About Roads and Roadies...

Been a while since i had this strong urge to write (type rather). I've realised down the years that it’s mostly melancholy that drives the writer in me, and honestly I‘ve hated this realisation. This ‘realisation’ I guess, was also a factor contributing to my reluctance to write, apart from the more genuine and obvious reason or rather a lack of it – talent/ ability/ creativity.

Hmm… now though since it’s a decision made, let me start putting down a few thoughts. My ideas mostly run haywire by the way, and eventually end up reflecting on my write-up as well. But then it’s a decision made and I am going to write tonight, end of story. By the way, another startling fact that just dawned on me is that this “writing” disease, whenever it infects me, it’s always in the death of the night. Since I do this very rarely, I clearly remember the last time I sat to write, it was about 3:00 AM. Tonight Its 2:52 AM, the little bottom-right clock on my screen tells me.

Moving on then, and coming to the more serious business of actually putting down something sensible, something that would justify this “past middle of the night” effort, and on completion, would at least make a little sense to myself, leave alone a different reader.

I’ve been in Pune for 5 years now and have had the luck to enjoy uninterrupted employment over the entire period. In case you are raising your brows at my mention of ‘luck’, here is my argument -- to continue without hiccups in this catastrophic era of recession waves, when others around you have floundered, in my opinion is sheer luck. Anyway, my agenda here was to bring to focus the one thing that has struck me, captured me, mesmerized me the most, and at times almost killed me, over my professional years… no not the work, the workplace neither. Rather, the daily act, or should I better term it as ‘the daily war’ that we declare upon ourselves – the act of travelling to office.

Yes it is a war. A deathly, ghastly one. A war which announces its arrival each day, with the bugle call of the first honking vehicle that streams up behind your own mode of transport. Thereon, you are in a battlefield of unfathomable aggression, subject to nerve-wrecking attacks emerging out of nowhere, and daring you to complete the 15/20/25/whatever km challenge that you have undertaken. But before I further dwell on the war scene, let me take the honour of first introducing to you the settings…

Pune. Hallmark of the still shining part of India’s superb growth story. The glass covered buildings that a layman like me would relate as directly proportional to a city’s success rate, have been mushrooming all over. Neon lights that reflect off these glassed marvels and bedazzle your eyes, serve you a reminder that India definitely is shining. IT Parks, malls, multiplexes, five star hotels and hospitals, educational institutes that earn Pune an “eastern oxford” reputation, testify beyond doubt that this city has arrived and how. Meandering between these concrete wonders on either side and spreading like a spider weaved network are the city’s streets. Crisscrossing, interlocking, interweaving, these roads are the battlegrounds of glorious wars fought and unparalleled bravery exhibited.

Every time you put your vehicle on the road, remember this – you are on a mission of annihilation. Every other vehicle on the road is going to try and take you down, and your job is to try and take down every other object on wheels that dares come your way. Driving in Pune requires nerves of steel. You could be subject to a super-speeding superbike overtaking you from the wrong side. Additionally there would be the biker’s prolonged honk… a message conveyed that your audacity of coming in his way will not be not be spared the next time. You could also be subject to black diesel and kerosene burnt smoke bellowing off some public transport and farting at your face while you stand at a traffic signal. Here I should take the opportunity to heartily thank my dear friend who recently purchased a car, and which I pool, everyday to office now (Earlier my mode of transport used to be a motorbike). Simply roll up the windows, and you are spared these obnoxious on-your-face farts… thank God!! Again thanks to my friend, these days I can simply sit in the comfort of the AC, complain about the bad collection of songs being played on the radio, and pity upon the poor non-car folks, subject to these deathly gases.

Apart from these on road challenges, there is much that the government has done on its part, to ensure that the roads themselves pose a serious hurdle to the commuters. The road to Hinjewadi, the one that I traverse daily to my workplace, is an epic in itself… call it the road to perdition rather. I sometimes ponder upon the great engineering genius and foresightedness that must have gone into the creation of such a marvel. A single stretch of road that exists as the only connectivity between Hinjewadi and the rest of the world, has been laid out with such precision that not more than two (and at times just one) vehicles can traverse in parallel. Then there is a flyover, another work of art. Where else on earth can you find a flyover that tapers at both ends in such fashion that only a single vehicle is allowed to pass at a time. Absolutely brilliant. Why this is a work of art I’ll explain. You see with this kind of an arrangement, the need of a traffic police is eliminated, since the traffic self regulates…one at a time. During monsoons, you are simply at the mercy of the rain gods. I have always strongly advocated the idea that during rains all vehicles should be disallowed. Why burn fuel and damage Mother Nature, when you can use non-polluting boats to ferry to the office. Yes, nothing to be surprised. Come the monsoons, and the roads give way to streams. Who needs to go see Venice?

Every war leaves behind deep scars and opens purple wounds. How can this war be any different then? The high octane battles fought leave behind dented bonnets, crashed rear-view mirrors, broken headlights and at times more serious human injuries, broken bones and bruised egos. The sight of a run-over stray dog or cat lying dead in a pool of blood, which used to disturb me earlier, seems to go down easily these days.

But despite all this, the spirit never dies. The number of glassed buildings keeps increasing, so does the workforce thronging to these workplaces. Cars, bikes and all other modes and forms of transport occupying every inch of the poor road never seem to cease. The battle for survival is on and gets bloodier with each passing day. And still my brothers and I reach office each day, never failing the responsibilities handed, and get back home in the evening, thanking God deep within, that another day has passed, unhurt.

The objective of writing this piece was not to criticise or ridicule or raise tempers. Just general observations that had accumulated inside me over a period of time and were dying to come out. Hope you had as much nice time going through the composition, as I had typing.

Might catch you tomorrow, looking eye to eye, and spitting venom, in the war zone. Till then, its good bye.