Alarm Bell In Bengaluru

The light of dawn filtered through the eyelid. The rush of thoughts had also begun. A new morning has arrived. Somewhere he heard an alarm clock ringing. He thought the morning rush would begin for most. Some would have the Monday blues. He had been lucky. For he had been in development work and never felt the need for any rush. For the past decade, he was doing home-based work with occasional travel. For the few months that he had hung up his boots so to speak, each day was the same. His apartment was located on the main road but his own flat was deep inside the complex. It was always quiet, which he enjoyed. Of late the construction work in the neighborhood meant some noise by the workers or the grinding machine. No more cuckoo called. The trees have been cut. Wondered where the cuckoo went. The farmland had been brought off and a huge complex is coming up. The owner who used to vend paper and water has turned rich overnight. He was contemplating standing for elections in the next round. Indeed, he thought election were meant for the riches.

Papers mentioned how many of the candidates were crorepatis. He had now become a writer of sorts. He had conceived of an allegory of grasses and the fence for one of his poems and as if in confirmation the headlines screamed: “NBFC Sector in Crisis, warns a top official.” He thought yet another case of fence eating the grass. Some of his own funds were parked in some NBFCs and he was living off the interest earned. Hmm… sighed his wife. In another piece, he had written: “At the top intelligence bureau, an honest officer was tracking the sudden increase in request among the top thieves for emigration to safe havens.” As if it was a prophecy an article of economic times mentioned the increase in the flight of millionaires from the country. Luckily the morning wasn’t all that gloomy. The newspaper also mentioned the day as “World’s Cocktail Day.” He quickly churned out a limerick as below “For the tipplers can gather to have a cocktail Teetotallers can do with a mocktail Shaken or stirred like Mr bond Hanging by the side a brownie or blond Rest can regale by this writer’s many a tale.” As he stepped out on the main road it was like entering hell if there was one, so he thought, what with the noise, smoke of the morning rush of traffic. He thought it was a misnomer to call it ‘rush’ anymore.

One needs to call it ‘slow or crawl’ for the Bangalore traffic has become slowest in the country what with about 8 million vehicles on the road. He suddenly had to swerve on the footpath as a bike came rushing headlong on the footpath and passers-by cursed the biker idiot. As he headed further, he passed by vendors of vegetable encroached on the road and the footpath too, adding to the traffic chaos. Another case of civic non-sense, he mused. He trudged back to home which was “thank heavens.” As usual he ‘cross’ words with himself and the Deccan Herald. Somehow the morning blew away. It was always the afternoon when the energy entropies. He then wrote: “The wheel of time slowly grinding Thoughts get flaked True and fake The difference of which one cannot make.” His friend responded “The law of increasing entropy for the universe of thought!” Soon it was PM 3:40 and three in the family were ready for tea. As he sipped his tea he thought “tea in a cup was worth many bushes in the tea garden.” Instead of waiting for the rain to have a plate of pakora, then let us make it and invite the rain he told his wife and they had the pakora with tea. Then the much- awaited rain came. Melancholy gave in to a mental rally. Not for long though. As his daughter called to say she was stuck in traffic. With the rain, roads get jammed, sewers flood the roads, the traffic snarls, road rages, the ambulance stuck, life lost. The city with its apathy turns guttery and what a pity? Does the alarm bell ever toll for the Bangalore city? Was his last thought as he rested for the night