Crossing
More vehicles stop before the white line at a zebra crossing now that cameras have been installed all over the city. People cross the road with greater confidence. I slow down at amber lights. I am aware that this is a bit extreme and middle aged but hey. So the cars just ahead of me make it through the red light and I get to watch people cross the road.
Pedestrians in the morning have a more aggressive attitude. Everyone is headed somewhere, school or office or temple. The school kids, all washed and slicked down, merrily call out to friends, re-adjust the heavy bag hanging off their shoulders and cross carelessly. Working people cross briskly, alert for the next bus arriving or a cab slowing down for hire. Once in a while, a child walks alone, shoulders drooping with the weight of the world. It catches in my throat to see such young despair. School is not always a happy place, it seems. Elderly people cross slowly, old bones stiff from sleep. Some carry little bags of offerings, on their way to the local place of worship. Some of us wait till they cross even if the light has turned green. Some of us push through, causing them to stumble or startle. The pedestrian light is never calibrated to account for the old or the weak or the handicapped. In fact, there are some crossings where only a giant with an extra long stride could make it across in the designated time. Ordinary mortals either sprint across or wait resignedly in the middle of the road for the next walking signal. Often, the neighbourhood street dogs, too, wait at the divider. They are smart, these urchin canines. They may be in a hurry, like their human counterparts, but they know better than to dart across in moving traffic. Too many of their comrades have martyred themselves at these crossings.
Afternoon traffic is far more urgent and impatient. The traffic jams that have been forming since morning rush hour are now at their peak. The sun is high and hot or it has been raining all morning, and the road is flooded in parts. Either way, tempers are fraying. School children are returning home, some more tired than others, everyone’s bag heavier than from the morning. Mothers usher the little ones along, it’s hard to make out if this is a welcome break from housework or just another chore to complete in a long day. Teenagers, fast asleep through the morning, have now roused in time for college. They amble across the road, confident that their very presence will cause all traffic to come to a standstill. They check their phones, look in the opposite direction away from the traffic and generally behave like teenagers do, self absorbed and unaware of the world swirling around them. The ever present headphones or earbuds happily deafen them to the curses of the taxi drivers and honking from cars. Only an irate bus driver, manoeuvering his vehicle inches from their toes, makes them look up from their gadgets. A laconic hand raised in a peace out sign seems to be the fashionable way to apologise right now. It only makes the bus drivers more furious.
Evenings in Bombay are chaotic. At the end of the hard day, no one really likes their fellow human any more. Gritted teeth, a throbbing headache and the suppressed urge to scream are the lowest common denominator at rush hour. The vehicle drivers vent their ire on pedestrians. A walking signal is ignored in favour of the traffic cop urging the traffic to move, always move. Traffic flowing smoothly at this crucial hour is the holy grail. Pedestrians must now rely on their own resources. The traffic no longer cares about old and frail or babies and dogs. Older people I know have given up on their evening stroll at Marine Drive because it is too daunting to cross the road with blinking lights and unpredictable instructions from the traffic police.
This afternoon, it was drizzling as I drew up at the signal in line with the gurudwara. An elderly Sikh couple had been waiting at the divider. The man, tall and spare, held himself ramrod stiff, in true retired army man mode. He had dark glasses on and a cane in one hand. His turban was a jaunty deep blue with an orange band underneath, his shalwar kameez a light blue. The long beard was silvery white. A handsome gent.
The lady holding his elbow, was also silver haired, a tiny bun at the back of her head acting as the anchor for her peach dupatta. She was small and portly, with apple cheeks and a sweet yet bewildered expression on her face. As I came to a stop, she peered at me to make sure I wasn’t going to edge past them. I gestured for them to cross. They stepped off the divider hesitantly, the man inching forward and the lady urging him on. Then suddenly, Bombay happened. Two young boys crossing with them took each of them by an arm. Just a matter of fact ‘someone better help these seniors’ attitude. I heard a fleeting Chalo Uncle, Aunty, chalo, chalo and then they were safely across.
I watched them cross and disappear into the roadside melee. The honking began, the light turned green and I left the gurudwara behind in the drizzle.
very nice Sanaya. enjoyed.