These days I travel home by auto in the evenings (as I have a wound on my foot that’s still healing). The driver asked for 150 bucks. I said I’d pay only Rs. 120 and he said he’d come down only to Rs. 140. I was feeling very tired and didn’t want to wait for another auto. I got in. I was curious as to why auto drivers charged so much and asked him how much mileage the vehicle yielded. He said it gave 25 km per litre. And that was the start of a long conversation, an "interview" as I would like to call it – which brought out quite a lot from the auto driver and gave me some things to reflect about.
He told me that he had driven all kinds of vehicles in his life – cars, carts, even boats. Aeroplane-um train-um than ma naan ottaley. For many years he had been a car driver; he said he’d worked for many wealthy families. He recounted his experiences while working as a driver – mostly ranting about mean employers, spoilt rich kids who were difficult to manage, employers asking him to wipe cars they hardly used, women asking him to buy vegetables… then he said “There are difficulties in every profession.” Which is of course true.
The auto driver said he’d worked for and known famous people. He talked about Cho Ramaswamy (actor and editor of Tughlak magazine) and how he was a very good man who respected and interacted with people from all backgrounds and classes. He also said something really interesting: Apparently, comedy actor “Loose” Mohan’s son was his classmate; he had known the actor and claimed that he taught him Chennai slang dialogues.
I also asked him how much he made every month and he said that some days he would make a lot of money, some other days he would make very less (a reply I could’ve expected); I didn’t get to know how much the guy made on an average. He said driving in traffic all day made him very tired (which we should really think about – imagine, all auto drivers are bound to get very frustrated because of the traffic every single day).
He felt that I was down to earth and had interacted with him without looking down upon him because he was only an auto driver. He said that my attitude would bring me a good husband and good things in life. I was really touched by this.
I am sure God had a hand in this. He wanted me to interact with an auto driver and take a peek into his world instead of being cocooned in my world and cribbing about increasing rates (this is not to say I think Rs. 140 isn’t high. They can bring it down a little.) It was an interesting evening indeed!
Auto podum aattam
Do you know how much it costs to hire an auto for a month to travel from Velachery to Cenotaph Road (on weekdays only)? 5000-6000 bucks (I got this info from an auto hire service). From Cenotaph Road to Alwarpet Circle, drivers charge Rs.40-50! I can travel that distance by bike in 10 minutes.
When did the common man’s tuk tuk become a luxury transport option? I can pay 5 bucks for a ticket on a sad looking bus, but 50 bucks for an auto ride? This is the five star experience that Chennai autos offer – reckless driving and a jolty ride, an unkempt driver talking in pucca local Tamil, letting foul words fly at fellow commuters. Will travelling in an auto ever be a pleasant experience that offers me value for money?
I could continue to crib. But let me treat this article in a different way.
There is an upside to this - a bright opportunity for us. We can consider becoming auto drivers, seeing that it’s an extremely lucrative job.
Oru small karpanai (day dream) – what if I choose to become an auto driver?
I’ll wear a mafia style suit and sunglasses. I’ll paint my auto shiny black with Italian style design touches. It’ll have soft black Italian leather seats. There will be red satin curtains on the window and sides. Then commuters would willingly shell out 50 bucks, why, a lot more for a ten minute ride.
Or I’ll paint my auto in bright colours and give it kitschy interiors – totally in Manish Arora ishtyle. I’ll serve refreshing sherbet and bright pink cotton candy to customers (in keeping with the kitsch theme). I’ll play dabbankoothu and Bollywood songs & give customers the ride of their lives.
Ok… enough of that. Let me come back to reality, where I am stuck with the misfortune of having to travel home by auto for a few weeks, due to a wound on my foot, that’s still healing. I have to put up with autowallahs and shell out money for many days to come. Wish me all the best!
When did the common man’s tuk tuk become a luxury transport option? I can pay 5 bucks for a ticket on a sad looking bus, but 50 bucks for an auto ride? This is the five star experience that Chennai autos offer – reckless driving and a jolty ride, an unkempt driver talking in pucca local Tamil, letting foul words fly at fellow commuters. Will travelling in an auto ever be a pleasant experience that offers me value for money?
I could continue to crib. But let me treat this article in a different way.
There is an upside to this - a bright opportunity for us. We can consider becoming auto drivers, seeing that it’s an extremely lucrative job.
Oru small karpanai (day dream) – what if I choose to become an auto driver?
I’ll wear a mafia style suit and sunglasses. I’ll paint my auto shiny black with Italian style design touches. It’ll have soft black Italian leather seats. There will be red satin curtains on the window and sides. Then commuters would willingly shell out 50 bucks, why, a lot more for a ten minute ride.
Or I’ll paint my auto in bright colours and give it kitschy interiors – totally in Manish Arora ishtyle. I’ll serve refreshing sherbet and bright pink cotton candy to customers (in keeping with the kitsch theme). I’ll play dabbankoothu and Bollywood songs & give customers the ride of their lives.
Ok… enough of that. Let me come back to reality, where I am stuck with the misfortune of having to travel home by auto for a few weeks, due to a wound on my foot, that’s still healing. I have to put up with autowallahs and shell out money for many days to come. Wish me all the best!
My 2010
This New Year, I am not making any resolutions but I am aiming to strengthen some traits – humour, optimism, tolerance, the ability to forgive, faith, Hanuman bhakti, peace…
Here’s what I aim to do this year.
- Crack more jokes. So what if it takes a zillion PJs to finally be able to crack a good joke? :-D
- Visit my favourite Anjaneya temple – the deity to whom I open up my heart. I have found the god I am truly devoted to and I want to strengthen my faith.
- I want to love my body more, for what it is
- Learn kickboxing :-D
- I want to start each day in a positive mood, that carries on throughout the day.
- Eat more street food and build my resistance (wink)
- Visit Tiruvanmiyur beach on a regular basis, stand in the water and eat sonpapdi from a push cart.
- Take a break from the hustle-bustle of Velachery by visiting quieter areas and breezy tree-lined avenues
- See more of sunny skies, tree canopies, gulmohar trees…
- Not miss the best movies of the year
These are small things that truly make me happy. I can achieve them better and plan to do more fruitful things. These are resolutions too - that help me make the most of life, while I take each day as it comes.
So what have you planned for your 2010?
Land of Indiscipline
My tour manager in
We Indians seem to have indiscipline in our blood.
Just a few instances…
Cenotaph Road Flyover Inauguration
They built a flyover on
I was taken aback. It is a beautiful tar road, which the corporation had taken pains to lay – something we should appreciate, not spit on with cringe-inducing nonchalance. Couldn’t he see the freshly laid road? Couldn’t he understand it was for his own good? The Chief Minister didn’t inaugurate the flyover. This boy did. In true indifferent-ungrateful-Chennai-idiot style. He seemed to say “This is how I welcome development. And how I take care of my city.” Clap clap clap. Keep it up. Namma ooru romba uruppudum.
Traffic Police set an example
How many times have people been unnecessarily (and for a real reason) caught by the traffic police, legitimately charged fines or escaped with a bribe? There was an instance when I almost got caught by a traffic policeman for crossing the stop line at a signal near my house (there were a few more vehicles there – all of them were caught, but I managed a wily escape through an alternate route while the cop wasn’t looking… it was really unfair! Do you know at how many places policemen encourage us to cross the stop line at signals where they have turnings, to let the traffic behind us move in peace?). I got caught by the police twice; once for parking in Pondy Bazaar at a place where there was no “no parking” sign – apparently parking zones would have “two-wheeler parking” boards. The zone is at one end of Pondy Bazaar. How was I supposed to know? (Read my article “Pondy Bejaar” to know how the traffic police took my petrol money to buy Vijayadasami gifts.)
I nearly forgot what I was going to say in my indignation. One of the newest examples our traffic police uncles have set for us – a traffic policeman was way ahead of the stop line at the Cenotaph Road-Turnbulls Road junction – as if telling the others, “Why fear, I am here! The traffic policeman guiding us (no signal yet, after the flyover construction) will not fine you.” He was almost in the middle of the junction, giving barely enough space for heavy vehicles to freely turn right. The other policeman didn’t even care about what a wonderful example his colleague was setting.
Our City Bumpkins
Stupid people drive normal people mad. There are thousands of dumb idiots on the roads who don’t know why we honk horns at them, don’t understand why we drive across pedestrian crossings when the signal turns green and why we shout at them while they walk in the middle of narrow roads.
Groups of people wait at the
There are also people who happily climb over the median and cross at different points on OMR. They don’t even think about what speeds the vehicles would be coming at. I’ve touched 80 on the road. It is that free. How dumb can pedestrians get?
The third group of people is those who think they own the narrow streets they live on. Some walk right in the middle of them, even though many leave at least 2 metres on the side of the road as they walk (we can’t expect these people to be smarter or more concerned than that). The other day, as I was entering a narrow lane, two women were walking in the middle with hardly enough space for my bike to enter. I honked my horn once. She didn’t respond. I went closer and honked my horn loudly and repeatedly. She turned around, shocked at how I was close enough to crash into her. I asked her indignantly why she was walking in the middle of the road. I don’t know if she heard me clearly through my helmet. But I wasn’t able to tolerate it.
How do we stop these acts? Chennai as a whole should develop a conscience. Rigid rules have been needed for long in our country and it is not an impossible task to enforce them. Why can’t our country be like Europe? We’re humans, and humans can change! Let us make 2010 and every year ahead, the year of discipline!
Paa.. Wah! Wah!
I forgot that Auro was Amitabh.
I didn’t even care much that the kid was so tall.
He was Auro. The witty intelligent 13 year old giving his friend Amol reasons why he couldn’t bring his friends for a Rashtrapathi Bhavan visit – because if he took just one of them, the others would get angry. The kid who runs away from a little girl in school who keeps coming after him to give him something. Who calls his granny ‘Bum’ because she has a big bum. Maybe he seems a bit too smart for his age when he mouths those clever lines. But forget his height, understand that he has Progeria, and Auro is just another 13 year old.
Abhishek has done a good job in his role and we get a whole lot of gyan on politics and slum problems. (We need it! No matter how much gyan India seems to get, it doesn’t change.) When interacting with Auro, Abhi is natural.
Vidya Balan is gorgeous. Her voluptuous figure only adds to her beauty. Curly hair knotted in a low bun adds sexy nonchalance. Her predominantly brown outfits in the flashback scenes and the sarees she wears later are to die for.
There are some lines which jolt you with their brilliance and meaningfulness. Auro jokes that politicians wear white (which people do only at funerals) because the country is dying. It just made me exclaim praise.
About Auro’s chimp dance… many would think it’s really cute – for a kid it would have been cute. To me it came across as way too childish and annoying – make Bachchan act as a kid, but this doesn’t work.
Coming back to the good aspects – Paresh Rawal is well cast. He is good both as a serious actor and a comedian. He did have his moment of comedy, when a bed ridden Auro tells him that there’s not much time left and he begins talking very emotionally, thinking Auro is going to die while Auro was talking about the visiting hours. (Auro does die, which is a sad ending indeed L). Bum Dadi Ma is also well cast. But I wish she’d dressed better than a maid servant.
A major plus point of Paa is that it has just the right touch of comedy and emotion. The climax is not long drawn. It is wrapped up in two scenes.
After Cheeni Kum, Balki has once again proven himself in Bollywood. Like Cheeni Kum, Paa is different (even while it has some clichés). Both the films are refreshing and relaxing with witty dialogues that make the audiences smile and writers feel proud. Will recommend Paa to a zillion people. And of course I am looking forward eagerly to Balki’s next film.
I didn’t even care much that the kid was so tall.
He was Auro. The witty intelligent 13 year old giving his friend Amol reasons why he couldn’t bring his friends for a Rashtrapathi Bhavan visit – because if he took just one of them, the others would get angry. The kid who runs away from a little girl in school who keeps coming after him to give him something. Who calls his granny ‘Bum’ because she has a big bum. Maybe he seems a bit too smart for his age when he mouths those clever lines. But forget his height, understand that he has Progeria, and Auro is just another 13 year old.
Abhishek has done a good job in his role and we get a whole lot of gyan on politics and slum problems. (We need it! No matter how much gyan India seems to get, it doesn’t change.) When interacting with Auro, Abhi is natural.
Vidya Balan is gorgeous. Her voluptuous figure only adds to her beauty. Curly hair knotted in a low bun adds sexy nonchalance. Her predominantly brown outfits in the flashback scenes and the sarees she wears later are to die for.
There are some lines which jolt you with their brilliance and meaningfulness. Auro jokes that politicians wear white (which people do only at funerals) because the country is dying. It just made me exclaim praise.
About Auro’s chimp dance… many would think it’s really cute – for a kid it would have been cute. To me it came across as way too childish and annoying – make Bachchan act as a kid, but this doesn’t work.
Coming back to the good aspects – Paresh Rawal is well cast. He is good both as a serious actor and a comedian. He did have his moment of comedy, when a bed ridden Auro tells him that there’s not much time left and he begins talking very emotionally, thinking Auro is going to die while Auro was talking about the visiting hours. (Auro does die, which is a sad ending indeed L). Bum Dadi Ma is also well cast. But I wish she’d dressed better than a maid servant.
A major plus point of Paa is that it has just the right touch of comedy and emotion. The climax is not long drawn. It is wrapped up in two scenes.
After Cheeni Kum, Balki has once again proven himself in Bollywood. Like Cheeni Kum, Paa is different (even while it has some clichés). Both the films are refreshing and relaxing with witty dialogues that make the audiences smile and writers feel proud. Will recommend Paa to a zillion people. And of course I am looking forward eagerly to Balki’s next film.
Trichy Tales
Last weekend, I went on a trip to Trichy, after 5 years. Trichy is my birthplace. My father works with BHEL, and I was born in the Trichy BHEL hospital. We moved to Chennai when I was a one-year old.
I love the BHEL Township in Trichy. A place far removed from the noise and dust of the town. Broad tree lined avenues, calm all around and a lovely blend of smells that I’ll never forget. The houses are designed in a simple way, but hold charm.
We visited Dad’s friend’s mother who is admitted in the BHEL hospital because of some orthopedic problems. I love her like my own grandmother. I sat by her bedside and held her hand for sometime, which gave me a lot of happiness too.
I saw the operating room where I was born! I’d never seen it all these years. I would’ve taken a photo of it, if I was a celebrity and they had had a board saying “NIranjani Ravi was born here” (but I am not a celebrity… if I was I could’ve surely expected a board, because they actually built a temple in Trichy for actress Khushboo!)
After the hospital visit, a looong day began… we visited 3 big temples in the morning. The afternoon and evening zoomed by with visits to Dad’s friends’ houses.
I am gonna give you a detailed account of everything that happened here, in 2 parts. I recorded most of it in a diary as the day went on. This is the longest posts I’ve written.
At the Thaayar sannidhi, the special ticket cost only 5 bucks. For a moment I felt sorry for Thaayar. Her husband was demanding 250 bucks! The queue was slow moving… there seemed to be more people waiting for special darshan than the regular darshan queue. I reminded myself that a good portion of the dharma darshan queue was getting baked in the sun. But even my queue was really slow. And when we finally reached the sanctum, we hardly got a glimpse of the main deity as she was hiding behind the Utsava statue and a few other statues. In 3 seconds we were ordered out by the person in charge of shooing people away. I didn’t feel too angry as I’d spent only 5 bucks.
In the Amman sannidhi I got full darshan of a priest, before he moved aside to let me get a glimpse of Amman, who was so wrapped up in silk that I couldn’t make out her face.
The Samayapuram Amman temple was much more tolerable than these places. I expected floors wet with water mixed with kumkum and women in garish yellow (have not had good experiences at Amman temples: I still remember the cleanest one I visited – a small temple at Vellore). But I found that the Samayapuram temple was the cleanest, most well ventilated of the 3 temples. The Rs. 25 ticket queue I was in seemed to move fast; I was walking swiftly, feeling relieved, till I came to a stop behind a very slow queue. We really should expect this and keep our happiness in check; we should learn from a simple analogy – when you see a half-empty road in the city, you can expect to end up behind a hundred vehicles stuck on a road in a traffic jam or waiting for a green signal. If the road is completely empty, a minister and his entourage would’ve just passed and a policeman will let in hordes of traffic held up on side roads. Aagamothathle (on the whole) delight on seeing an empty road is as short-lived as the joy of walking quickly down a temple darshan walkway. I think I drifted a bit far. Coming back to the Samayapuram temple… there was (of course) a point where the free darshan and Rs. 25 darshan queues met, and then it got really crowded. The same pushing-shoving-shooing away routine followed.
Finally our temple rounds got over and I breathed a sigh of relief, as we finished lunch and embarked on another round of visits. This called for another long article… and here it is!
They forced us to eat some snacks even though we were almost stuffed to the hilt. Aunty brought out jangris. I decided to take only a tiny bit. (I had also been on a diet for the past 12 days or so – it made the sweet doubly tempting). But as I ate the jangri, it left a lovely taste in my mouth. I wanted a half piece.
I love the BHEL Township in Trichy. A place far removed from the noise and dust of the town. Broad tree lined avenues, calm all around and a lovely blend of smells that I’ll never forget. The houses are designed in a simple way, but hold charm.
We visited Dad’s friend’s mother who is admitted in the BHEL hospital because of some orthopedic problems. I love her like my own grandmother. I sat by her bedside and held her hand for sometime, which gave me a lot of happiness too.
I saw the operating room where I was born! I’d never seen it all these years. I would’ve taken a photo of it, if I was a celebrity and they had had a board saying “NIranjani Ravi was born here” (but I am not a celebrity… if I was I could’ve surely expected a board, because they actually built a temple in Trichy for actress Khushboo!)
After the hospital visit, a looong day began… we visited 3 big temples in the morning. The afternoon and evening zoomed by with visits to Dad’s friends’ houses.
I am gonna give you a detailed account of everything that happened here, in 2 parts. I recorded most of it in a diary as the day went on. This is the longest posts I’ve written.
250 bucks for 2 seconds
My parents and I blew 250 bucks per head for a 3 second glimpse of the deity in Srirangam. Our money did not keep us away from the crowds – we got pushed around in a huge throng even on the way to the special entrance. I paid Rs. 250 just to stand for 2 minutes in an empty 20 by 20 space and enjoy the breeze from fans.
My parents and I blew 250 bucks per head for a 3 second glimpse of the deity in Srirangam. Our money did not keep us away from the crowds – we got pushed around in a huge throng even on the way to the special entrance. I paid Rs. 250 just to stand for 2 minutes in an empty 20 by 20 space and enjoy the breeze from fans.
We couldn’t see Ranganathar in all his glory in one glimpse. The doorway to the sanctum sanctorum wasn’t wide enough. One priest was repeatedly telling us to “darisichify” his feet and the five headed snake. The other was urging us to move fast.
The main point – all big temples have been commercialized. You shell out a whole lot of money (Rs. 250 for Srirangam was a shock) and get to see the deity for a few seconds (seems like at every temple where you shell out more, you don’t get a proper darshan – what’s the point? It’s like you spend more for a magazine but find that the number of pages and quality has come down) & you’re urged to move fast by some guy you want to shout back at.
At the Thaayar sannidhi, the special ticket cost only 5 bucks. For a moment I felt sorry for Thaayar. Her husband was demanding 250 bucks! The queue was slow moving… there seemed to be more people waiting for special darshan than the regular darshan queue. I reminded myself that a good portion of the dharma darshan queue was getting baked in the sun. But even my queue was really slow. And when we finally reached the sanctum, we hardly got a glimpse of the main deity as she was hiding behind the Utsava statue and a few other statues. In 3 seconds we were ordered out by the person in charge of shooing people away. I didn’t feel too angry as I’d spent only 5 bucks.
We also went to the temple at Tiruvanaikaval (one of the Panchaboota Shiva temples – the linga here symbolizes the water element). We got only a teeny peek at the linga through a specially carved window in the sanctum sanctorum, before which I got darshan of a lady’s broad backside blocking my view. We didn’t have enough time to go in.
In the Amman sannidhi I got full darshan of a priest, before he moved aside to let me get a glimpse of Amman, who was so wrapped up in silk that I couldn’t make out her face.
The Samayapuram Amman temple was much more tolerable than these places. I expected floors wet with water mixed with kumkum and women in garish yellow (have not had good experiences at Amman temples: I still remember the cleanest one I visited – a small temple at Vellore). But I found that the Samayapuram temple was the cleanest, most well ventilated of the 3 temples. The Rs. 25 ticket queue I was in seemed to move fast; I was walking swiftly, feeling relieved, till I came to a stop behind a very slow queue. We really should expect this and keep our happiness in check; we should learn from a simple analogy – when you see a half-empty road in the city, you can expect to end up behind a hundred vehicles stuck on a road in a traffic jam or waiting for a green signal. If the road is completely empty, a minister and his entourage would’ve just passed and a policeman will let in hordes of traffic held up on side roads. Aagamothathle (on the whole) delight on seeing an empty road is as short-lived as the joy of walking quickly down a temple darshan walkway. I think I drifted a bit far. Coming back to the Samayapuram temple… there was (of course) a point where the free darshan and Rs. 25 darshan queues met, and then it got really crowded. The same pushing-shoving-shooing away routine followed.
Finally our temple rounds got over and I breathed a sigh of relief, as we finished lunch and embarked on another round of visits. This called for another long article… and here it is!
A whirlwind afternoon
We went to Dad’s friend’s place in Srirangam. They had become good friends 25 years back – when I was a baby. The uncle called me Jinglu (my nickname when I was a baby – some of my Dad’s oldest friends – whom he made during his early years with BHEL – still call me by the nickname – as if it were the most normal thing).
The uncle’s daughter is a sweet and quiet girl. She is petite and has a stick-thin figure that drives me wild with envy – though people say I’ve become thin. The uncle and aunty themselves were quite shocked at my appearance, saying that I looked malnourished (to top that, I was on a diet, which became fodder for conversation). I got plenty of well-meant advice from them. My mother, for her part, advised the girl to eat 2 dates and 2 almonds with peels removed in the morning. Then the conversation shifted to how the two of us were thinking that life is all about fun and how we were doing aarpaattam and attagasam (like everyone else). I always try to justify such behavior; I had to straighten my hair because my curls were uncontrollably wild; I used to shop a lot because I easily got bored of clothes but it did good to me because I am now a seasoned shopper who picks only distinct pieces… and other such arguments.
We then went to the house of Somashekar uncle (the aunty’s name is Gomati – I call them “Somu and Gomu”. I pray that they don’t stumble across this post). They live in a huge, beautiful house. The rooms were painted in beautiful shades – lilac, powder pink and pale green. There were lovely wooden roll top desks and cabinets.
They forced us to eat some snacks even though we were almost stuffed to the hilt. Aunty brought out jangris. I decided to take only a tiny bit. (I had also been on a diet for the past 12 days or so – it made the sweet doubly tempting). But as I ate the jangri, it left a lovely taste in my mouth. I wanted a half piece.
I spotted it on my Mom’s plate, but before I could ask her for it, she popped it into her mouth. And at that point aunty closed the jangri dabba. I wistfully looked at the dabba while my heart sank. Bye bye, darling jangris…
We were sitting at the dining table, watching Somashekar uncle’s son playing video games. He had been glued to the computer right from when we entered. There was a little boy – Aunty’s colleague’s son, whom he had dropped off while he took his daughter to attend an exam – the boy started playing video games with Somu uncle’s son guiding him. Somu uncle’s son suddenly turned and asked me… “In which class is the boy studying?” Before me or my Mom could reply, Aunty thankfully came and told him that he was her colleague’s son! But I felt flattered, hoping that the boy might’ve thought I looked young enough to be the boy’s sibling (;) :P).
We then went to Dad’s ex-GM’s house. They’re a sweet old couple. The aunty hugged me and was very affectionate, but planted sloppy wet kisses on her kanna’s cheeks.
Then we returned to the township and visited Mr. Rohira, a north Indian friend of Dad’s. The family is very affectionate; I love his children. They’re friendly, warm, down-to-earth, uninhibited and very hospitable.
They laid out a snack feast for us. My strictness about dieting permitted me to eat only one Good Day biscuit out of the 2 dozen on the plate. Aunty has whisked up bread rolls super fast for us. They were simply delicious. I restricted myself to one and a half.
We had a wonderful time, even though it was a really hectic day. I wish I could spend a few relaxed days at Trichy, visiting many people, inhaling the wonderful smells of the Township, taking long walks. I must plan soon. But (of course) on the whole, it was a great trip. A refreshing break from the hustle-bustle of Chennai.
Pondy Bejaar
I don’t use words like “bejaar”. That is only for locals in lungis, Pondy Bazaar vendors and uniformed people with paunches who’re mamool crazy (you get what I mean). But there is no other word which fits perfectly in the title (:-D) and what happened to me on Vijayadasami day.
I parked my bike in an area which didn’t have a “no parking” sign. There were several vehicles parked nearby. I visited a Bossini store and tried on some clothes. I didn’t find anything tempting enough and walked out, proud that I hadn’t spent a penny. I reached the parking place to find it empty. A flower vendor who was sitting nearby told me that the police had taken away a bunch of bikes from there and said that the police station was at the end of the road.
I tried to be as calm as possible. But on the way I almost snapped at a woman who stepped on the back of my shoe. I put on a threatening expression as I walked without allowing space for people who came from the opposite side. I felt like I was going to faint from low BP. I slowed my pace and calmed my mind further.
You see, just 2 days before I was caught by a traffic police fella for jumping a red signal at the turning outside Citi Centre, because of carelessness caused by the sheer joy of buying a gorgeous silver top. Police Uncle was waiting there to ruin shoppers’ happiness. (Yes. I know I made a mistake. But a policeman waiting there was just too much. Do they wait at every signal? Do they wait at Tidel Park signal? Velachery signal where everyone happily turns while the red light is on? Noooo. They wait at Spencer, Citi Centre, Besant Nagar beach… where people just come to relax and have a good time.)
Police Uncle demanded 100 bucks from me for adding to his collection, so that he could shop at Citi Centre too. Luckily I had only 50 bucks in cash. I told him so and gave it to him. And while the red signal was still on, he asked me to go. Police Uncle is so strict about rules being obeyed.
I had never been fined by the traffic police earlier. And now I had to pay up for the police to celebrate Vijayadasami. Heck! I decided it was fate, as I walked into the Pondy Bejaar police station courtyard. A khaki clad inspector told me that the traffic police SI was right at the backside of the station. I walked there, saw him standing on the road platform behind and luckily my bike was parked right there. He asked me to pay Rs. 150. I told him that where I parked, there was no “no parking” sign. He said that parking spaces would have a “parking zone” sign. Huh? How am I supposed to know? I hardly go to Pondy Bejaar.
Anyway Police Uncles would’ve bought nice Vijayadasami treats for their families, while the petrol money I’d got from my Mom went poof. Later, I gave myself a special “cheering up” treat – a chocolate cone. I’ve discovered that ice cream gives any day a happy ending. At least I had a nice cone because of Police Uncle. And now I am writing a blog post after a long time, literally without taking my fingers off the keypad! Wonderful experience. But Police Uncle, I don't want to thank you. Anyway you had a great Vijayadasami because of my money, that's a substitute for a "thank you".
I parked my bike in an area which didn’t have a “no parking” sign. There were several vehicles parked nearby. I visited a Bossini store and tried on some clothes. I didn’t find anything tempting enough and walked out, proud that I hadn’t spent a penny. I reached the parking place to find it empty. A flower vendor who was sitting nearby told me that the police had taken away a bunch of bikes from there and said that the police station was at the end of the road.
I tried to be as calm as possible. But on the way I almost snapped at a woman who stepped on the back of my shoe. I put on a threatening expression as I walked without allowing space for people who came from the opposite side. I felt like I was going to faint from low BP. I slowed my pace and calmed my mind further.
You see, just 2 days before I was caught by a traffic police fella for jumping a red signal at the turning outside Citi Centre, because of carelessness caused by the sheer joy of buying a gorgeous silver top. Police Uncle was waiting there to ruin shoppers’ happiness. (Yes. I know I made a mistake. But a policeman waiting there was just too much. Do they wait at every signal? Do they wait at Tidel Park signal? Velachery signal where everyone happily turns while the red light is on? Noooo. They wait at Spencer, Citi Centre, Besant Nagar beach… where people just come to relax and have a good time.)
Police Uncle demanded 100 bucks from me for adding to his collection, so that he could shop at Citi Centre too. Luckily I had only 50 bucks in cash. I told him so and gave it to him. And while the red signal was still on, he asked me to go. Police Uncle is so strict about rules being obeyed.
I had never been fined by the traffic police earlier. And now I had to pay up for the police to celebrate Vijayadasami. Heck! I decided it was fate, as I walked into the Pondy Bejaar police station courtyard. A khaki clad inspector told me that the traffic police SI was right at the backside of the station. I walked there, saw him standing on the road platform behind and luckily my bike was parked right there. He asked me to pay Rs. 150. I told him that where I parked, there was no “no parking” sign. He said that parking spaces would have a “parking zone” sign. Huh? How am I supposed to know? I hardly go to Pondy Bejaar.
Anyway Police Uncles would’ve bought nice Vijayadasami treats for their families, while the petrol money I’d got from my Mom went poof. Later, I gave myself a special “cheering up” treat – a chocolate cone. I’ve discovered that ice cream gives any day a happy ending. At least I had a nice cone because of Police Uncle. And now I am writing a blog post after a long time, literally without taking my fingers off the keypad! Wonderful experience. But Police Uncle, I don't want to thank you. Anyway you had a great Vijayadasami because of my money, that's a substitute for a "thank you".
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