As the sun shines with the chirrup of small birds and the whisper of breeze, the road gets crowded by its rolling natives and life accelerates. The flyover has lost the relevance of its name, and trees are choked from passive smoke. And amidst all this is a man who rushes on to hit the thinnest hand of the clock.
The cab crawls on the road, and I read the traffic police’s clarion’s call, citing family’s wait. With smoke and fumes down the lane, I see the stack of flowers and incense sticks. And soon comes the Ganesha temple with devotees in a long queue; and every day, unfailingly is an old woman at the gate, with stretched hands eager to listen that jingling in her pouch. And after hundred men ignore her, comes that delightful jingling coin, which brings smile in her eyes and blessings on her lips. Nearby is the Hindustan Aeronautics Limited campus, with tricolour fluttering on its top reminding about the immense contribution this organisation has made in our country’s growth. And past few hospitals and 5-star hotels, I reach my office and the work begins.
This 15 km journey, which takes nearly an hour to complete is a colourful display of life; the way life dances on the streets with shackles of money being tied at its every step to those unbound. And en route, reminds me of these famous lines by Whitman,
“I carry my old delicious burdens,
I carry them, men and women, I carry them with me wherever I go,
I swear it is impossible for me to get rid of them,
I am fill’d with them, and I will fill them in return.”