Wednesday, December 13, 2006

Roads
A traffic jam on j j flyover is not the best place for a bout of sudden claustrophobia. For watching the minutes tick by. Watching cars huddle four deep in space designed for just three. Watching the curtain billow on a tiny lit-square of a window next to the flyover. Glimpse, if you must, for a brief moment the spotless kitchen inside. Wonder idly if the bridge was designed to take this sort of wear and tear, bumper to bumper on idle. Not much left past a cement cloud should it crumble, or so one thinks. Next time take the train, and appearances be damned.


The saga continues re water pipes, concrete roads and pneumatic drills that thunder ratatatatat past midnight. Voila, no dusting required. Step out and walk past a makeshift huddle, curly-haired dimpled baby playing blissfully on a tar road, custodian seven-year-old brother and dark skinned labourer mother watching from a distance. “Naam?,” I ask. “Rani,” he says bashfully. “And you?” “Raja,” he says looking down. As simple as that.

6 comments:

crab said...

And, I think, it is that very spirit which sees them through the grind ... day after day, year after year and sometimes, from a generation to generation @ Raja and Rani ... Kudos! :-)

austere said...

totally, crabbie.
such cherubic smiles.

Cherie! said...

You observe so well.

austere said...

cherie- hardly!

Sathya said...

Hi Aust,

the second paragraph reminds me of the visit to srirangpatnam..

we sit there along the river...

Kids playing around there... suddenly the come past us...

"hello wat is your name"..

"you tell me what is your name"

"Satish"

"Sathya"

"no....Satish"

"My Name is sathya"

"Bye bye"....

All in crisp english... Gleeful face...

and then run ....the kids jump into the water... Dunno why but was very happy at the end of the incident...

austere said...

Sathya- truly heart warming. Perhaps the contentment, happiness with what they have even if it is little?