Traffic in the sky …….

Commuting in the scorching hot sun, five kilometers a day in the airy, humid, atmosphere is never an easy task. Clustered vehicles , dusty roads and busy pavements often makes one miserable, however , I have begun to love this very monotonous routine of mine as I make my way to college . They say that beauty is in the eye of beholder, now I realize the truth in it.  

Mid of March and into April, the city finds itself overwhelmed with the sultriness of atmosphere glowing under the shadow of the sun, instead of shadow though the sun shining bright and cheerfully. The pavement groaned with the burden of people walking on it and troubled by the garbage lying around waiting for a hungry cow or the municipality services. Here and there, the men swept away the dust in front of their shops to start a busy hectic day.

While I make my way down the lane , I hear the constant “ dak “ , “ dak “ , “ dak “ of the partially functioning auto rickshaws making their way early morning to their hired customers or searching for a potential customer. Of these one will find a rickshaw fully functioning, rather new in appearance with drivers as friendly as the vehicle itself. But seldom is this treat available in the busy world of rickshaw drivers.

Often I wonder why they attempt to come so strangely mean than they actually might not be. One must never judge. It has always been my personal belief that we get the kind of response that we send out signals to attract – obviously I believe strongly in law of attraction.

Nevertheless, it’s always a pleasure to meet the ones who are never too nasty and always ready to help in the business of auto transport.

As I sit in the rickshaw it seemed that there began a  certain music to the traffic, like a conductor in an orchestra giving signals ;one blows horn and the others follow,  distant drone of the jammed motorway  starts buzzing and the rattle of bicycles as little kids ride their way  schools ,  makes quite a melody. Now seeming like music to my ear.

After a while, I realize that it is indeed very hot. I look around , down the street everything looks surreal , bunch of cars raced down the road barely missing the stranger on foot .Ahead , I would see Mirage at the wake of every passing vehicle , certainly the trickery of sun , yet a sight for the sore eye ..

Growing sounds of Chitchat of workmen in sarongs attract my attention. Everyday these men and women, latter dressed as gypsies with their babies on their back gets ready for construction of one or the other building nearby. It makes me fill with pride and respect for these women. They bend their backs and work along with men in hard labor to earn money and live a respectful life. Be it construction, garbage clearance, welding or fishing, the presence of a woman is inevitable in all aspects of work; which is a beautiful factor. What makes it wrong is that despite the equal participation of women in the field of employment, they are paid less than men. This unjustifiable practice was abolished by the recent enactments and amendments of labor law, yet at private level, this continues regardless of enacted law and legislations.

As the auto picks up speed, I reach the small children’s park by the petrol bunk. In winter season, one would see joggers, elderly women, little kids in the tricycles and daddies playing tennis with their daughters; enjoying the chilly morning. However, today, the park was empty, sad and abandoned. I felt wrath of the bushes wilting under the surge of heat. The swings creaked under the pressure of breeze. Park has certainly seen better days.

Soon, my attention is driven towards the old man sitting by the end of the road, in his small handmade hut, with a huge needle in his hands, fixing broken, scarred, chapped shoes and slippers scattered all around him. Despite the day’s burden over him, he smiles to the fruit seller right beside him and chatters on oblivious to the scorching hot sun and its burning attack. His determination is amazing. Even at such an old age, he has the positivity and willingness to live and independent life and this makes me very proud of this fellow stranger and fills me with an unimaginable positivity. These men are truly the heroes of this nation who spend entire day finding and filling meaning to life with their own hands.

The auto races down the lonely lane towards my college. I look up to see trees, heavy with summer full bloom leaves, hanging their heads to hide from the sun's relentless, burning rays. The bright blue sky dotted with the cirrus clouds, like strokes from a dry paintbrush, promises even a more beautiful cloudless night .Back at home, this kind of weather would be the call for a beach day, perfect treat for summer heat.

As I come nearer to my destination, the familiar smoky smell of cooked meat followed by smell of frying onions hit me. The preparation of breakfast, the delightful Indian delicacies being prepared immediately makes me hungry. The sweet aroma of spices makes my stomach grumbles, then again, food is my best friend and as it happens I am always hungry. Especially when it comes down to spicy Asian food, there is clearly no escape.

Lost in thought , driven by the force of food , my mind is suddenly interrupted by a group of men and women running back and forth carrying logs and what looked like pots and cooking wares, tiny little kids, half dressed, barefoot scurried with them ; concerned look on their faces . At a distance, the Bulldozer sat like a king in the center of the compound which was once the home of slum dwellers. By the entrance of the compound, BDA (Bangalore Development Authority) had set up the authoritative declaration that the property belonged now to BDA. Two three women constables stood by them silently watching the show put up by the men cutting down the chunks of trees and bushes, little of which was left by the time I arrived.

This was no surprise, in the past three years, I have witnessed three summers and every time, somewhere a tree sacrifices its life or many trees undergo the same fate. Why the development authorities allow this to take place is beyond my understanding. However, what is appalling is that they choose to cut down the only source of shade in the streets, in the summer; when even the shade of a tiny single leaf amounts to a relief of a life time. …

I wondered if the men following the orders of the authorities did know what an injustice they were doing to the future of this city, by depriving them of trees, deprivation of the source of life, a source of joy to the environment! There is clearly no justification for this.

The auto drivers move on. The slum dwellers were being shifted and there was little that he could do, there was little that I could do to comfort them.

As I reached my destination, familiar friendly faces smiles at me and I reciprocate with a kind nod. This is one of the 365 days of my life, living in the worlds second most populated nation happens to be a real pleasure. The people, the food, the love, and most of all kindness are all truly found here at the heart of Asia’s largest democracy. Beauty is indeed to the eye of the beholder.