A huge
crowd had gathered. No one had called for. Nor was anyone giving away something
free. The crowd was waiting for the barrier to break. Nobody wanted to be
there. At least, not with all the other people around, in that number. There
was not much choice to walk away from the crowd, especially when you stand
amidst it. Among those various head was mine. In the centre.
This
uncalled for crowd was tremendous. If the air consumed was huge, the air let
out was cyclopean. I looked around and found many lifeless souls waiting for
the right time to proceed. All were longing for something or the other. But the
foremost at that point, they wanted to get out of this mad rush, either by
going ahead or by staying behind. Both were hellacious options. None can blame
them. It was the wrath of the sun in the tropic city.
Suddenly,
everyone moved. Rushed. As the deer would, upon sighting the predator. As the
ants would, upon the first instance of disruption. As men would, when terror
strikes. It was none of the above. Way was allowed. People swarmed, rushed and
hurried to get in front of another as though there was a race. It was a race,
in their eyes.
The Red
made way for Green. The vehicles started to move. It was not a slow and composed
movement as it normally happens at any signal but somewhat of a cutthroat
competition to get past the signal before it changes back to red. And everyone
was in it. Everyone squeezed through as much as possible between other vehicles
as worms would to dig themselves deeper into the traffic, moving past other
vehicles.
They did
not move quietly. Horns were blown incessantly even before the vehicles started
to move but they themselves took all the time in the world before changing
gears and accelerating. They cared least about others, wanting others to be
prompt while they themselves wasted others’. Among the mob was a man. With
200cc bike, loud and terrifying horn and trendy accessories, he was a new
millennium, self-proclaimed street racer of not even a third class ability to
participate in a real race but with enough artillery to show off in public.
The caitiff
person on the bike started to sound his horn. The loud horn irked every man on
the road. With some swift controls, he guided the bike ahead of a few vehicles.
A kid driving a cycle along the corner was in his way. He moved close by and
blew his horn and for seconds the kid’s ears were deaf. So were those of some
other commuters. After pushing over many others and driving over an elderly
person’s foot, the man was out of my view. He was not driving fast. He was
flying slow and low.
I was
watching the circus of the guy and had missed the one thing that had happened.
I found every face that was brim with excitement and anxiousness, filled with
dolour. The signal had gone off. It was red. Probably a tenth of the traffic
would have gone past and it only grew. The expectation in everyone’s eyes, to
reach home and kiss their family a good night was pellucid even amidst that
turbid blanket of smoke from the vehicles. It was half past six in the evening.
The signals
changed many times but the vehicles remained still. Despite this tranquillity of
the traffic, the motorists’ hearts turned clamorous. Many got down from their
vehicles and walked up street to have a look at what happened. Some shook their
heads dismissively upon returning. I did not bother to enquire as to what
happened.
It took a
humongous hour and a half for the traffic to get streamlined and move as to
what would normally take a comparatively easier time of half an hour to pass
hundred metres to the signal. I drove my vehicle past the wreck that was lying
at the road and was intrigued by the happenings around. I stopped my vehicle
and moved towards the group that clamoured around a car. I asked a fellow what
had happened.
“Accident.
Three vehicles. There was this car.” He said pointing at the bonnet wrecked car,
which I was barely able to see and continued his speech to show that he knew
everything that had happened, “It came from that side” pointing to the
direction that went against the one I came from. “Then this bike came from the
opposite side. Bike was driven by this teen while the car’s owner is a mid-aged
person from some IT company. They both ran the signal and got into an accident.
To top the cake, a bus came and hit the car on that side.” He ended signalling
the side facing away from us.
“The biker
was thrown off and landed on the windshield of the car. See that. It is broken.
The centre from where the glass cracks arise is where the biker landed. Then
the bus came and hit the car pushing him down. He is taken to the hospital. The
car driver is shouting at the bus driver for reckless driving. He is saying
that it was the mistake of the biker that the accident took place. This person itself
ran the signal. The only vehicle driving properly was the bus. It moved on
seeing the green signal. These two vehicles were rushing to cross the signal
before the other vehicles came in.”
I then
tried to move forward when I saw a police officer entering the crowd. He called
upon his two other colleagues who were in the eye of the storm. They were
taking statements from the bus driver and the car owner. The biker was nowhere
to be seen. I assumed that he must have been taken to the hospital.
I turned
around to leave the place when I found the bike’s broken visor under my leg. It
read ‘I am not riding fast. I am flying Low and Slow.’ He surely did fly, from
what the person told.
I looked
around when I got on my bike. Many people were still making their way ahead of
others by trying to squeeze themselves through the traffic. It was just the
same as what that guy had done. All the people were stranded because of the
recklessness. It was not just the recklessness of two people. It was the
recklessness of the whole society.
We don’t
drive fast. We just fly Low and Slow.
--- THE END ---
A huge
crowd had gathered. No one had called for. Nor was anyone giving away something
free. The crowd was waiting for the barrier to break. Nobody wanted to be
there. At least, not with all the other people around, in that number. There
was not much choice to walk away from the crowd, especially when you stand
amidst it. Among those various head was mine. In the centre.
This
uncalled for crowd was tremendous. If the air consumed was huge, the air let
out was cyclopean. I looked around and found many lifeless souls waiting for
the right time to proceed. All were longing for something or the other. But the
foremost at that point, they wanted to get out of this mad rush, either by
going ahead or by staying behind. Both were hellacious options. None can blame
them. It was the wrath of the sun in the tropic city.
Suddenly,
everyone moved. Rushed. As the deer would, upon sighting the predator. As the
ants would, upon the first instance of disruption. As men would, when terror
strikes. It was none of the above. Way was allowed. People swarmed, rushed and
hurried to get in front of another as though there was a race. It was a race,
in their eyes.
The Red
made way for Green. The vehicles started to move. It was not a slow and composed
movement as it normally happens at any signal but somewhat of a cutthroat
competition to get past the signal before it changes back to red. And everyone
was in it. Everyone squeezed through as much as possible between other vehicles
as worms would to dig themselves deeper into the traffic, moving past other
vehicles.
They did
not move quietly. Horns were blown incessantly even before the vehicles started
to move but they themselves took all the time in the world before changing
gears and accelerating. They cared least about others, wanting others to be
prompt while they themselves wasted others’. Among the mob was a man. With
200cc bike, loud and terrifying horn and trendy accessories, he was a new
millennium, self-proclaimed street racer of not even a third class ability to
participate in a real race but with enough artillery to show off in public.
The caitiff
person on the bike started to sound his horn. The loud horn irked every man on
the road. With some swift controls, he guided the bike ahead of a few vehicles.
A kid driving a cycle along the corner was in his way. He moved close by and
blew his horn and for seconds the kid’s ears were deaf. So were those of some
other commuters. After pushing over many others and driving over an elderly
person’s foot, the man was out of my view. He was not driving fast. He was
flying slow and low.
I was
watching the circus of the guy and had missed the one thing that had happened.
I found every face that was brim with excitement and anxiousness, filled with
dolour. The signal had gone off. It was red. Probably a tenth of the traffic
would have gone past and it only grew. The expectation in everyone’s eyes, to
reach home and kiss their family a good night was pellucid even amidst that
turbid blanket of smoke from the vehicles. It was half past six in the evening.
The signals
changed many times but the vehicles remained still. Despite this tranquillity of
the traffic, the motorists’ hearts turned clamorous. Many got down from their
vehicles and walked up street to have a look at what happened. Some shook their
heads dismissively upon returning. I did not bother to enquire as to what
happened.
It took a
humongous hour and a half for the traffic to get streamlined and move as to
what would normally take a comparatively easier time of half an hour to pass
hundred metres to the signal. I drove my vehicle past the wreck that was lying
at the road and was intrigued by the happenings around. I stopped my vehicle
and moved towards the group that clamoured around a car. I asked a fellow what
had happened.
“Accident.
Three vehicles. There was this car.” He said pointing at the bonnet wrecked car,
which I was barely able to see and continued his speech to show that he knew
everything that had happened, “It came from that side” pointing to the
direction that went against the one I came from. “Then this bike came from the
opposite side. Bike was driven by this teen while the car’s owner is a mid-aged
person from some IT company. They both ran the signal and got into an accident.
To top the cake, a bus came and hit the car on that side.” He ended signalling
the side facing away from us.
“The biker
was thrown off and landed on the windshield of the car. See that. It is broken.
The centre from where the glass cracks arise is where the biker landed. Then
the bus came and hit the car pushing him down. He is taken to the hospital. The
car driver is shouting at the bus driver for reckless driving. He is saying
that it was the mistake of the biker that the accident took place. This person itself
ran the signal. The only vehicle driving properly was the bus. It moved on
seeing the green signal. These two vehicles were rushing to cross the signal
before the other vehicles came in.”
I then
tried to move forward when I saw a police officer entering the crowd. He called
upon his two other colleagues who were in the eye of the storm. They were
taking statements from the bus driver and the car owner. The biker was nowhere
to be seen. I assumed that he must have been taken to the hospital.
I turned
around to leave the place when I found the bike’s broken visor under my leg. It
read ‘I am not riding fast. I am flying Low and Slow.’ He surely did fly, from
what the person told.
I looked
around when I got on my bike. Many people were still making their way ahead of
others by trying to squeeze themselves through the traffic. It was just the
same as what that guy had done. All the people were stranded because of the
recklessness. It was not just the recklessness of two people. It was the
recklessness of the whole society.
We don’t
drive fast. We just fly Low and Slow.
 |
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