Shut up amid the cackle.

Of rains and autorickshaws...

The monsoon announced its arrival a couple of days back. Dark clouds crowding the horizon, the setting sun unhappily turning red for its days of shine were, well, over....and finally, we could sit in the local trains without tiny rivulets of sweat running down our backs, and our clothes could be taken off decently once we reached home, and did not need to be peeled off our sticky skin. Ah, yes, the rains were more than welcome.
But yes, flip sides do exist. Auto rickshaw drivers, for one, assumed self important nay-sayer status. I remember reading somewhere that a new born baby hears the word "No" about 30,000 times in twenty four hours. I am sure that if we were to leave our babies in the care of a rickshaw driver for a day, they would end up hearing the word at least three times more than that. Ok, that was just some psychological jargon. Let me simplify.
Scene 1: Seven in the evening. I am sittting smugly in the train, and approaching my home station. Having managed to wriggle out of office at an obscenely early hour, I am justifiably proud of reaching home well before time. Just as I am putting my novel inside my bag to disembark, the phone rings. It is my dentist. I wonder why he is calling, and then suddenly remember that I have fixed an appointment with him the next day. He mumbles a few pleasantries, and then places me in a fix by asking me to turn up for the appointment that evening itself. Since I have already committed the undignified act of revealing my location to him, I have no option but to say yes. But I am confident that I can still reach home before my normal time as the dentist is only a ten minute detour.
Scene 2: Seven fifteen in the evening. I am waiting outside the station in a light drizzle with gutter water running by my feet to presumably cleanse me of my intentions to reach home early. Rickshaws buzz past me like race cars. The few who stop, say the ubiquitous "No". I almost risk a lifetime phobia of the word when finally,one driver stops with the flourish of a formula one turn. I trick Schumacher into saying yes, by resorting to an unethical tactic of mentioning a location which is much farther off than where I wanted to go. When I get into the autorickshaw, I see the last of my plans of curling onto the couch with a glass of hot milk and my Erich Segal being washed away into the drain by the aforementioned sinful-thought-cleansing gutter water.
Scene 3: Eight fifteen in the evening. Uncanny deja vu seizes me as I am standing once again in a slight drizzle and waiting for you-know-what. Only, this time, I am standing outside the dentist's clinic and my mood is worse. You see, I have been scolded by my dentist for eating stuff that I should not be eating with braces on. (For those who came in late, yes, I have braces). This time, I try to make light of the situation by observing the various ways in which these Schumachers of the Station roads say "No". I identify at least six distinct ways....to the seventh driver, I do not give an opportunity to exhibit his skills. I am growling by this time, and with talons fully extended, I give him my location. Before he can shake his head, I growl again and give him the exact location with a glare for good effect. This frightens him into accepting my orders (I cannot call that a request) and I start on my way home.
Scene 4: Eight forty five in the evening. I reach home, worse for the wear and bedraggled. And I realise, that even on the days that I leave from office at my appropriate time , I reach earlier than this. With a start, I realise why. I normally walk home from the station. Schumachers, obviously, ain't doing me any good.

Labels: Musings

posted by Anupama. @ 9:55 am