I have a newfound passion. Swearing !
Pundits will tell you that 'swearing is a sign of helplessness'. What they wont tell you is - 'swearing helps get you a good night's sleep'. They will also tell you 'boys swear, men dont'. Again what they wont tell you is "men swear all the time, even if only in their minds :-P" Swearing and cursing can be a most pleasureable, soothing and fulfilling activity that is guaranteed to make your life 'better'. The best thing about it is that it places the blame fairly and squarely where it belongs.
With this quaint little introduction out of the way, let me jump straight to the subject of my blog - "the conversation". You see the person whom we converse with the most is ourselves. We often try imagining conversations that never happen. And since most of us are at our scrupulous best when 'conversing' with ourselves, these imaginary conversations can often lead to an amusing form of self-engagement where we try to figure responses of the opposite party and sometimes end up even outguessing ourselves.
The streets of Kolkata are the only place left on earth where man, machine child, rodent, cat, dog, Ambassador, tram, faeces and filth coexist in a state of perfect harmony. And should you find yourself unable to harmonise, a bit of swearing goes a long way in alleviating your pain. While morning shows the day, swearing shows you the way (out) :-P With this comforting thought at the back of me mind, I get on my vehicle and start for office.
I imagine if ever I would be hanged by law it'll be for accidently mowing down one of those millions of street urchins that run amok on the streets of India. They scare me beyond description, they really do. You never know out of which nook or cranny they'll suddenly leap in front of your vehicle and start dancing like a madman. And there are only two ways to tackle them. One, having reflexes like Valentino Rossi and two, 'sizing' every object on the street which could 'eject' an urchin out of nowhere. At my age the first is ruled out. So I concentrate on keeping an eye out for potential "urchin ejectors" which can run the gamut from parked vehicles through drums of tar to cylinders of concrete. But these b&^$^rs defy eyesight. Just when I think I have made it beyond the danger zone, a 3 year old 'full monty' shoots up right in front of my vehicle. My reflexes freeze in a mixture of uncontrollable rage and horror. And just as I'm about to knock him over my limbs come down the brake pedal and the vehicle screeches to a halt. He is saved. No I am saved.... by the skin of my teeth. Phat blows the top of my can - "you @$$&^$^, cant your play at home. Doesnt you mother look after you ?" Just like her son the mother too appears out of nowhere and picks up her child. She stares at me as if I was trying to kill him. "Isse kya bol raha hai mujhse baat kar ? Tum log apne bacchon ko sambhalte ho kya ?" - she asks me point VinodArjun. She has a point. As parents, do we keep a tab of our children as much as we should ? Dont many of us "unleash" our unmanageable brats upon the gullible neighbour or even strangers and heave a private sigh of relief ?
Its 9 o clock. I'm already running late. I step on the gas. I'm out onto the main road. Its office time and the road is swarming with Taxis. Fat a88ed Ambies to my left, fat a88ed Ambies to my right and fat a88ed Ambies in front. Its getting surreal with so many slowly bobbing fat a88es 'eating' fuel and doing what one is not supposed to do so early in the day - f*rting as if there is no tomorrow. Thankfully this gas has color and you can tell when its coming at you. Ambies are an integral part of Kolkata life. They bring out the worst in me. I shower them with my choicest expletives and finally feeling good (with the worst out of me), I move on.
Next I come to the bottleneck on my route - a narrow road leading to a small and steep bridge. I immediately run into a 4 tonne lorry carrying 140 tonnes, bulging at its seams and threatening to explode into a million pieces any minute. These are the most dangerous subjects you can come across on Kolkata roads. I try to overtake it immediately but the driver wont have it - Whats the big hurry Guv'nor ? - he seems to be saying. "Darn you, dont you know that heavy vehicles are not allowed at this hour ? - I counterquestion. He doesnt seem to mind. "Yup. Do you know whats inside of this lorry ?" he asks. I shake my head. "Its cargo. Cargo that'll eventually be find its way to your stomach". I dont reply but choose to look on. The one ahead of this lorry is another tanker, possibly carrying water. Just then the lorry sends out a lungful of first rate black smoke right next to my face. I almost choke to death. I shout "you m%#^%$&^$^r, do you want me to follow you for another 5 kms and die of pollution ? Just look at me. I look as if I have been auditioning for the role of Yakut in Razia Sultan." In a mad frenzy I press the throttle and veer my vehicle sideways to wriggle past the lorry. Just then a 20 year old lad on a bike roars past me and blocks the passage. I press the brake hard and the jerk almost throws me off my seat. He looks at me smilingly as if saying - "Dont mind ol' man. Nothing personal." I glare back at him. And at his arm candy who has wrapped herself around his back in the most obscene manner imaginable. She too smiles - ""Dil pe mat lo, Uncle...". I bellow back at 'em - "Dil pe mat lo ? Do you think I mind taking it to heart ? No madam, its not my heart I'm worried about, it may blls."
Thankfully by now the bike powers ahead and after a lot of deft maneuvering I too overtake the couple of lorries to come face to face...nay face to bum with these hand pulled carts carrying gas cylinders and assorted goods. The funny thing about Kolkata is vehicles here always tend to gravitate towards resembling a 'bum'. The cartwallah is bathing in his sweat as each muscle in his body is being flexed to pull the cart up the bridge. The entire traffic behind them is being held ransom and there is mad honking/clamouring but they are least bothered. I wait for a few minutes but they hardly budge a foot or two. My heart goes out to them but I can stand here any longer. I replace the "m%#^%$&^$^r" with a milder expletive and say "c'mon you b&^$^rs, get moving". The cartwallah calmly replies - "Babu pasine se chalti hai yeh gaadi petrol se nahin.." Having heard the dialogue in movies before, I remain unimpressed - "are to kya meri jaan loge ? tumhare kaaran main bhi pasina bahaun kya ? petrol waali gaadi kyon nahin le lete* ?" "petrol waali gadi hogi to hume naukri kaun dega ? kaise bharenge paet phir ?" I concede he has a point. If his employer replaced carts with lorries, many people would be out of jobs.
I cant think of anything to say. I patiently wait until he squeezes every millilitre of his pasina and reaches the summit. As I drive past him with a sigh of relief I hear him mutter - "Jise dekho aage nikalne ki jaldi hai. Hume peeche chhodh ke jaldi kaise nikloge Babu ?...."
I still have lots of expletives on my tongue. Just nobody to use them on. Finally I reach my destination - 'spent' and panting like a dog. When I go to sleep, I 'try' dreaming of better roads and better traffic. And when I dont get it...I just...curse !
There is little else I can do !!
