Made the girls jealous,
and the boys sway in madness
now, a wall hanger.
I came across this piece of handiwork on a trip to Kodaikanal. We drove along the famous Kodaikanal lake and saw that plenty of shops lined the streets. We walked into one, and there sat this piece of repurposed material. The hair was so black and so shiny, it made me jealous. I couldn’t leave without capturing it.
When I realised I had to go into the city — about 50 kilometres — to get a document signed at the local government office, I groaned. That’s neither a fun nor a cheap ride.
I booked a cab. As soon as I got into the vehicle, I sent the vehicle number, the driver’s name, phone number, and my destination to a close friend of mine. And then I called my friend and enquired — loud enough so that the driver heard me — if she had received my text.
It’s the safest way (until proven otherwise) to travel in India. And to cope with the local needs, cab companies have now introduced various options for riders to call for help with just a tap. As soon as you book a cab, you’ll get a message prompting you to share details of your ride to at least three people. During the ride, you’ll see a flashy red banner that’ll call your emergency contacts in seconds.
It’s protocol.
—
Having wound up a rough week at work, I was home texting a friend of mine. He had just moved abroad and had been busy unpacking and settling down. It was the first time we got to chatting in weeks.
We were discussing work when my friend said he was considering a job as a cab driver. He mentioned Uber, but anything similar would do too. Plus, this friend of mine loves driving, and the street plan in his area is great for that.
We were still talking about Uber when he informed me that cabs in that country don’t have the SOS option.
It took me a while to register that. I thought back to the previous day when I had hailed a cab and realised — with shame — that I live in a country where caution is ingrained so deep into our brains that we want them even in our apps. We don’t trust our society and we’re proud to showcase SOS as a marketable feature.
People halfway across the world, however, don’t even see the need for it.
It seems insignificant, but it says a lot about our lifestyle. We’re so obsessed with being careful that if a cab company doesn’t have the emergency feature, we look down on it just because it doesn’t have the emergency feature.
Well, that says a lot more about us than it does about the cab company’s morality and ethics.
Our conversation lasted a good 40 minutes. But every minute after that, I’ve been thinking about the SOS. So we’ve become a nation that deprives the assurance of basic safety to our citizens. Who’s to save our souls now?
—|—
And with that question, I’ll wind up this year. It’s been great publishing a post a day, every day through 2016. It’s made me realise a lot about myself, all of which I’ll cover next year.
Have a happy new year, folks.
What a year it’s been. 2016 was difficult and, yet, unforgettable for so many different reasons. This year I explored a variety of paths. Some were adventurous, some were tiring, but almost all were fun.
This year, I saw snow for the first time.
This year, I walked through forests a lot of times.
This year, I went high above sea level, looking down at massive land mass.
I’ve had cold breeze gushing behind my ears, the blinding sun warming my spine, and cooling greenery chilling my soul.
It’s been a good year.
I don’t know which path I will head off to in 2017, but I hope it’s as good as the ones in 2016.
Or better, that’s fine too.
As I leaned back on my seat, trees flew past and humans became a blur. The driver had a slow and late start. He sounded short-tempered and even the slightest sign of a hold-up triggered his irritation. He even snapped at the cashiers in every toll booth.
We were running behind schedule and he had the obligation to make up for lost time with speed. He stomped on the accelerator like he’d done so many times before and the bus shot forward, covering miles in minutes.
Next to me sat a young woman with distress in her eyes. She hit the redial button on her phone for what felt like the fourth time in five minutes. Every time the call went through, the person on the other line disconnected the call. My inherent sleuth recognised a strained relationship. My intuition, however, warned me to shut up.
Feeling a sudden jolt, I returned my eyes to the whizzing greenery. We cruised by, a marred Volvo along a tarred road. I heard the driver’s annoyance again as his swearing at the other vehicles carried through to the end of the bus.
My hearing impaired for a couple of minutes because the horn had gone on for a couple of seconds. Through the window, I watched: in one quick motion, we swerved away from the road as another bus rushed toward us. Before I could draw a shuddering breath, we had swerved back on track having avoided the collision. We sailed again, and I smiled to myself. Lucky for me, almost all drivers are experts in navigating the troubling Indian roads, living to laugh about it.
A mile behind us, another driver swerved. He was no expert.
