Skip to main content

Man meets dog

Have you ever noticed how traffic moves in Bangalore? Mornings, everyone's in a rush to get to work, so to hell with the signals or the rules -- cut in front of the santro here, zig around the swift there, zag round that cyclist, just miss that crazy biker, brake in front of the BMTC and swish... you're at work.

Not that evenings are any better. People seem more dazed then, more zoned out, the traffic signals are just another 'to do' item on the list and the pesky pedestrians? To hell with them. The general consensus is: Let's speed up when they're trying to cross the road, let's chortle helplessly as they run to beat a traffic light that stays 'walk' for precisely five seconds. Who said life is fair?


Yesterday, at the Cubbon Road-M G Road junction, there was the usual mad scramble. . Like a group of well-trained zombies, a group of us obediently scurried to the middle of the road, then we paused, like ballet dancers en pointe, like sprinters straining every muscle for the sound of that shotgun -- for the signal to turn green. That's when I noticed him. He was waiting patiently, oblivious to the hullabaloo around him. The signals weren't working so there were only cops trying to get the traffic flowing. As usual, the rest of us were itching to move, some pedestrians were already jumping signals, never mind they were endangering their own and others' lives, the bikers were revving their engines, the car-wallahs were honking, the cyclist was digging his nose. But he stayed quiet.

The harassed cop on duty waved us on. With a quiet whoosh of his tail, he got up. That's when I noticed that he only had three legs. Still, he trotted, elegantly, quietly. More dignified than any of his fellows -- human or animal.

So, don't ever call a man a dog. It insults the dog.

Comments

DeeplyDip said…
Hi there
reached your blog while surfing and found it interesting. I cant see you email id so writing here. I run a webiste and am looking for some good writers from b'lore. pls email me if you are interested. my email is deepikarohitdev@gmail.com
Hi Dee,
Thanks v much for saying those kind words about my writing. I have a regular writing job at the moment actually, and it binds me from taking on other work. So I will have to regretfully decline. But in future, why not? The blog is my sounding-off board so maybe we'll cross paths again.

Divya
Swaroop said…
Helo! I soooo get this. Nice!
Swaroop

Popular posts from this blog

Morning scenes

The wind blustery Skies grey blue A light so muted Birds are quiet too We walkers go Sidestepping Couple-dancing No touching Looking or meeting Glances…Oh no!   Masks dangling From chins Below noses Hanging from one ear Or sometimes Fitting so properly Covering everything So no one can see Or know What we’re really like.   Runners running Soundlessly Iron determination Seeping through So much so   That dogs being walked Know they cannot Wag tails Or even Bark a greeting.   Two men Creating content One breaking into Hair flipping, body popping Dance Faithful friend filming In fits and starts As a security guard Sips his chai Utterly bemused.

Why?

Two times now, I've seen it happen. Twice, I've seen men, ordinary-looking chaps, verbally and physically abuse the women with them. While people around them did nothing. One man was young, he had an identity tag. He wore formal pants, nice stout shoes. I saw him kick the young woman with him, straight in the gut, with those shoes. His companion was in burkha but she seemed young.  The other man was older. He harangued the woman with him loudly and crudely. He spat at her, followed her when she tried to walk away. Shook her by the shoulders, repeatedly. Both men did this at a public park, in full view of dozens of people milling around. Walkers walked, joggers jogged, various men lounged about, sat around. The onlookers watched the two men do these terrible things. And they did nothing. I am not a brave person. In my heart I was terribly afraid--that if I confront them, they could hurt me, find out where I live, hurt my family. But I was ashamed to stand by and watch. S...

Living in Courage

Living in courage is such a beautiful phrase, full of meaning. I know women who live like that. Every day. M, a dear friend, is one of them. She is a firecracker of a girl, pint-sized. Always dressed to kill. Wears the highest heels, favours huge, retro sunnies and rocks animal prints. And yes, she colour coordinates everything--from her eyeliner to her bracelet, her lipstick to her nail polish. M has been working since she finished college. Because one fateful holiday, her father and sister drowned in front of her eyes. They were vacationing in Goa then. M and her sister got caught in a rip tide. Their father jumped in to save them. She ended up breaking the news to her mother. Her mother, like many women who were married off pretty young, is a housewife. Her life revolved around her home, husband and children. She never ventured out on her own. Then everything she was familiar with, collapsed around her. That was nearly 13 years ago. M was a young girl then, on the cusp of w...