Be it a scorching June day or a pleasant September one, the only thing that is truly ubiquitous on an Indian road is a three-wheeler. Travelling in a three-wheeler is sui generis experience in itself: there is something uncanny about it. Starting from the first brandishing movement you make in order to enter into one, till the time you stay inside, you change and so does the world around you. These days three-wheelers based on the model of city buses have come to domination in the public-transport system. Colloquially, they are called Vikrams. Often over-passengering. They carry more than eight passengers at a time. Ostensibly, subjecting everyone inside to claustrophobia. For some, however, there may be better things to look forward to, too.
Some odd days may be brightened up if a hot damsel decides to sit next to you. (Actually the adjective ‘odd’ isn’t apt here; these days such occasions are seldom a rarity.) The squeezing and slight adjustments follows in no time as the cantankerous driver hollers and ululates for you to shift and make space for more passengers, time and again. What’s funny is, although these people stay in such a restricted world, the young ones from the fairer gender come and sit so close to you, insouciantly; be it the sareewalis or the Jeans walis. The irony is, you hardly hear of molestations inside the Vikrams.
If you belong to the bourgeoisie, you are often seen with a disgusted, pulled face; an act that is akin to condescending. You want to find faults in the not-so-fastidious vehicle so that a chance acquaintance on the street may not bring you in his evening’s discourse with some other acquaintances of yours and his. Basically, you want to show a face, which conveys it all. You take a sadist pride in being an alien to the system, which is mostly patronized by the penurious and the weaker milieu of society. Or at least wish to appear so.
If your alienation to the three-wheeler is authentic, and you are born with a silver spoon, then making a transit in one may be arduous; it doesn’t really give you the smoothest-of-smooth drives. And besides, a corpulent crone or a termagant co-passenger may get on to your nerves with such ease that you may resort to something wily and do something which would clearly indicate that you have forgotten the foremost rule of travelling in a three-wheeler: you can’t bring in a hoity-toity attitude here because of your bank balance. Anyway, if you do something testily, then you face the music almost instantly: the unity amongst the passengers suddenly becomes so creditable. Especially if it were to be against one hapless soul whose semblance secretly tells the others of his newness to the system. Even if you can tolerate well and don’t let loose a string of ire, coping with the ribaldry in the working hours along with the dust and heat coming from outside may not be the kind of endurance-test you would like to face.
Still, if you aren’t coy to travel in a three-wheeler, the thought isn’t too bad. In fact, a small part of me feels that it isn’t bad at all. You just have to get used to it once. If you get a corner seat, and the firmaments decide to let lose a round of shower, you hardly can do anything but get drenched. Its gets so congested that any movement invokes protest. You are only sharing a public utility, you remind yourself. Otherwise, if you are luckier and its doesn’t rain, you still have chances of getting the extremities of your limbs snatched away by the speeding vehicles that go past hastily. There is so less aloofness on the road. It seems as if there is a queer sense of ‘fastness’ associated with everything that you witness from inside. Students hurrying for their classes; office men; abstruse slang that seem to be inherent in everyone’s parlance; the pandemonium outside; the screeching horns; and everything else. And even before you notice, your journey at the lower level is already over. You are startled out of your reverie when the driver reminds you, looking at your clothes sardonically, ‘O bade saab, uterne ka vichar nahi hai kya?” (Boss, don’t you wish to get down?). And so you do get down. Before you have hardly handed over to the driver a pittance for your sojourn in the three-wheeler, you see it speed past you. Catching other passengers, making yet another monotonous, yet a totally different trip, disappearing out of sight.
Some odd days may be brightened up if a hot damsel decides to sit next to you. (Actually the adjective ‘odd’ isn’t apt here; these days such occasions are seldom a rarity.) The squeezing and slight adjustments follows in no time as the cantankerous driver hollers and ululates for you to shift and make space for more passengers, time and again. What’s funny is, although these people stay in such a restricted world, the young ones from the fairer gender come and sit so close to you, insouciantly; be it the sareewalis or the Jeans walis. The irony is, you hardly hear of molestations inside the Vikrams.
If you belong to the bourgeoisie, you are often seen with a disgusted, pulled face; an act that is akin to condescending. You want to find faults in the not-so-fastidious vehicle so that a chance acquaintance on the street may not bring you in his evening’s discourse with some other acquaintances of yours and his. Basically, you want to show a face, which conveys it all. You take a sadist pride in being an alien to the system, which is mostly patronized by the penurious and the weaker milieu of society. Or at least wish to appear so.
If your alienation to the three-wheeler is authentic, and you are born with a silver spoon, then making a transit in one may be arduous; it doesn’t really give you the smoothest-of-smooth drives. And besides, a corpulent crone or a termagant co-passenger may get on to your nerves with such ease that you may resort to something wily and do something which would clearly indicate that you have forgotten the foremost rule of travelling in a three-wheeler: you can’t bring in a hoity-toity attitude here because of your bank balance. Anyway, if you do something testily, then you face the music almost instantly: the unity amongst the passengers suddenly becomes so creditable. Especially if it were to be against one hapless soul whose semblance secretly tells the others of his newness to the system. Even if you can tolerate well and don’t let loose a string of ire, coping with the ribaldry in the working hours along with the dust and heat coming from outside may not be the kind of endurance-test you would like to face.
Still, if you aren’t coy to travel in a three-wheeler, the thought isn’t too bad. In fact, a small part of me feels that it isn’t bad at all. You just have to get used to it once. If you get a corner seat, and the firmaments decide to let lose a round of shower, you hardly can do anything but get drenched. Its gets so congested that any movement invokes protest. You are only sharing a public utility, you remind yourself. Otherwise, if you are luckier and its doesn’t rain, you still have chances of getting the extremities of your limbs snatched away by the speeding vehicles that go past hastily. There is so less aloofness on the road. It seems as if there is a queer sense of ‘fastness’ associated with everything that you witness from inside. Students hurrying for their classes; office men; abstruse slang that seem to be inherent in everyone’s parlance; the pandemonium outside; the screeching horns; and everything else. And even before you notice, your journey at the lower level is already over. You are startled out of your reverie when the driver reminds you, looking at your clothes sardonically, ‘O bade saab, uterne ka vichar nahi hai kya?” (Boss, don’t you wish to get down?). And so you do get down. Before you have hardly handed over to the driver a pittance for your sojourn in the three-wheeler, you see it speed past you. Catching other passengers, making yet another monotonous, yet a totally different trip, disappearing out of sight.
5 comments:
Outright amazing,tantalizing,awe-inspiring,educative wine to ignorant mortals and lastly a genuine reflection of the of the 'hoi polloi'...I got to say this is an amazing of reflection;a carpet of unbelievable rumination unrolling...(phhheeew..)-keep up the posts..
truth presented in style....dere is some magic in ur words....fantabulous expression n vision .... gr8!
Hmmm
nice article which brings the life of so called "hoipolloi" into light.... it takes of the veil of confusion from the faces of us, the Indians... we who call ourselves "an almost developed country".....pity us ..... and our blind eyes.... which can see yet sees only what it chooses to see!!!
nice work!
This post of yours is a perfect blend of humour & reality. We all have our experiences of the journey of "Vikram" mostly bad but still reading your blog gives us a good laugh.
I have recently started writting blog. It will be great if you can visit it & give your valuable suggestion & comments.
Its URL is http://shweta22.blogspot.com
You have a way with words. I loved ur style of writing. Well what do we say about the hypocrisy that exist in
in all the stratas of Indian society. We wanna save money still do not want a mortal to see us squeezed into that clusterphobic space. Your post reflects the psyche of hoipolloi... Keep writing dude!!
Post a Comment