The Brave Pedestrian

July 27, 2009:  If you folks are civilized when you are behind the steering wheel, then maybe you are more evolved human beings than I am. When I am driving and come across a bunch of pedestrians trying to cross the road, I don’t slow down unless the signal is red. I flash my headlights menacingly, honk my horn and speed up. Translated into words, this action means, “Watch out! I’m bigger and clad in a metal armour! So step out of my way… or else!” When a pedestrian stands in front of my accelerating vehicle, this isn't a friendly warning but a direct threat of physical harm. From where he stands, my car isn't a vehicle of transportation; for him, it is a weapon of death, like a loaded cannon ready to fire. No, we don’t see this as a social injustice because we are all so USED TO IT, dammit! Just as, in the days of feudalistic zamindari and untouchability, neither the overlords nor the downtrodden felt that they were part of an unjust system! They felt it was a normal wa...

June 18, 2006: It’s a peculiar phenomenon. More than two decades ago, I travelled rough quite a bit in Gujarat and Maharashtra. I’d tell my parents cryptically that I’d be “in coastal South Gujarat” or “Saurashtra” or “around Mahabaleshwar-Panchgani-Pune”, and then I’d disappear for a week with maybe Rs 500 or 800. Equipped mainly with a road-map, I’d roam around, hiking all night sometimes and sleeping under trees off highways, or in nearby tea-stalls, shop-fronts, beaches, park benches, fishermen’s homes, as well as dirt-cheap, bedbug-infested lodges and  dharamshalas .  I enjoyed that. I travelled alone, and I liked my own company. I liked the silence and the introspection. I liked climbing into an ST bus on a moment’s whim, just because I liked the sound of the place where it was going, and because it was about to leave in two minutes. I liked not knowing where I would wake up the next day. However, no matter how beautiful the beaches and the mountains and the gurgli...

Mumbai, October 6, 2007: This is Nigel, the three-legged cat. He died yesterday, after being in and out of animal hospital for two months. A day before he died, I took this photo with my son Gattu in our building compound. To me, Nigel is a question-mark about the way I view life. Let me tell you why… but first, I must explain a bit about this kitten who may have been about five months old. “Leave him to die”… Two months ago while playing basketball, Gattu and I found Nigel in the bushes at 11 pm. As we stroked him, we realized that he was horribly injured — his paw hanging in bloody shreds. The stench of gangrene pervaded the air. We must have caused the little fellow a lot of pain by carrying him to a nearby bench to examine his paw under a light, but he was amazingly cooperative and trusting. We gave him some milk in a saucer and he eagerly lapped it up. My daughter Bloo and I thought it wasn’t worth trying t...