Rode Rude Road

“Two roads diverged in a wood and I took the one less travelled by, 

And that has made all the difference…”

These immortal lines penned by Robert Frost acquires an all new dimension and line of thought when placed in the context of Bombay traffic, especially the roads sluicing across Andheri! While Frost’s road diverged into two, ours, with persistent and dedicated efforts by the BMC lends itself to multiple paths all at once. So much so that I commonly joke that Andherians would be entirely at home on the Moon as we are so well-versed in traversing across craters… or should I say we should be over the moon as we experience living on the moon regularly!

On one such regular day, a rather regular morning, me rushing out at 07.35 and hoping to reach my work place by 08.00 at least. It is at times like these I truly thank my parents for all the religious knowledge they have imparted, this access to all the chants and hymns at my disposal helps me tide through my journey with minimal swearing and manageable stress. Like most urbanites of my ilk, in the race to live decently in this city of dreams, I often dream of a morning that is clear of traffic and a morning where I can sail past green lights all through! Imagine this wish actually being granted! This particular morning, there was a definite risk of this miracle unfurling. Instead of the usual bustle created by the garbage truck parked right outside the exit gate of my building, a measured calm and quietude greeted me en route to a journey that is ideally 15 mins long but only takes 35 minutes owing to the well thought out development plans literally chalked out all over the blessed Link Road by our benevolent BMC! Working tirelessly acquires a complete new meaning in their case. Soon after a road is finally tarred and laid out (miracles do happen, told you so!) their doppelgänger takes over and that team diligently goes about digging it up for hidden treasures and more… even the footpaths are upturned and everyone, pedestrians, stray dogs and cattle (Maybe am politically incorrect, but the last time I checked, they were still called that, stray dogs and cattle), so then strays, the suicidal two wheelers, the cockroach-like, hydra-headed autorikshaws, the hawkers, beggars, street food vendors, watchmen, bus men and even the policemen who set up surprise nakabandis, lounge around in these public enclosures (popularly aka the roadside) when they are not jaywalking on the streets! Not only does it take divine intervention accompanied by chants, but also great reflexes, undaunted courage and sheer nonchalance of the driver to reach me to my destination and unfailingly so each morning. Britain prides itself on multiculturalism, they just need to take one look at our roads during peak hour traffic to truly appreciate it for co existence of multiple entities! 

In fact, in cities like Bombay (I resolutely will and shall continue to refer to it so), we measure distance in terms of the time it takes to commit from point A to B, which invariably also depends on the mode of transport, time of travel and the mood of the driver needless to say. Clean roads, boulevards, peace reigning around a tree lined street with a cobbled pavement is actually a luxury that select locations like JVPD, select streets in Matunga, BKC, Worli, SoBo and the Malabar Hills can display. But, even the address to live in, be it the exclusive Kemps Corner or the Altamount Road, is not exempt from the traffic chaos that punctuates a Bombayites routine.  Ironically, these host the most clogged up roads enabling their elite inhabitants quality time in their Jags, Rovers, or Bentleys. A couple of my friends from these lofty locales tell me that their business and pleasure is often “on the move”, perhaps why their “me” time is reserved for Sundays, perhaps why this is also the day of the week when the city too, like its denizens, yawns lazily in the morning and exults in its long winding stretches. This is exactly why I do not rest on Sundays, but rather revel in the quietude of the mornings and head out to far corners like the BKC, Cuffe Parade or the Nariman Point, just because I can see the speedometer hit 80 and 100. This is that day wherein every road gives me the same pleasure that the sea link affords, sans the ever increasing toll. Yes, in the times we live in, happiness and joy is ensured from novel quarter but only upto lunchtime, sorry, brunch time, after that it is all Bombay traffic again. The mayhem of Mohammad Ali road is also witnessed on Peddar road, the honking at the red signal on Juhu Tara Road is repeated while queuing up outside Phoenix Mills too.

Frenzy actually acquires a new meaning on the streets of Bombay. The hawkers at traffic signals selling anything from sunshades and flowerpots to books on nirvana never fail to win my appreciation for their sense of perfect timing. I truly wish this timing rather comic timing was seen in more bollywood cinema especially in the ones that claim to be comedies but one cannot have everything you see. Precisely why a poor Celerio, a gleaming customised Mercedes S Class and a Porsche jolt to an abrupt halt at the ever merry jaywalkers and their patented great “hand" trick that always manages to bring all the mighty ones to a grinding halt. They are the real show stoppers for me, not the emaciated ones picked up by Manish Malhotra at his fashion shows, who would barely manage to stop a wailing child, let alone a multi-tyred truck. Then of course we have our favourite, the popular and nearly indispensable, ever ubiquitous Uber and Ola, scurrying down the roads at breakneck speeds which only they can manage or only their drivers and their variable moods can churn out. So powerful is this brood that courses with ease on the roads and or the pavement like adjoining space, that a couple of weeks ago I actually had to take leave from work and express my solidarity with them since they were on strike demanding fairness (not of their faces). So successful was their strike, that according to sources, many offices and workplaces recorded deplorable attendance or lateness as our merry friends from Uber and Ola battled it out with their companies. In the end, if they can be termed that, this brood of proletariates won the battle and swooped in back onto the roads after nearly a week, much to our collective joy. If progress, co habitation and equality is your need, you only need to be on our Bombay roads, for it is a collage of dented and painted luxury sedans, the ageing WagonRs, the rare cyclist and the withered, really old frail beggar, roads here are everyone’s domain. Not to mention, thanks to the spiralling cost of housing here, families living off the roads unmindful of the filth they generate and the traffic and pollution they endure is a norm that you will soon get accustomed to, maybe in a week’s time. There is no dearth of entertainment either, it is any existentialist’s nightmare from the lane-cutting rickshaw drivers to the mighty, trundling dumpster trucks, to a health freak jogging away unmindful of the marauding BEST buses, risk-taking and trapezing is a conditioned behaviour on our colourful roads, with never a dull moment or wondering of where life is headed off to. 

Add to this, the clarion call for progress and “Make in India” slogan issued by our ‘progressive PM’, our already crammed roads are diverted, cut, divided and god alone knows how this has been possible, even widened to accommodate the Metro Work and their heavy duty machinery! The sheer size of some of this machinery keeps my sense of wonder wondering, so awestruck am I by these machines that their noise levels appear to be melodious and rhythmic bass. In fact, I believe that FM Stations are starting new programmes and employing more RJs to cater to the ever increasing road time spent by the average Bombayite. Along with listening to Kishore Kumar’s soulful rendering of “In umr se lambi sadko ko manzil pe pohonch the dekha nahin…” my friends and I have a new topic to discuss now, the levels of completion of the metro work and the amount of traffic disruptions at our respective locales, as we patiently wait in our cars en route to meeting up one another possibly on the same day. Returning to this particular morning’s silence, as I contemplated the reasons behind this deafening tranquility that reigned  firmed up in the belief that it is not so much the destination as the journey that matters even if it is halt, stop proceed one at 30 kms per hour by that back road which is supposedly less crowded, it occurred to me that it was my cherished day of the week, my precious Sunday morning “and that has made all the difference!”

A G K