Stuck!

Dramatic broken skies of picture post card quality. …And the rains are here again. There is a huge nude outside my office window. It is a bare tree with a thousand scorched arms.  As twilight is cut short, lightening darts streak across the sky, stopping short , curling, tangoing , following the wind tunnel around the tree. The sound of a fresh shower unsettles the evening calm . Washed by pleasant memories of well spent drenched hours, I sit and gaze into nothingness while the data crunchers around me dial it down. Hunched over laptops, body orifices plugged with gizmos, they shamble off to re-fill their coffee cups ….and discuss the difficult question of ‘How to negotiate the home bound traffic .’ And that’s where the romance ends. The best way to understand the innate competitiveness of the human spirit is to drive down a blocked, water logged, inner city road.

The Terrorist; Owner of The Truck: I own the bloody road. Being huge means that I can come and go as I please and anyone who wants to curtail my timings, will get a swollen lip and an abused mother. I will hog the middle of the road, get stuck in it, if I so wish and bring slow traffic to a complete halt. That is the only way I will get people to respect my girth, and beware of the terror that I can unleash.

The Suicide Bomber; Owner of The Motorcycle: I am wily and weak. Hence I will weave in and out of every available gap, change lanes as much as possible, scowl at and terrorize the cretin who drives on 4 wheels. I will also pretend that everyone is out to kill me while I go and block their ‘right of way’ and gently graze against them, leaving streaks of torn paint in my wake.

The Schizophrenic; Owner of The Auto-Rickshaw: I believe I am a truck. I will therefore behave like one. I will also hog the middle of the road, and splash my passengers and other cars alike. I will physically spit in the direction of anyone who nears me and suddenly stick my leg out to support and push all fellow autos who get stuck on the road. I will sometimes get amnesia and forget I am a truck and behave like a motorcycle weaving my way in and out of lanes while balancing the other auto with my leg.

The Passive-Aggressive; Owner of The SUV: I will treat the waterlogged road like I am on a hunt in the jungle.  I have paid a lot of money to pretend I am a macho maaaan and have a higher sperm count than anyone else. The salesman has sold me the divine right to try and mow down anyone who comes in front of me, failing which I will throw a tantrum and just block all the parts of the road which have been left available by trucks and auto rickshaws.

The Manic Depressive; Owner of the small car: Here I am and here I will be for the next three hours. The world has it against me. The only day that I am able to get out of office early, I get stuck in this god forsaken mess. If the water level rises, it may get into the engine. Then I will have to get out and push, while I am roundly abused by the world. I am going to curl up in my seat, hit out viciously at mosquitoes and listen to my ‘rainy weather compilation of 125 soul washed songs all beginning with ‘ Bheegi Bheegi.’

The Over Compensated Egoist; Owner of the Large Sedan :  I am going to yaaak yaakkk yaaaak on the phone , crib crib crib about the traffic and the ‘Naaaarth indians’ who are obviously the root cause of every problem in Bangalore. I will intermittently scowl at the driver in a half-hearted attempt to lay the blame at his door. I will be unable to play golf tomorrow and hence sack a few employees to feel better about myself again.

Dramatic broken skies of picture post card quality. …And the rains are here again.