Among the many battles raging on in contemporary India, that of the Indian commuter seldom goes noticed. The champion of this mundane affliction is not by any means the aforementioned Indian commuter; much has already been said about him and he enjoys enough limelight to leave a pack of fireflies dazed. The real hero, unsung yet unrelenting, is the Indian Road.
A day in the life of anyone who has had the privilege to go through M.G.Road these days will stand to testify the enormity of the plight that one is challenged with, first thing in the morning. The Indian Road has and will always present an unassailable face of hell to people day in and day out, and prides itself with big names in its casualty list. You would think its easy to be the bad guy. But day after day, the Road has to constantly reinvent itself to come up with new challenges to the general public, who are known to get used to anything, no matter how horrendous. The only reward being to joy of watching the look on the face of the most cheerful morning-person when there’s too much muck on his face to smile.
M.G.Road in the mornings is nothing short of a Dangerous Dave adventure (extrapolated to 2010 standards), replete with its own twisting caverns, bumpy landings, trees out of nowhere, (not-so-precious) stones on the way, water to be avoided (both on land and that falling on your head from crevices in the metro roof), all accentuating the already joyous journey filled with cheerful fellow commuters and the ever-awesome cops. On a good day, you’re blessed with a back-ache from last night. On a better day, you’ve got the cherry on the top, the frosting on the cake, the big buildup, the show-stealer, the irreplaceable auto-rickshaw. Those things seem to be the only things unabated by the phenomenon. The only way out of the mess, of course, is to mimic that barbarian driving style. I’m sure Raiden had it easier in Mortal Combat!
This is not a one time thing. The Road has to keep it going till the end of the day when the commuter has already had his share of hell. Distressing him now would be nothing short of a miracle. Uncannily, the Road steps it up at night. It calls on its favours with Mr. Rain who willingly obliges, pouring on to the already wretched caverns a life of its own. The ride is now thick with numbers, emotions, perils and mudtraps. And if thats not enough, some random chick will find out, that the only way to cross the road is to wail and run across it with her arms in the air. Not killing her, is the bonus level. And if you manage to get through all this, you will find out that all those cops that dig your wallet while the sun shines, have taken an early off and all the signals are haywire. This sets the scene for the rickshaws to tear away their benign costumes and show the monsters that reside within them. They jam roads rampantly, and brake at will, refusing to take customers in totality, and making a mockery of the little sense of order that remains in that moment of madness. In their moment of jubilation, you’re left pissed, confused, looking at the heavens for mercy, contemplating living in Zurich, or buying an auto yourself, containing that road-rage, half-laughing at mad chick, checking your watch, trying to understand how dirty you and the bike are, considering bike-service (and early retirement) while still being annoyed to no extent that the day hasn’t ended yet. And then, there’s tomorrow!!
But then, its Friday! \m/
