If only nature had to charge a fee for every beautiful scene we get to see......
POEMS OF LOST LOVE
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This is all that matters.
POEMS OF LOST LOVE
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The front wheel went over so smoothly that I hadn’t even noticed it. And then the driver pulled the back wheels as though he was pulling a dead rat tied at one of a string, mercilessly. I literally went up a little from my sitting position and came down with a thud. As he was bracing for the next speed breaker, I gave him a piece of my mind in Tamil, without holding anything back. “You need to take care of the back wheels too. I think, the way you ride can break my spine”. Although we had not spoken anything between us other than passing on the OTP, the silence between us suddenly became loud. Both of us were obviously a shade tense about what I had uttered, and I thought that could be the reason for the same. Well, this was not the first driver who drove in this manner, and I had told the same thing to each of them.
There was a traffic point that we had to go through, and we waited. The dust from the metro construction nearby danced around the cab. A little boy with plastic flower bouquets tapped our window as I was trying to catch up with my morning office mail on my phone. Seeing me fully engrossed, he quickly went past, trying his luck at quick sales with other customers. The impatient drivers spent their waiting time honking as the traffic policemen kept waving to a beeline of vehicles on the active road on the right, to keep going on. This line of vehicles never seemed to end. On my right, stood a water dispensing lorry, with a tiny steady stream of water leaking out onto the road. I could see the morning sky with a mantle of dark clouds constantly indicating the possibility of a rain shower. Amidst the pandemonium of this morning traffic in Chennai (a city in South India), the rhythm of the hammering of a pile machine stood apart. I could see a huge construction site in full swing on the right side where partially built columns stood like dark sentinels around the boundary of a huge apartment complex that was coming up – just another stark witness of the city’s unquenched thirst for real estate expansion.
GREEN…and the traffic eased forward. A few men on cycles and some on foot found a gap between our vehicle and the one in front and tried crossing the road. People sneak through like water flows through cracks. My man yelled and vented his frustration on them. He then suddenly got into such a circumspect approach that he slowed down at every little bump of pothole that he could spot. The roads through which I had to go through were embellished with all types of patches, bumps and potholes and that just added another dimension to his driving. I could understand that it was it way of paying back. “Ok you asked for it. Let me show what I can give you”. Something within was pushing me to give him another mouthful, but I desisted. He took his sweet time and his sweet revenge and finally got me to my destination. “What a country and what a situation”, is the thought that went through my mind multiple times.
Six months later, my work took me to London. I had a beautiful and quiet place to stay in Stanwell and my office was close to Heathrow Airport. I enjoyed the daily travel from home to the office although it took me forty-five minutes and two vehicles. The first was a minivan that was managed by Carlone Buses which took me from Stanwell to Heathrow Airport and the second was the office shuttle from Heathrow Airport. The minivan went through some fine greenery, a beautiful church, a sublime view of sheep busy grazing in the green stretch and some beautiful rows of traditional houses and then some long stretches on the highways, every day. I almost saw the same scenes on my return in the evening until September ended, when it started getting darker earlier and I would see the stars in the sky and beautiful lights of London buildings and houses instead.
There were at least five or six drivers that I saw on those journeys between Stanwell and Heathrow, but it was Nick with whom I could strike up a conversation. I got to know his name much later actually. It was on a Thursday that I first met him, and I had an important review scheduled at my office. It was in fact the very first day I had ventured out to work out of the office as I had been working from home for about a week, since my landing in London. Work had been going on in full swing and I have to admit that I was a bit tense on that day. On the long stretch on Stanwell Moor Road, there were two speed breakers that the minivan had to take. Nick literally went over them like a bird. Although there had been empty seats in front, I had taken the back seat as there was no hand rest there and therefore it was more comfortable to sit. I came down with a thud and before I could come to terms with it, I went up again and came down with another thud. I could feel the pain running up my back but what shocked me more was that it had happened in Europe and that too in London. “Am I in London?”, I asked myself. I don’t know why I could not show my frustration to the driver in London. I was not sure if it was because of the jolt I had in my mind about this happening in London or because I was in a different country and I was not sure how things would turn out when I gave my piece of mind. But yes, I was more bugged with myself that I couldn’t be the same person with different people who were portraying the same style.
For the next few working days, I did not get to see Nick. Almost all the other drivers exhibited the same style of driving except for one who slowed down and very patiently went over the speed breakers. This approach of his started a thought process within me. If a driver wanted to give the travelers a smooth ride, it was possible. It just needed some focus and patience. Of course, I had started sitting in the front seats now as the impact would be a little lesser.
I saw Nick again the following week. As we approached the speed breaker, my mind was already tuned to frustration mode. He flew over it again. I shook my head as the vehicle went up and landed on each flyover. When it landed the second time, Nick spotted me and my frustrated nods in the mirror and laughed. And with each landing, the other passengers had their own unique reactions that I got to notice in this trip. There was a young lady who had her pet dog with her. She patted the dog on each landing and said, “That was beautiful isn’t it my dear?”. Another middle-aged lady had her little baby on a perambulator. She held on to it although it was already secured to a point in the minivan and smiled at her little one with each landing. There was a stout man on my right side with his headphones in place, and he put up his two hands and gave a dancing pose with each landing. “Was I the only person who got frustrated?”, I asked myself. All this happened in a few seconds. I looked into the mirror again and Nick was tapping the side of his head with his index finger and shaking his head with a broad smile. I got the message. He had seen my grumpy face.
In the few months that followed, we got to know each other better. We talked about India and places in the United Kingdom, food and pursuits outside work. What I really appreciated was that Nick slowed down and took the speed breakers with so much care. He did not have to, but he did it. He was there on my last office trip in London before I flew back to India. I still recall the slowing down of his vehicle at a turn very close to the place where I got down and his waving to me before he took up speed and went out of sight. I also had somehow anticipated it and was happy to see it.
Back in India, when I took the first cab to office, a miracle was waiting for me. The driver took me through the speed breakers, bumps, patches and potholes with such grace and patience. I gave him some cash more than the indicated fare. It made him happy, but he didn’t know that in my mind, I had given him a thumps up for beautifully taking those bumps. Of course, these daily undulations and rough drivers came up again, but my mind attained a much better state.
POEMS OF LOST LOVE
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Some architecture exudes these beautifully.
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It was a wonderful experience to get back to our native roots.
POEMS OF LOST LOVE
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Very happy to receive this from a reader in Sao Paulo, Brazil.
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We would find it difficult to digest this truth.
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We have different shades of green.
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One colour merges with the other beautifully.
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This is a great path to progress.
POEMS OF LOST LOVE
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My short story book, A Pearl From Every Oyster. Please visit the links given below for more details and purchase.
POEMS OF LOST LOVE
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POEMS OF LOST LOVE
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It's a special place in London, especially this curve.
POEMS OF LOST LOVE
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POEMS OF LOST LOVE
STORIES
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POEMS OF LOST LOVE
STORIES
For other countries, please visit the respective Amazon sites.
