Once upon a time the capital city of
India –New Delhi had no flyovers and traffic was friendlier with
convenient transport bus services run by mostly untrained and illiterate
drivers. In South Delhi there was a small road running parallel to IIT
and close to its entrance gate facing JNU. There was a 3 side road
junction(chowk ) adjoining JNU, one road coming from RK Puram side.
Perhaps there were traffic lights too but mostly they were
non-functional – the system was infancy, still trying and “testing” on
the Delhi roads.
One morning approaching the office hour, I noticed long traffic –jam and
dozens of cars and buses blocking the narrow roads from all sides. As a
good samaritan citizen I rushed to investigate and as I reached the
epicenter at the 3sides junction chowk, - no, there was no break down of
any sort. Two buses stationary – face –to-face – were blocking the
entire traffic at those not too wide roads. Both the drivers reluctant
to give way…
“You back first, swine (swear =pig); don’t know how to drive, donkey (gadha)..”
angrily said the elder one.
“No, you’r wrong. You came from the wrong side, if you had made a little
right turn with a wider angle, we could have cleared the turn..”
admonished the younger one. In fact both were wrong, but the younger one
was partially right.
“Do you have driving licence?”, someone educated shouted from the crowd.
“I need no licence-waicense. I have driven on these roads for the last
25 years. See my hair…not turned white in the bloody hot sun..”, boasted
the elder one.
Young one retorted by showing his licence: “See mine, absolutely new
one, got it for 5,000.00 rupees cash, last week,” said proudly the young
one.
“Send them to prison for illegal driving,” counselled a well groomed
legal pundit. But no traffic police was in sight and impatient crowd was
getting bigger with piling up the traffic, and shouting, and angry
citizens’ swearing was heating up the tempers.
Nearby a teen age boy thought it was good chance marketing his freshly
roasted phuttas ‘corn-on-the cob’ - ek rupaye me, taja phoona phutta le
low”…
I bought a big phutta and rushed to the two proud and angry drivers. The
older man had now opened his driver’s side door and was smoking his bidi
totally unconcerned about the public discomfort. “Which one of you backs
first gets the phutta,” I shouted upholding the big phutta. The young
man snached it from my hand, jumped into his seat and drove away the
bus. The crowd roared in laughter. Cheering the young driver the people
clapped. I shouted : Mera Bharat Mahan.
