it was his day

It was his day

                I was carefully maneuvering a busy junction in my car when I was alerted by a passing motorcyclist that I had a flat tyre. Flabbergasted by the sudden announcement I successfully parked the heavy engine on a side the Providence had earmarked for me. The hot sun threatening to burn me alive and the late afternoon hunger that drives everyone mad were fuelling the mess I was in. Again, by sheer luck I spotted a puncture outfit very near the spot. What a joy it is to find someone you want at a time you badly need their presence! A cobbler when your slippers desert you, an auto man when the rain is pouring, a smiling, uniformed friend in a police station, an inviting acquaintance in a Government office -  the list is endless. Thanking the Almighty I peeped in. I saw a lean, shabbily dressed young man busy eating his lunch. On hearing my footsteps, he turned and looked at me questioningly. I told him the reason for my intrusive presence during his lunch hour, reassuring him with all good nature that he could attend to me after appeasing his hunger. Satisfied by my patience he went back to his business. There wasn’t a chair or a make shift seat to pamper myself. So there I stood with a  burning belly waiting for a man who was slowly, very slowly devouring the scanty meal. Somehow I did not realize that a meal could be so delectable even in the presence of a stranger. Though I found that the size of his lunch box and the time to finish it off were a mismatch, I took sides with the hungry, industrious labourer. Still, when I made some inadvertent grunts, he gently turned to look at me and then as if I wasn’t there, went back to taste every morsel that was possibly remaining in his tiny container. I told myself that the man might have unearthed some occasion to taste a good meal and that my urgency should not spoil his opportunity. After twenty minutes the man made some positive signs of winding up his fare. I waited with a painful smile cursing myself and my car for another five minutes. He took a lot of effort to clean his mouth, teeth, sweaty face, palms and his hands and feet. Then when I was about to lead him successfully to my disabled car, the worst happened. He told me with a glee that he would attend to me within a minute and just disappeared. Helplessly I looked for him hither and thither only to be pacified by an observant neighbor that the fellow had gone for a treat of betel leaf. Well, the job was done after thirty minutes. While I was driving back I thought about him and his willful patience. Why did he do that to me? Didn’t he deliberately keep me waiting for his service? My appearance probably had instigated him to take a social revenge on someone who enjoyed greater privileges in the society. That was his day to prove that he was the king and I was his dutiful attendant.

Destination India

Destination India

An American friend recently told me that he along with his girl friend was planning a trip to India. He was all agog with his wonderful plans of visiting at least ten cities in India celebrating different culture. He had already researched through various sources the places of interest, the incredibly affordable cost, the exotic menu, the calendar of festivities and other paraphernalia of mesmerizing shopping spree. I listened to him with interest, chuckling now and then, nodding to encourage him and feeling proud that I am a citizen of his dream destination.

                 During the conversation, my friend asked me how safe is India. I paused for a while and then I found myself narrating innumerable incidents about that particular aspect. I was rather pessimistic about my nation and I was only sharing the bitter truth. But truth is truth. I was not a hypocrite to paint beautiful pictures about the place my innocent but curious friend was destined to visit.

                I told him not to let his girl friend walk around at night even in busy cities without an escort. The possibility of some stranger either misbehaving with her or making away with her wallet which may contain her precious travel documents could not be ruled out. Many such events had been reported in our media. Again I cautioned him not to hang around secluded locations which might look beautiful but probable  points of larceny or ravishment of the female companion.

                Then I also shared my apprehensions over the terrorist attacks anywhere anytime. America became very shrewd and alert after the 9/11 onslaught. It could even boast of not witnessing a single such incident anywhere in its vast land. But our country helplessly watched many such attacks round the year and that too only in busy urban spots. Is it enough if  the head of our state strongly condemns such violence through the media the next day of such merciless aggression? Are the perpetrators promptly brought to book? Have we any assurances that next time this won’t happen? Unfortunately none.

                When my friend expressed his joy of riding on Indian roads on a motorcycle which he intended to buy or hire since it would give him immense opportunities to look around, I looked at his face blankly. How different our road discipline is from that of America! You don’t know when you would be hit by what kind of vehicle and that too in a place you least expected it. Our hit and run history is pretty bad. And a motorcycle is the most vulnerable vehicle on our dusty roads.

                Our talk came around eateries that served colorful, cheap and tasty food. How could I withdraw valuable tips which might save him from dangerous virus and related diseases? What about our hygiene? How safe is our water? How clean are our cooks and waiters? Less said is better. But I felt duty bound to warn him.

                Finally he talked enthusiastically about our festivals that are very kaleidoscopic. He seemed to have drunk with the country music and art, our motley artists who throng the temples and the visual treat they happily enact to thrill the foreign tourists. It was then I remembered the most recent misadventure of our famous pyrotechnics which claimed more than 110 precious lives. Who could have dreamt of such thoughtlessness? The organizers had willfully ignored the safety measures. They had disobeyed the dictates of the guardians of safety. Ecstatic crowd that pulled and pushed fell victims to bright and loud display of fireworks which attracted thousands of innocent admirers from far and wide.

                When all is said, my friend sat silently near me looking into my eyes. Then diverting his eyes he said nothing and walked away. Did I discourage an avid tourist from visiting our unsafe country? Or did I just warn him of possible dangers that lurk around the unsuspecting foreigners? The sun was gently going down on the orange skyline. I walked back home mourning those who lost their lives in the colorful night.