[I wrote this next piece while witnessing the entire incident in front of my gate. I found it absolutely fascinating and amusing.]
The obstinate buffalo.
The angry motorist – glares raring to go.
The humongous black beat throes its nose in the air.
It was there first. So it will not move – it’s only fair.
The middle of the road the blasted meat factory chooses.
Man and beast engaged in a fierce battle of “stare-you-down-first”.
If looks could kill….
‘One a pile of ashes for the Ganges’
The other….
‘A barbecued offering’
SILENCE blares through the street.
In slow motion I see.
The metal bump to the living rump.
A smile of victory.
Steel blades still send goose bumps over cattle hide.
Man rules over beast!
The four footed obstacle moves aside.
A dented bump and a hurting rump later. The motorist speeds away. Gloating inside.
Indian traffic anything BUTT..
Thursday, November 23, 2006
8:30 A.M
[I wrote this when I was going insane with the traffic scene in Chennai. How much ever I love the city there are certain things that are far from amusing]
Auto’s bursting with children bundled one on top of the other, limbs precariously sticking out. They balanced left and right shifting their weights as the auto swerved dangerously taking a one way street a short route to school ( save time n save petrol) the harried auto driver labored on with his burden like a pregnant woman in the midst of shrill screams and gasps that escape from young mouths every time he avoids a collision.
The children wave at their friend traveling on a scooter. The good old family transport carry father, mother, brother sister and baby. Only daddy gets to wear the helmet, the children scowl. The baby chuckles and lunges in the direction of a tricycle with a massive load of colorful plastic pots. They are heaped fifteen feet high (talk about a towering offence)
I sigh and honk cajoling the other vehicle in front to move on. Irritable and already tired at the start of the day the traffic continues to clog my senses.
The creaking buses! The mobile leaning towers of India swollen with the crowd and ready to topple over. Mammoths so menacing they block the road and refuse to move forward.
The cyclists darting in and out squeezing through every available space the super men of the Indian roads who manage to dodge and bound over every rut and obstacle.
Tears down my eyes as the noise and the smoke slowly choke me. The car behind honking the most horrendous ear splitting horn, loud enough to raise the dead. I glare at the motorist who dares to overtake me. The start of a new day.
Auto’s bursting with children bundled one on top of the other, limbs precariously sticking out. They balanced left and right shifting their weights as the auto swerved dangerously taking a one way street a short route to school ( save time n save petrol) the harried auto driver labored on with his burden like a pregnant woman in the midst of shrill screams and gasps that escape from young mouths every time he avoids a collision.
The children wave at their friend traveling on a scooter. The good old family transport carry father, mother, brother sister and baby. Only daddy gets to wear the helmet, the children scowl. The baby chuckles and lunges in the direction of a tricycle with a massive load of colorful plastic pots. They are heaped fifteen feet high (talk about a towering offence)
I sigh and honk cajoling the other vehicle in front to move on. Irritable and already tired at the start of the day the traffic continues to clog my senses.
The creaking buses! The mobile leaning towers of India swollen with the crowd and ready to topple over. Mammoths so menacing they block the road and refuse to move forward.
The cyclists darting in and out squeezing through every available space the super men of the Indian roads who manage to dodge and bound over every rut and obstacle.
Tears down my eyes as the noise and the smoke slowly choke me. The car behind honking the most horrendous ear splitting horn, loud enough to raise the dead. I glare at the motorist who dares to overtake me. The start of a new day.
The story of my life
[Some time ago my boss had asked me to write up a profile C.V style for a client who wanted to do a background check on the trainers… …. I wasn’t exactly in a great mood to write. I was harried and hassled and my mind just wouldn’t work that day so this is what I came out with…… (Of course naturally later I sent her the official looking one.)This was just to give my boss a heart attack because she insisted I send it across in an hour’s time and I hate being forced or rushed. Thankfully my boss is a good sport and took my nonsense with a hearty laugh. Anyways, here the mail I sent her…….]
Hi Kathy,
I know you held a gun to my head and forced me to say o.k. to the Mumbai trip.
So what else could I do but say ok.
You say go to Mumbai so I go.
So here’s my profile given below.
Like most other kids I had an education. I had parents nice enough to send me to an English medium school so I managed to finish my schooling at Union Christian Matriculation Higher Secondary School, Chennai.
On passing out I thought I had conquered the world. Yes for me it was an achievement.
Barely had I come out victorious out of this war when the army general and her lieutenant, (Mom and Dad in that order) decided that it was time to send me to torture camp. More Education! So I was forced to do a degree in English literature.
Why English in specific?
Well that seemed to be the only language I spoke and being a drama queen my parents thought I would ace in Shakespearean Studies, Poetry and the likes. Little did they know there were other subjects such as History of English Literature, Linguistics, The origin of Grammar, Etc etc.
I thought cruelty to children was banned. I should have a filed a case against my parents and the educational institute for the abuse and battering caused to such a delicate, beautiful mind such as mine.
No I thought they will not destroy me I will survive. So I did. I passed out of English literature with average scores like an average kid.
But the journey was lonely dark and deep.
I managed to break every rule in the book.
Scraped by without being suspended, rebelled the authorities, fought for my freedom by leading strikes and demonstrations(I wished too much of a coward to actually get to it).
But here I was a fresh graduate older, wiser and at cross roads again.
-
- blah
-
- blah
-
- blah
-
- blah
-
- blah
-
- blah
-
Hey Kathy,
You told me it would flow out. You were right. He he he he he. Just kidding check the other mail.
Love Saps.
Hi Kathy,
I know you held a gun to my head and forced me to say o.k. to the Mumbai trip.
So what else could I do but say ok.
You say go to Mumbai so I go.
So here’s my profile given below.
Like most other kids I had an education. I had parents nice enough to send me to an English medium school so I managed to finish my schooling at Union Christian Matriculation Higher Secondary School, Chennai.
On passing out I thought I had conquered the world. Yes for me it was an achievement.
Barely had I come out victorious out of this war when the army general and her lieutenant, (Mom and Dad in that order) decided that it was time to send me to torture camp. More Education! So I was forced to do a degree in English literature.
Why English in specific?
Well that seemed to be the only language I spoke and being a drama queen my parents thought I would ace in Shakespearean Studies, Poetry and the likes. Little did they know there were other subjects such as History of English Literature, Linguistics, The origin of Grammar, Etc etc.
I thought cruelty to children was banned. I should have a filed a case against my parents and the educational institute for the abuse and battering caused to such a delicate, beautiful mind such as mine.
No I thought they will not destroy me I will survive. So I did. I passed out of English literature with average scores like an average kid.
But the journey was lonely dark and deep.
I managed to break every rule in the book.
Scraped by without being suspended, rebelled the authorities, fought for my freedom by leading strikes and demonstrations(I wished too much of a coward to actually get to it).
But here I was a fresh graduate older, wiser and at cross roads again.
-
- blah
-
- blah
-
- blah
-
- blah
-
- blah
-
- blah
-
Hey Kathy,
You told me it would flow out. You were right. He he he he he. Just kidding check the other mail.
Love Saps.
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