A sequel to the my monday blues article
This is what happens on a typical Friday evening when you get off work.
6 pm to 7pm:
I am on the highway to hell or the roadways of Mumbai, riding with my colleague Evil Keneval or TDM (tall dark and mallu for the uninitiated). Now in 10 years time with the metros and the countless fly-over bridges Mumbai will become more efficient in terms of travel and transport (I hope and I pray) but till then traffic jams and overcrowded streets will just have to be taken with a bucket full of salt.
You see when you have the width of half a road and the load of an expressway of traffic what you get is a sea, no an ocean of vehicles in all sizes, colours and sounds to form the single largest block of non progressive motion from Parel to Chembur.
There is only one way to beat the traffic, take the bike. The stallion of hope for all those who want to reach home early to catch that match at 7:30 pm or in general for anyone who wants to run away from all the satanic idling around that they just experienced in the last 8 hours in the office. And amongst these bikes it is the Pulsar which garners the maximum road space and by that logic the most accident space. The mean machine from the Bajaj household is subjected to every test of maneuverability and mileage that even its makers thought were inconceivable. So you have a situation when the person in front of you is listening to heavy metal while oblivious to cacophony of honking horns, chaste abuses in Hindi and whistles of the humble traffic policeman in the world around him.
But even the stallion from Bajaj will always be subjected to a prick. The 'prick' is the guy who blocks the corner of the road so that no one can move ahead. The guy who in the middle of stream lined traffic decides that he wants to play God and cut a sharp left. The man who(or at times woman) suddenly decides that he is possessed by the Lord Divine.
At this point I assume a declaration is made; “I want to block up traffic and I need to stop traffic to create the reverse sea split.” For those who aren’t in tune with Abrahamic faiths Moses splits the dead sea to make way for his people this was later followed 3millenia later by Jim Carrey in the movie Bruce almighty who splits the Traffic for his buggati (or Ferrari or Porsche). The reverse sea split now is when a clear path suddenly gets vanished to form a horizontal structure of metal and rubber. Yes Mumbai city is also home to religious history and mythology in its simple self.
I don’t drive but even I get irked by the 'prick'. Who blocks a runway of 100 meters where he (she as well, sorry if I appear misogynist) cannot move his car just because he sees a vacant spot by the side??
7pm-8pm
Waiting for my friends to arrive. I notice how the world falls apart when you are just waiting.
You try absorbing the sights and the sounds around you, it doesn’t work.
You try to make conversation with the chaat waala serving you pani puri, it doesn’t work.
You start calling all the people in the world, it doesn’t work.
You start conversations with yourself debating the meaning of human life, it doesn’t work.
The people next to you think that you are a mad man and you reassure them by smiling, it doesn’t work.
Nothing that you do makes time move any faster and the time you spend waiting is always excruciating. I am still waiting. Finally they arrive and we are off to Bandra to carter road, then Red Box and then a night of fun.
Past midnight
The world is whirling around in a perfectly vertical circle whilst I am latched on to a small seat witnessing fellow human beings laugh with mirth and sadistic pleasure. Normally that would be a metaphor for my life but on this particular Friday it was quite literally what I did! Yes, breaking away from the myth that I am content with my mundane self, I went on a giant wheel ride at Juhu beach at 15 minutes past midnight! Why you ask? When it comes to “Having a Mojo Quotient and being a man,” experts in the field (my friends) have always maintained that I rank in the negative. So when the opportunity presented itself in the form of a dare and a reward for Rs. 200, I simply took it up (note to self: don't sell yourself so short).
7am the next day
The highlight of the event described above is not the bike ride or the giant wheel ride. Alright a small wheel ride of only 15 feet meant for children with me being the only human being with facial hair and a weight in excess of x kg (hey, I am sensitive about my weight). The highlight was the when I came back home in the morning to catch my father reaching for the morning paper. Now back at my place between me and my dad we are always vying for the title of “I read the paper first in this house,”
I gave him a weak smile and said, “Good Morning.” No reply. Was I not audible? “Good Morning.” Did he choose to ignore me because of one little night out escapade, couldn't be. “I said Good Morning Father.”
Then came the reply with my father exuding his heightened Fatherly persona, with the air of the wised and aged, with his Grey hair now morphing into mythical proportions, “Good morning! that’s to greet people who are starting their day ahead not for the ones who have just concluded their night of futility. Good night!”
No prizes for guessing who got first rights on reading the paper that Saturday morning.
Note: To all those wondering what Yin Yang refers to it is the method of balancing by which one shifts one’s body with the motions of a bike so that one does not fall while battling inertia.
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