation of Indian’s is now growing up being fed cheap horror shows, cheap advertisements, loads of violence, cheap cartoons, grow up thinking it ultra cool to drink Cola from morning to evening, watch unaesthetic condom ads, think its all right for Mother-in-laws and daughter-in-laws to plot revenge through most of their living lives, for fathers and mothers to have multiple partners, and still believe that it’s wrong to have a mom who can be considered sexy! I think that’s unfair. Cultures were not meant to be static. They are by nature of definition supposed to be transient. So while I believe my mother will take offense if I called her anything but “माँ”, I am sure my daughter, if the censors allow her, can get away by calling her mom “ओ मेरी सेक्सी माँ.” I am equally sure, that she will get a proper spanking if she calls her “ओ मेरी पागल माँ.”

I remember my Childhood days, Raj Kapoor and Nargis were not my favorite actors, hence I never realized that प्यार हुआ इकरार हुआ फिर भी प्यार से क्यूँ डरता है दिल could possibly have any other next line but डीलक्स निरोध सबसे ज्यादा बिकने वाला कंडोम! And believe me; I have my own pervert habits, but it in no way made a worse man out of me than I would have otherwise been, if I did not know the word condom as a child!

As far as film songs go, I have my own reservations about what some of them dish out in the name of lyrics – and I do not see a chronological sequence of degeneration, they were good or bad across the entire length of Indian Cinema – nevertheless, I think most kids know चोली के पीछे क्या है, they after all spent most of their first six months trying to figure that one out!

I am trying to figure out whether it’s a sexy debate or a crazy debate! A futile debate, anyone?

O! Futile Futile Mama.

Traffic Signal

2009-02-25T12:46:00.000+05:30

The day I took the NICE Road
To office in E city,
I struggled and struggled but could not find,
A traffic signal in vicinity.

Nandi Infrastructure Corridor Enterprise,
This is NICE for you,
Mind you, the road is really nice,
Although finishing is not yet through.

Both sides of the road give a rustic look
Yes, there are villages on either side,
With cattle roaming and basking in greens,
To eyes this is a delight

Right side is abuzz with chirping birds
On eucalyptus trees along side
And goats and sheep in their herds
Marching in glory and pride.

As you start nearing Hosur Road,
On left you can see some towers green and gold.
Residential complexes to be completed soon,
At cost of greenery and fields that got pruned.

Then I presume, I will see a signal
On NICE road as well,
And there'll be stories to write,
On people who on signals dwell !!

My Beloved SignalAmma!

2009-02-20T18:25:00.004+05:30

Scared and Sacred! Divine and Deveined! Smile and Simile! The middle sex is blessed and wretched. Folklores and granny’s anecdotes find a mention of the eunuchs. And we often spend our childhoods in inquisitiveness about them- The puzzling issues of their sexuality and their reproduction amuse and amaze us… some adore them, some abhor... but a large portion is simply indifferent. I have always thought of eunuchs to be eccentric people who steal babies and engage in flesh trade. This thought catastrophically metamorphosed into fear that manifested itself deeply within me.

I never looked at them eye-to-eye… as I thought I’d get hypnotized. But life is strange; it brought me face to face with the one I truly abhorred.

This was during my early college days, I still vividly remember that day. The sky was overcast with dark clouds and there was every possibility of a downpour. Like always, drowned in the mist of thoughts, amidst heavy traffic, listening to my inner voice and engaging in self-talk… I was jaywalking.

Suddenly the signal changed and the traffic phobic me… was ensnared in the middle. I was in the middle and vehicles all around. I discovered that I had managed to get the traffic on the high road to a virtual standstill. Horns and rattles and swears filled in the ambiance. I was still, staggered and shaken. But the onlookers and the affected wouldn’t understand that.

One fat man barged out of his vehicle and came up to me in absolute fury. His intentions were definitely not noble. But then something came in-between him and me. It was Amma, a person whom I was petrified of. She understood what all the supposedly Nouveau-riche and Bourgeoisie car goers didn’t. She spoke in chaste hindi “abhey, bachey ko haath nahi lagaane ka, wohh dar gaya hai”. She then hugged me and took me to the footpath and told me in tamil “Red light vanda daan cross pannanam kanne” (darling, you should cross only when the light is red) I asked her how did she know I was a Tamilzan, she laughed and said that she has seen me grow and has eavesdropped on my discussions with my friends and family when I walked past her. There was not much I could tell her. She then again hugged me and bid good bye.

On my way from the signal to the college, I was clouded with guilt and thoughts. My perception had totally changed. Amma was a beautiful person, a beautiful heart she had. She watched over me, when no one was looking. How wrong I was. How quick are we to form perceptions about people. How wrong were my parents in instilling this element of fear in me about such beautiful people.

Now I understand, not all apples are sour.

I thank god making such beautiful people, and thank people for making the red signal.

SignalAmma is no more, but her memory refuses to fade away. She rocks!

Now, a treat for your ears and eyes!

This is a movie that won the first prize in the wild card category of the genesis film festival. This is a video by students of SIES college, Sion, Bombay.

Musings on the Road

2009-02-20T14:41:00.001+05:30

This is not a traffic signal tale, not in the true sense as the signal in question was still almost a Kilometer away, but yes, traffic was piled up just before the signal and it was slow.

As is my habit, I spent the waiting time to look around me; people, people, people everywhere. People on Bikes, ready to snake their way beneath your left front wheel, if you are not careful, people in Cars, feeling self assured and thumbing a snooty nose at all the Bike guys. There were people in Buses watching helplessly, while the Driver tried desperately to mow down both the Bikewallahs and the Carwallahs in an indiscriminate display of communist frenzy. Then there were the foot soldiers desperately looking for a Zebra crossing – not that those matter on Indian roads – they were crossing the road on a prayer and a song. Today was their lucky day, another one of those.

Well, as I said, I was looking around and my eyes wondered to Salarpuria Symbiosis, that’s the Honeywell office on Banerghatta Road. There right in the midst of absurdity was sanity nestled – Six Honeycombs, side by side, almost adjacent to the Board proclaiming “Honeywell” in Bold. Either a cheeky Admin guy was responsible, or the Bees could read!

My thought of course then wandered (that’s the problem with my thoughts, they are of a philandering nature!) to the moral policing that goes around inside a Honeycomb. Huh? No seriously, consider the scenario:

CHEMICAL WARFARE: Pheromones prevent ovarian development in anyone but the queen.
DIVIDE AND RULE: Workers with developed ovaries are attacked by other workers.
POLICING: In case a worker lays eggs, those are removed by other workers.

All this and more while the queen, god save her, is busy having sex!(The drone gets killed after this – never mind, there are ONLY about a 1000 of those in a single hive and are relatively simple to produce further) Laying eggs and generally having a ball of a time.

My philandering thoughts jumped bed again and were found at the Reliance Signal – mind you, a real signal this time, appropriate for this Blog - I call this the reliance signal because before Reliance Mart came up at this junction, there was no need of a signal here. It’s people purchasing cheap junk right from 8 in the morning to stuff in their numerous drawers and lofts and under the bed, who also happen to park their cars outside on the road to save the money that r-mart unfairly charges for parking (most other retailers refund the amount at the time of billing) who choke the signal. This signal is very interesting. On both sides, just after the signal are Bus Stops (I think that’s commonplace all around Bangalore), which means that once the signal turns green and you gun your engine to rush forward to whatever appointment you just missed, you are in mortal danger of a close encounter with the backside of a stationary Bus. Now, obviously I am very open minded about sexual orientation etcetera of people, but such encounters with backsides of stationary buses at busy traffic signals is a strict no-no, especially as at the same time someone on a bike may decide to enjoy a similar close encounter with your backside - of your car that is, and of course backsides of Buses are not very attractive either, and like the DRONES mentioned earlier, this kind of encounter results, more often than not, in death.

Once you cross this particular signal, without the close encounters mentioned earlier, you hit a stretch where people have scant understanding of lane discipline, in fact scant understanding of any traffic discipline, you weave in and out, avoiding all sort of embracing and embarrassing moves towards close encounters till you hit Shoppers Stop – no cut that out – till you manage to give Shoppers Stop a miss and are successfully on you way to work. After that its one signal after another of rampant misadventures, giving pedestrians a dirty look for daring to step on to the roads, shouting obscenities, and generally being bad tempered.

The last close encounter I had was about a week back, after crossing Ulsoor, while I was waiting for the Red light to turn green, one of these guys on a Bike decided to place a dirty smooch on my Cars front fenders, its no more a fender now, it’s a bender! Actually, it wasn’t too bad, coz my car had already lost her virginity to a similar Bike guy three months ago at Mekri Circle, this one banging her behind (no pun intended) at full speed and leaving an ugly tear in the otherwise virgin body; she needs major reconstruction surgery – perhaps over the long weekend. Did I tell you that the guy promptly lost consciousness – it happens to all men, all the time I guess!

Today – but for the thoughts about Honey Bee decadence – was boring in comparison. I hope tomorrow proves otherwise.

Red, Green

2009-02-17T10:05:00.002+05:30

This Blog has been picked by Blogadda for its Spicy Saturday Pick on 21.02.2009. here's the Link. http://blog.blogadda.com/2009/02/21/blogadda%e2%80%99s-spicy-saturday-picks-feb-21-09

It was a Monday morning. I woke up exactly an hour after the alarm gave up on me. I reached for my cell phone and quickly typed this message “I am sorry, I overslept. Had a party last night. Would be late to office”.

“Ok” said the new inbox message; my boss had given up on me.It’s a twenty one kilometer drive from my home to office and there are precisely seven signals on the way. I have mentally classified them as good and bad signals, depending on time taken to cross them.There are two particularly bad signals where the traffic comes to such a standstill that I fear ageing there.

While vehicles stand and stare the red light, a swarm of street sellers spring into action. It’s their show time. From peanuts in paper cones, to deep fried samosas, to ripened guavas, to cheap Chinese toys and cell phone chargers, to dog bone shaped head rests for your car, they sell many such interesting things. Fighting for your attention are also the beggars, eunuchs and the child acrobats with their noses and cheeks painted like clowns.

I was running very low on fuel so I turned off the ignition but kept the music playing. As I was listening to “Masakalli”, I heard a tap on my window. It was a kid wearing a tattered ‘baniyan’ and holding paper cones in one hand. I ignored him and increased the volume, thinking he would move ahead. But he kept tapping on my window harder and harder. As I gave him a stern look, he stopped tapping and came closer; almost sticking his face to the window he started saying something. There were patches of fog forming on the window because of his breath.

It was really annoying.I pulled down the window to the half and yelled “aage jaa na yaar. Dimag mat kharab kar”. Not minding my pitch, he requested “do rupay ka hai. Le lo na saab”. “Subah subah Kaun khata hai mungfali, jaa bhai” I tried shooing him away. Now he started making pity faces. A good salesman I thought “Bhai aagey bhad, yahin khada rahega to signal green ho jayega aur tera dhanda nahi hoga” I gave him a sales tip.He refused to budge.

He was looking through me. This time he spoke “ kaunsa film hai?” On the seat next to me, there was the CD cover of ‘Delhi 6’. I picked it up and showed him from behind the window “Padh Kya Lika hai”. There is an innovative mirror insert on the cover of the ‘Delhi 6’ CD, so he kept looking into it. I could see his amusement on seeing himself on it. I kept back the CD answering his question “Delhi 6 hai ye”. He didn’t get me, so I said in a language I thought he might understand “Dilli che hai movie ka naam”. “Dilli, who to shahar ka naam hai” he responded with a smile.“Acha tujhe bada pata hai. Tu kahan se aaya hai” I asked. “Bihar” he spoke unclearly. “Arre, main bhi UP se hoon. Tu yahaan kaise aa gaya” I couldn’t believe I was talking to him.

“Amma yahan kam karti hai, building ban raha hai na, wahan” . "Aur papa?" I didn’t know why I asked that. He just kept looking at me blankly. “Kitney saal ka hai tu?” I questioned him. He just kept moving his finger on the dust settled on my window, as if a kid drawing in his work book.“Aath?” I asked. He smiled like he meant yes, but looked unsure. “Dus?” I questioned again. He gave me a bigger smile this time. I realized he didn’t know his age. Playfully I said “Tera birthday kab hai”. His eyes sparkled when he said “Happy Birthday” and then he went quiet.“ Acha movie dekhta hai? Film?” I wanted to distract him. “Haan” he liked this topic. “Favourite hero kaun hai?” I wanted to know. “Shahrukh Khan” He said with a sparkle in his eyes. “Ohoo…mere baazigar, yeh bata ki movie kahan dekhta hai? Hall me”. “Showroom mein” and he pointed out to the fancy electronics store on the other side of the road.

I knew that the signal was going to turn green “Acha chal ek packet de de” I said. Wanted to pay him for his time I wasted. He gave me a paper cone. While I paid him a coin, I asked him “Kuch khaya subah se?”. “Nahi” he moved his head in disagreement. I gave him back the paper cone. “Yeh meri taraf se, yeh bechna mat, tu kha isko”. With a big smile he surprised me with a “thank you saab”. I could see the signal turn green. While the vehicles before me were preparing to move, I asked him the last question “Naam kya hai tera?”. “Sanju” he said and ran towards the pavement.

The next morning while waiting at the same signal, I was looking for Sanju. Wanted to see if he recognizes me and gives me any special attention.I kept waiting but he didn’t turn up. Instead a eunuch came to my window. I wanted to ask her about Sanju. I pulled down my window and held a ten rupee note. She took the note and blessed me, while she was walking away, I asked her “who mungfali wala kahan hai, dikhayee nahi de raha”. “Who aaj nahi aaya saab” she informed me. I was thinking aloud “Aaj Sanju nahi aaya”. She turned back and asked me with an expression of surprise “tum usko jaante hai saab”. “Nahi Aise hi” I said. “Usko kal police pakad ke le gayi sir”. “What?” I exclaimed. “Usne kal chori kiya na saab, ek ladki ka mobile leke bhag raha tha toh police ne usko pakad liya”.

The signal turned green.

A Beggar's Song on Valentine's Day

2009-02-13T21:23:00.002+05:30

I stand at the green light and I

I wait for it to turn red,

I have money to make.

I stand and ask Why?

My wife will again hungry go to bed,

I need to earn for Love's sake.

I have no money to buy you a rose
I have no money for chocolate,
I have no money for an expensive dinner.
But this I must tell you and here it goes,
For all the above, you got to wait,
It takes a while, but you got yourself a winner.

I am no slumdog, neither a millionaire
I have nothing much to give,
I have not much except hope.
I hope you love enough to care
I hope you love enough to believe,
It is tough but we will cope.

While love might not be able to feed
And love might not give you clothes,
Love may not even keep the food warm,
Love exists, it does indeed
Around you like a guardian angel it floats
And it causes no harm.

When at night despair keeps you awake,
And by day you make ends meet
There doesn’t seem to be a God above.
Remember, every rupee I make,
Remember this, my sweet
is a matter of Love.

Don’t give in to life’s little tragedies
And do not give up the smile
Take from me a Lover’s Kiss
Remember, it happens, it takes a while
Tomorrow, today and yesterday
All to me are Valentine’s Day!

Just another Traffic Signal

2009-02-13T15:43:00.003+05:30

The January chill was stinging me, biting and clawing through my cloths but I was oblivious to it… as I was of the endless irritating cavalcade of Cars, Bus, Autos, and 2 Wheelers running outside on the ever congested Bangalore road.

I was numb … I was in pain I did not knew existed for a long time, living alone for years and being the eldest of 3 siblings I had learned early in life to deal with the feeling of home sickness drowning it in the objectivity of real world where emotions are nothing but hurdles to our ever growing “middle class” ambitions….My heart was still there back at my Brother’s residence…..Which I had left around 40 minutes back and with it I had left behind my “Bundle of Joy” my niece of 2 years …..I wanted to go back …..I wanted to be with her ,play with her and wanted to hear her speak in that childish demeanor , …..But I had to go back….back to Mumbai…back to endless client meetings, those numerous presentations and back to chasing my “middle class” dreams.

Suddenly the endless honking of traffic brought me back from my thought….I woke up at the signal. We had reached Richmond Circle. The traffic usually stops there for a few minutes. It is the longest signal during the journey back from City to New Bangalore Airport.

The Cab Driver stopped the engine and started having his tobacco . I was watching him in fascination with nothing else to do, he meticulously arranged that small portion in the palm of his hand rubbed it with his index finger and with precise perfection it vanished in his mouth. He nodded with satisfaction and increased the volume of the music

With droopy eyes I looked through the window to the mêlée outside ,The view was like a clone of numerous traffic signals scattered across metros….. Looking around for something to catch my fancy I saw a little boy, a ragamuffin with his sister. The elder one was standing near the huge heap of rubbish and taking out plastic bottles from the rubbish heap.

A Pan Shop nearby had numerous posters of Film stars mostly females displayed across the façade……I lit up my own Cigarette and as if on cue my eyes wandered to the “statutory warning” sign displayed on one of the billboard on the shop. The sign was too much of a screamer ….Puff…Puff….finally with expert precision I stubbed the cigarette on the sole of my shoe and with an equally expert precision it flew out of my window on the rubbish bin while I was thinking it was time to give up my vice.

A fruit vendor was busy selling freshly cut fruit, dicing pineapples and placing it on top of Water Melon chunks, Nearby urchins were busy begging alms from the cars around the signal……..A young couple riding a scooter with a kid in front made me remember traveling with my family in our second hand “Bajaj Super” …….

Knock….Knock….someone knocked on my Cab’s door …It was one of those urchins….I fished out a ten rupee note and gave it to him feeling a wee bit more philanthropic than normal.

I saw world in a microcosm. A world which was not in search of anything, happy in whatever was coming their way. Those urchins were not cribbing, complaining about the pollution, the noise, or anything because they were busy in hard realities of life. Tired, tattered and sun toned but happier because they found reasons to be, unlike the more affluent “middle class” who find reasons and logics for happiness. It was a state for them but for us it is a thing to decipher.

The Signal turned to green too soon and my Cab left picking up speed with each changing gear …Leaving behind the City and the mêlée outside a speck itched in the backyards of memory………to Mumbai…to endless client meetings, to chasing those “middle class” dreams…..till I could find another place another time and another “Traffic Signal”

“Happy Journey”

A Monda(ne) Morning on Hosur Road

2009-02-12T14:13:00.008+05:30

It was a dull Monday morning and I was on my way to office in Electronics City on the ever busy and packed Hosur Road. My driver was least interested in changing lanes and he kept on driving on the extreme left side on the service road…wonder if he also had Monday blues.

The road was being laid down. People on cycles and Lunas were struggling to get their way through the mud and gravel. On the roadside, there were some tea vendors selling tea in steel flasks. Bhajjis were on display and flies were feasting on them. I noticed, one of the tea vendors was himself drinking tea in a tiny plastic glass and to save the ‘much in demand morning tea’, he actually poured back the left over from his glass into the flask…thank God we get tea for free in office!
As my car inched ahead, I could see the pedestrians making their way in the middle of the slow moving traffic. The hassled traffic police stood stretching both his hands resembling the famous bollywood mother who wouldn’t allow the ‘batwara’ of the ancestral property and say: “aaj tum sab ko meri laash ke upar se jaana hoga”. We wouldn’t be surprised if on such a road, a traffic police himself gets hits by a vehicle.
To top it up, there was no music in the car to subside the noise arising out of honking outside. Actually have never got a system installed there just in hope that someday I will start driving and the music will be only for my ears when I am in the car.

Calls from office had already started coming. I was late!!

In the middle of this chaos, I saw a Luna with a bright yellow rear resembling a huge balloon, overtaking my car. Though I was not much interested in grabbing a view again, but just out of curiosity, I peeked out of the window. That huge yellow balloon like thing was nothing but small packs of finger sized fried bright yellow desi macaronis packed in a big transparent plastic bag. I still remember, when we were kids, we used to put one such macaroni each in all the fingers and relish on the tasteless fried stuff. We used to call them 'chusta'. Back on Hosur Road, the bright yellow colour in the midst of dust gave me respite from the chaos for a while but did not interest me much. I wanted to get back to the last page of Bangalore Times again, so I started settling back on to my seat.

But before I could indulge in the gossip in the supplement again, I saw two little boys running behind the Luna walah, holding one ‘chusta’ (that probably slipped out of the plastic bag) each in one hand and trying to pull their scruffy, brown-with-dust pants with the other one. Yes my guess was right, they wanted to return those two dust coated chustas back to that man!! What an irony! Kids who would not have been eating meals properly, wanted to let go of those small fries and give them back to the Luna walah! Some magnanimity!
On the other hand, I was thinking the Luna guy will not even care about this but yet I wanted to see his reaction and was happy that the traffic was at a standstill.

Poor kids went running to that guy and handed over the fries to him. The obvious thought in my mind was, the kids will get the fries as their reward. And again I thought of pulling myself back on to the seat, but no, this was not the end. The Luna guy, who was probably a chusta supplier, was sipping tea from the same tea stall. He took the fries from the boys and drove them off from there only to throw the stuff back in the mud!
Not sure about the kids’ expectations, but as they handed over the fries to that man, they looked relieved!

I definitely felt like getting out of the car and telling that man, “you deserve the tea from that flask, idiot!”

But by then the car had picked up speed and my phone had started ringing again!

Child-woman at Trinity Circle

2009-02-12T13:52:00.002+05:30

The Signal at Trinity Circle was Red – as usual – in its more-often-than-not-I’ll-be-red-ways that I face every morning and evening. It was 8:50am or thereabouts, 10 more minutes before I hit office and do what I do best. Act HR!

The AC was on, full blast, so in your face; my favorite FM station was tuned into and the RJ was as usual passing rude comments about his producers IQ and his brains being in his Bum or something to that effect.

She walked upto me, knocked on the window. She was not a day older than 13 (does the number have a significance to the life she was leading?) holding a baby no older than 2 months in her arms (was it her own, possibly).

The look on her face; Oh! I wish it was one of pain and suffering, and disaster, I would have lived with that. No, it wasn’t any of that. It was such a knowing look as If she was hoping I was undressing her in my mind – I haven’t reached that stage of perversion. Not yet - just a child, and so worldly wise. Shit!

She didn’t say a word, just kept pointing at her mouth and her baby, kept moving the hand form tummy to lips, in slow motion – my window was still up – and I had no intention of lowering it either, but sometimes you feel icy fingers claw at your heart from within, and this was one of those times. The car, the petrol, the fancy clothes – what meaning?

She walked off – the expression on my face shooed her away – she didn’t need compassion that did not convert to money.

Two more minutes for the signal to turn green and I was made to think – was she born to a mother who was a beggar – second generation of employees to the Begging Mafia, or was she a fresh recruit, abducted from somewhere and put into the trade. Trades maybe? I am sure she would be made to work the nights also, red light taking altogether a different meaning for her. Abused and brutalized and raped, with no yesterday to remember and no tomorrow to look forward to, illiterate but educated in the school of life, learning something new everyday. Where are the parents – working the streets somewhere else –she has any? Where does she sleep – underneath a roof, however inadequate, or on the streets, amongst the men, turning into a woman every night?

The Signal turned green, the honking behind me – screw the idiot – was disproportionate to the delay in his perfect schedule I was causing, and it was time to move on with life.

The thoughts, would linger.

The debates would go on - Right to Life…Right to wear noodle straps…Right to go to Pub…Right to Culture…Right to lack of culture…

Right to Childhood anyone?

While the Signal was Red and Other Stories - The beginning

2009-02-11T23:27:00.000+05:30

This Blog has been created to host the Random events that unfold on the streets while I crawl forward in my Car or am stuck at the Signal - This is about the beggars, and the life I imagine they have. This is about the guys who sell Plaster of Paris-Ganapatis, and the recycled cotton ear buds, and the Chinese Mobile Chargers. This is about the guys who sell sun shades in the sun and proudly display their Aaddidass Sun glasses.

This is about life on the streets of Bangalore. This is what I know best! or Hardly know.