Yeah! It’s an initiative taken by the traffic authorities to curb noise pollution in the city and I’ll do my bit by avoiding the yellow button on my bike. My friend Paul, a married man (my sympathies) expressed his opinion that the initiative to keep the noise in check should not be limited to traffic; the same to be extended to grumbling wives as well.
Veering back from the dangerous wives to our safer roads, I have already started to avoid honking and I only reach out for the horn when absolutely necessary. And to be honest, I’ve not yet drawn the line that will define ‘Absolutely Necessary’. The last two days since I’m observing controlled aggression on the roads, if it can be called so, I’ve come across many instances which, only days before, would have made me involuntarily reach out for the blaring horn... hmmm... I’m wondering if I could call it blaring ‘coz my bike actually lets out a meek beep for its horn and if put to a test, it can even be humbled by a bleating sheep. Two instances from the last two days should be enough to tell you how serious I am about avoiding the horn (or the beep), though I was never honk happy. The first was when I was headed home yesterday. It was around 11pm when there was less traffic on the roads and much less pedestrians and I was doing a casual 40kms on my bike when, without warning, a pedestrian decided to cross the road without as much as looking behind for oncoming traffic. Though, he was at a distance, just about enough for me to apply my brakes to avoid him, and which I did, I avoided using the horn and yelled ‘OYE!’ at him. That was enough to send him scurrying back to the footpath and the scared look on his face that my ‘OYE!’ triggered gave me immense glee. The second instance was early morning today on my way to the office. The traffic at Andheri station was bumper to bumper and I kept my bike on the left where I could negotiate it through narrow gaps left between the footpath and the other vehicles when I came across a girl walking gaily, not on the footpath but on the only part of the road from whence me and the other bikes could escape the traffic, thus obstructing our mobility. I gave a meek beep, to no avail. Much as I wanted to, I resisted the urge to keep my thumb on the horn. Instead I roared ‘OH AUNTY!’ and that remark seemed to draw her out of her thoughts, if she was thinking any. She scowled at me in a way that said she expected me to melt away instantly. However, I didn’t and thankfully, she gave way for me and the other bikes to pass. But, am I glad to have resisted the impulse to honk. As long as jaywalkers infest the streets, the desire to honk out loud is bound to surface.
Nevertheless, these instances would not deter me and I continue to play my own small part in the just cause to keep noise pollution in check, not just for that one day to come, but for all the days henceforth.
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Saturday, March 1, 2008
Hair today, gone tomorrow!
I enter. I look. I want to do the u-turn and scram like there’s no tomorrow. Beat it. Shoo. Thoughts implore me to make it for the door and out, but I stand my ground.
It’s been two years since I’ve been growing my hair and now my locks fall below my shoulder blades (why am I even thinking about blades here). Though I had sported long hair right from my college days, I’ve never grown it long enough to sport a pony tail. This is the first time that I’ve grown my hair this long and it’s an awesome feeling to let your hair down when there’s a breeze blowing or go headbanging when at a rock concert. Now, as I stand inside the salon, I wonder if I’d do the right thing to chop it off. The barber (or the hair stylist, whatever term each of us is familiar with) with his pair of scissors looks more to me like a barbarian wielding a sword. As I wait my turn, a part of me tells me that I’d do better to get the job done tomorrow. However, I was glued to the seat and when my turn came, I moved animatedly to the seat where there’d be some action. I couldn’t disguise the contempt in my voice when I told the barbarian to chop it off. Having told him how I wanted my hair cut, I gasped in horror as the first snips took away huge chunks of me, off me. I simply closed my eyes and relaxed (or at least tried to) even as my ears picked the frenzied hacking and slashing sounds taking place in the vicinity and transmitted them to my brain like some journalist reporting ‘Breaking News’ LIVE. Every time I opened my eyes, I could but feel remorse for the guinea pig reflected by the mirror. Now there was no looking back and when I actually tried, the barbarian rebuked me for behaving like a three year old. After what seemed like an eternity, his job done, I saw him appreciating his work of art like a gardener who had finished working on a hedge. Though I wanted to comment on the same, words failed me; the damage was long done. And somehow, I thought it wouldn’t matter to him. Never before did I think that my face resembled the moon for its shape and now when I looked in the mirror it looked mooner than the moon.
After the tryst with the barbarian, the first person (and not the only one) to express shock and disbelief at my appearance was the one I’d least expected to. My mom.
It’s been two years since I’ve been growing my hair and now my locks fall below my shoulder blades (why am I even thinking about blades here). Though I had sported long hair right from my college days, I’ve never grown it long enough to sport a pony tail. This is the first time that I’ve grown my hair this long and it’s an awesome feeling to let your hair down when there’s a breeze blowing or go headbanging when at a rock concert. Now, as I stand inside the salon, I wonder if I’d do the right thing to chop it off. The barber (or the hair stylist, whatever term each of us is familiar with) with his pair of scissors looks more to me like a barbarian wielding a sword. As I wait my turn, a part of me tells me that I’d do better to get the job done tomorrow. However, I was glued to the seat and when my turn came, I moved animatedly to the seat where there’d be some action. I couldn’t disguise the contempt in my voice when I told the barbarian to chop it off. Having told him how I wanted my hair cut, I gasped in horror as the first snips took away huge chunks of me, off me. I simply closed my eyes and relaxed (or at least tried to) even as my ears picked the frenzied hacking and slashing sounds taking place in the vicinity and transmitted them to my brain like some journalist reporting ‘Breaking News’ LIVE. Every time I opened my eyes, I could but feel remorse for the guinea pig reflected by the mirror. Now there was no looking back and when I actually tried, the barbarian rebuked me for behaving like a three year old. After what seemed like an eternity, his job done, I saw him appreciating his work of art like a gardener who had finished working on a hedge. Though I wanted to comment on the same, words failed me; the damage was long done. And somehow, I thought it wouldn’t matter to him. Never before did I think that my face resembled the moon for its shape and now when I looked in the mirror it looked mooner than the moon.
After the tryst with the barbarian, the first person (and not the only one) to express shock and disbelief at my appearance was the one I’d least expected to. My mom.
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