On the way home at 8.30 AM in the company cab.
A traffic light on MG road. The cab is required to turn right, into Chhattarpur.
A green signal for vehicles determined to go straight down the road. We must however, wait. At least...legally, we are obliged to.
There is a red Maruti 800 in front of us. Playing it safe, on the right side of the law.
Our cab-driver starts honking. He's in no mood to wait.
Stubborn, stubborn Maruti 800. It refuses to budge!!
Blaring horn, now accompanied by muttered swearing on part of the driver.
When *Madangir-3rd drop* in the back of the cab exasperatedly says, "Just skip it goddamit!", we know he is voicing the collective thought in the cab.
Headaches coming on. Staying up all night, followed by relentless, jarring noise in an unusually stuffy car (it's crowded today and it's definitely hotter than it has been recently)... the perfect way to ruin your peace of mind.
Is the light never going to change? An eternity of honking.
Finally!! The green arrow pointing towards the right, glows! A light at the end of the tunnel; a light to end all our suffering...
Crap. Maruti 800 still isn't moving...
Cabbie loses all patience. A few dicey moments and about 6.5 near-casualties later, cabbie has managed to swerve to the left and is in the process of overtaking Maruti 800 from the left. We halt next to the still-static car.
In spite of ourselves, we peer curiously into the neighbouring vehicle.
Cabbie rolls down window, sticks out his head and glares at the obstinate middle-aged man. The man who refused to budge.
All his hurry now forgotten, the cabbie now addresses Maruti-man.
English meets Haryanvi meets Hindi.
"Uncleji!! Turn kyon nahi karte ho??" (Why don't you turn??)
It is a busy, small intersection. A bus full of people on our left lean out interestedly. A million cyclists crowd around, ready to enjoy the fun. A green Alto which is coming from the left, espies the potential for entertainment and halts right in the middle of the intersection.
Cabbie now decides not to disappoint the audience.
He looks around at the other people and with a grin and biting sarcasm, shouts to all and sundry, "Learner hai, learner hai!! Abhi- Abhi gaadi chalaani seekhi hai!! Inki galti nahi hai." (He's a learner, he's a learner!! He's just learnt how to drive the car!! It's not his fault.)
The spectators snicker. Humour is a nice change from fisticuffs.
Maruti-man stares straight ahead. He's about 50 or so. Silent. We can't help but giggle too.
Cabbie is in no mood to relent. "Arrey, thulley bhi nahin khade hain, Uncleji!" (There aren't even any cops around!)
*a pause as the speaker ackowledges the listeners' sympathetic nods*
Then addresses the audience once again, "Chaloji, koi baat nahin... Seekh jaayenge." (Anyway, it doesn't matter... He'll learn.)
Maruti-man is transfixed. He refuses to acknowledge Cabbie. He refuses to retort. But most infuriatingly, he refuses to move!!
Cabbie has vented his frustration and had his fun. He rolls up his window, shifts into first and the horn blares again.
The minor traffic-jam caused by the spectacle disintegrates as Cabbie attempts to drive through a couple of motor-cyclists and the Green Alto, ignoring all laws of space and matter, and life and death.
It doesn't matter. Green Alto, and almost-dead motor-cyclists are still too amused to lose their tempers. They smile appreciatively at Cabbie and our cab screeches as it turns left.
One last look at Maruti-man. Stony-faced. Hands clenching the steering wheel. Greying hair.
In all the drama, the signal has changed back to red. We realize just as we're taking the turn.
The cabbie races past the Chhattarpur temple. *Khanpur-6th drop* ventures a comment, "Good work, bhaiyya ji... Aise slow drivers ke saath to aisa hi karna chaahiye." (Good work... This is exactly what one should do with such slow drivers.)
Cabbie has mellowed. Feels generous. Pops out the tape of bad-quality Haryanvi music and puts on 95.0 FM. His way of showing us he's in a good mood, because we're always asking for FM.
"Arrey, theek hai... Chalta hai." (Oh, it's ok... It doesn't matter that much.)
We settle into our seats comfortably. Shakira and Himmesh early in the morning.
The driver glances back at us one last time, "Learner tha na..." (He was a learner...)
We smile obligingly and some of us close our eyes. We still have enough time to squeeze in a short nap.
The cab screeches to a halt. We need to turn right to drop *Chhattarpur-1st drop*. The traffic light is red. There's a truck in front of us.
Cabbie swears. The horn blares. We are resigned to our fate. We concentrate on FM. We close our eyes and settle back into our seats.
A regular ride home...
7 comments:
:D Ah. The magic of Delhi roads. How I miss them. NOT.
Agree with Pinky above.
Now you know why I moved to quality?
Qualis vs Indica, Indica wins. Lesser people, accommodating drivers.
:)
Damn..for a while i thought the driver of the 800 had died at the wheel and the story would be of the mundane turning into the tragic..shudder!
Very good...the narrative is crisp..words are used economically..your thoughts are not muddled..so the reader gets a chance to visualise everything clearly....nice :)
Hmmm...good use of language and words...the transcription helped :) ...However, I was curious to see what turn the story would take at the signal (the driver of the Maruti 800 would probably give some 'gyan' or turn out to be a freak)...but it just fell flat... i also found the monologue delivered by the driver to disinterested people in the cab was a bit stretched, hence tiring post the signal jump. Although the crisp end (vicious circle of driver's impatience) brought the whole thing back and I didn't feel too disappointed after that.
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