Day -starters

It was another usual day where everyone was busy getting ready for work. I was running a bit behind the schedule, which was showing in my temper. It had rained heavily last night and the surroundings were immersed in water. I was waiting for the maid to come and do her routine task so that I can leave with a sense of neat and clean house. She was trying to cope up with the flood situation in her house and busy to rescue the limited belongings that she possessed. ‘Damn!! I will be late’ was the thought when I took charge of the steering wheel. The traffic was chaotic on the road. Everybody trying to overtake from whichever side. The underway beneath the railway bridge gets waterlogged; I have to take a longer route now. A car went full speed splashing the dirty water. My hair and sleeve of the dress got drenched. “Owner of this luxury car is supposed to be educated and well-groomed, why can’t they show some sense?” I was imagining myself entering the office as the dirty character of ‘washing- powder- Nirma-ad’.

Anyway, I have to concentrate on the round-about ahead. On a smaller one usually there is no traffic-signal. The Traffic police are posted but in a hurry you tend to miss him standing on one side of the road under a shady tree. Traffic police on the road is a recent scene for me. The city I grew up had no concept of ‘road sense’. Foot walkers, cyclists, scooterists and motorists (who were very rare) used to share the road with equal pride. In mornings and evenings the pride was further shared by buffaloes, cows and goats. ‘Keep left’ was a slogan mugged in school but hardly practiced. My memory of a Traffic-police was a man clad in white uniform; recently changed to blue and white. Another information I had was they commonly suffer from varicose veins which is an occupational hazard. In this city I come across Traffic police profoundly during the helmet-pehno-seatbelt-bandho-drive  or licence-check-karoa-drive  or pandrah-agast-chhabbis-janvari-explosive-checking-drive. I have changed the nomenclature to Terriffic police.

I was following the car in front of me, making a mental note that the motorbike should not be allowed to cross or I would have to wait till the huge caravan of vehicles pass off. I was alarmed by the shrill tone of whistle and a white-blue person emerging in front of me. He was signaling me to stop and waving the caravan of the opposite side to pass by. Suddenly in a deft gesture he turned right-angle, clapped heels together and started signaling to the other caravan. The whistle was blowing in a rhythmic fashion as if talking to the vehicles and instructing the drivers what to do. His face was fresh and friendly and his eyes observant, efficiently taking a note of where the traffic is clogging. While his moves were professional, his decisions were empathetic. It was rare scene and I was enjoying it. Suddenly I felt a sense of peace coming down on the drivers. Shrieking of horns subsided and the vehicles were attentive to take orders like disciplined rows of children in the assembly ground. He was in total command of the situation. No yelling, no honking, the vehicles were gliding by as if in a trans. He was acting as an antidote to subside the overflow of peptic juices. I shall be late today but cheerful.

I signaled a thumbs-up sign while passing by and he acknowledged it with a subtle smile.