Monday 24 September 2012

EN ROUTE ... .. .




As the sun shines with the chirrup of birds and the whisper of a 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 we march to match the rhythm of the thinnest hand in a clock. 

The cab crawls on the road, and traffic police’s clarion call citing family’s wait seems ironic. With smoke and fumes all over, the flowers and incense sticks are stacked nicely. At Ganesha temple the devotees are having handful offerings, rushing across men and women at the gate ignoring bare stretched hands. For them rounds of pleading yield that jingling coin, which brings the smile in the eyes and habit on the lips. Nearby is the Hindustan Aeronautics Limited campus, with tricolour fluttering on its top representing an idea that unites us all. And past few high-end hotels and hospitals, I reach office and the work begins. 

This 15 km journey, which takes nearly an hour or more to complete is a colourful display of life; the way life dances on the streets with shackles of money tied at its every step. 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.” 

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