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

Wasteland

Something happened over the past two days. Our next door neighbours, or rather one particular family (like all metrizens in this cramped city, we live within literally, touching distance of the others in our neighbourhood), have decided to demolish their home. Fine, so what, you ask. They see how valuable land now is. Who can blame them? But along with their home, they have also decided to kill off the two trees -- a mango tree and a coconut tree -- in their compound. I used to look at those trees from my kitchen window. The mango tree, in particular, was a welcome sight. Bunches of ripe green fruit used to hang heavily from it. Looking at it, I'd think of my home in Kerala -- of the time when I was a little girl in a white petticoat helping my father pluck mangoes as they slowly changed from parrot green to a golden reddish-yellow-orange shade. That was our annual summer ritual, you see. My father plucked mangoes using a long stick with a hook or a 'kokka' (in my collo...

On seeing millions walking home...

We saw them on our way to work In those makeshift tarpaulin shacks Naked children playing with roadside trash Near piles of their own excreta As skeletally thin mothers tried to cook gruel in pots, We looked but didn’t really see.  Every morning, we saw them from our cars Shrunken bodies in tattered clothes, in a huddle Waiting for an ‘agent’ to get them work. What did we do then? We cranked up the AC, we plugged into podcasts “How long before this signal changes, damn it!” We drank the bytwo coffee they served us in darshinis We looked but didn’t really care to see. We were too preoccupied with ‘personal milestones’ That we just had to share on our Insta Stories #Ran5Kms #FeelingStrong #LifeIsGood #FeelingBlessed We passed under-construction sites In our localities and our neighbourhoods.  We saw them and... we quickened our steps. We held handkerchiefs (no masks then, you see!) to our noses Oh, the smell! These people are so filthy! We saw them. We all did. How could we poss...

Feel like a pickle?

I am not Nigella. I do not pout sexily on the few occasions I do enter my kitchen. Nope, I have a cook. Okay, update. I don't have a cook any more. She upped and left. So now I cook for my family and I mostly enjoy it. But no I still don't look like Nigella. Or cook as sexily as her! But I do love to experiment. I love to bake pies, biscuits and my fondest wish is to someday bake cakes that will come out soft and "incredibly moist" as all the food blogs I sometimes drool over, tell me. No, cooking is not therapeutic for me. It's supremely stressful--all that cutting, chopping, slicing and at the end of it all, cleaning. What I do love is the end product, specially if it's come out nice. It's a double-edged sword though. If my cake is lumpy and hasn't risen well, I sink into gloom much like my unrisen dough. But I'm determined to try, try and try till I become a dab hand at cooking and baking. Anyway, for me, food has to have a little zest, a ...