traffic woes

It's been raining quite a bit of late. While traffic gets chaotic and everybody wanting to reach wherever they are going in a hurry, there's helplessness, rashness, anger to be seen everywhere.

A few days back when it was the rainiest day in the city, the rickshaw a friend was traveling in got hit head on by a garbage dumper. With the rain pouring down in sheets, the fire brigade had to pull him out and the cops rushed both the driver and him to the hospital, bleeding all the while and unconscious. The driver couldn't be revived and was declared dead while the friend is still struggling with metal plates and stuff in certain parts of his body.

These days I have been traveling with my heart in my mouth. Since I haven't been driving to office for some time, I am at the mercy of rickshaws to commute. Once in a rare while, I find a careful driver who drives in line, who follows rules. The rest are all maniacs, out to avenge some misdeeds from their past lives. They race, they brake hard, they gleefully bump into potholes without slowing down while I hold on to the rails for dear life. I like to be prepared as much as possible. But I am still caught off guard when the driver brakes suddenly and another maniac bumps from behind with a little jolt. Then there is verbal diarrhea spewed from both ends.

Sometimes I wonder what causes this attitude in our drivers. Whether it's a BEST bus driver who honks angrily and threatens to crush you out of his way or the rickshaw driver who thinks the road is his racing ground, they are like angry monsters whose food has been snatched away. I agree they have a hard life and driving on Bombay roads from morning till night could be traumatic, but that's hardly an excuse for tormenting the humble public. For I don't want a nightmare on the road every time I step out. I don't want to check my lingerie every morning when I dress up, for if ever anything happens, I would never want to be caught dead with undignified underwear!

How much do I LIVE?

People look at me in surprise when I say I hate sleeping. What is so nice about this whole state of being knocked out straight for a couple of hours? I was mentioning if ever a pill is invented which you can just pop and feel refreshed and rested, I would be the first one to buy it. In fact I have often dreamt of something like that.

Since I can recollect I have hated sleeping. If someone asked why or how could I feel like that, I would reply "I will be doing enough of that in my grave." And I would get some looks that pronounced me weird. I do believe the nights are so beautiful that it's a waste to spend them dead.

I think it's this whole state of being unconscious, of being helpless that gets to me. It is also to do with always having less time for everything. I think I am most greedy for time, wanting more for everything and then finally when things don’t fit it, I curse sleep that takes up so much time every day.

But it's not that I don't feel sleepy. I do, more so as age creeps up. I am beat at the end of the day. I try to go on till as late as possible… 2am… 3am… and finally give in knowing I will feel sick in the morning if I don't shut my eyes for a couple of hours. Thankfully I am an early riser. I love dawns... the time when the sun readies itself and we get a peep at it while it's dressing up to face the day. The time when we see light but see no shadows. I love every moment of the day and night. Whether it's 5pm in Bombay, or 5am in my little town or say even 1am in Mauritius, every time of the day has its charm. And I regret the time I am dead in bed, when I don't get to experience these moments consciously.

For these very reasons people find me crazy. Maybe I am. But I definitely don't fancy wasting over one third of my lifespan being dead when the event itself is called LIFE!

Roman Holiday

I just got back from one of my longest holidays taking in the sights of Europe. Italy… Switzerland… Paris… Amsterdam… London. I thought of all those who reside there and whose blogs I read regularly. I imagined seeing Colours on the streets of Brussels as I walked about. Not that we would recognize each other since she's never seen me and I had just glimpsed a one inch picture of hers with her dozen friends. In Switzerland, I thought of Boo when I saw a young Indian couple with a little girl in a pram. In London I was too busy meeting friends and trying to hide from clients who knew I would be there.
It was indeed a lovely vacation and am glad for having been able to see the works some of the greatest artists thatever lived and walk on the same streets as they did.