Running in Royapettah

The Man from Madras Musings had to take a decision and pretty soon at that. Years of having others such as the Chief and MMM’s good lady (also known as She Who Must Be Obeyed) do this for him had robbed MMM of the ability. But for how long could he be infirm of purpose, as Lady Macbeth would have termed it?

MMM was at the intersection of White’s Road and Westcott Road in Royapettah recently. His destination was the Express Avenue Mall and separating him from it was a vast stream of seemingly never-ending traffic. MMM’s past and fairly blameless life flashed before him and he recollected his kindergarten teacher’s instructions that you needed to look left, right and then left again before crossing any road. MMM did accordingly. He looked left and saw that there was no traffic coming his way from that direction and that was all to the good, as the good book has a habit of saying rather quite often. He then looked right and that was where the problem was, for it being a one-way, all the traffic was coming from that side and at high speed.

Buses, autos, cars, motorcycles, vans and cycles volleyed and thundered. Under similar circumstances, though hardly as hazardous, the Light Brigade had charged ahead; but not so MMM. He was pusillanimous at best and kept hovering at the edge. He looked at the clock tower, which appeared to be sympathetic. After all, reflected MMM, it ought to feel much worse, having to be in the thick of traffic, day in and day out.

Across the road, four policemen were having a relaxed time. This being the balmy Chennai winter, they relaxed in the sunshine, leaning on a motorcycle that they had appropriated from its hapless owner by the simple expedient of stepping forward together as one man, stopping the vehicle in mid-stride and taking away its key. The unfortunate biker was standing by, smiling ingratiatingly at the representatives of the law and hoping no doubt that they knew all about the quality of mercy.

MMM tried attracting the attention of the quartet but they remained blissfully unaware. Time was getting on and if MMM did not take the plunge he would have been late for his appointment. Thus it was that MMM put his foot forward only to rapidly retract it as a motorcycle almost ran over it. Peril, they say, sharpens the intellect and so it was with MMM. He recollected vaguely that Mahatma Gandhi had once said something about how you needed to win battles with humility. And what better sign of that than the traditional Indian greeting of holding the palms pressed together, in a Namaste. MMM stepped forth, his arms stretched and palms pressed together. He was like a suffragette throwing herself before the horses at Ascot.

That did the trick. Buses, cars, motorcycles, autos and cycles, not to forget vans, screeched to a halt. Many drivers smiled at MMM, some laughed and others cheered as he made it to the other side. The only ones who were not amused in the least were the guardians of the law. They formed a reception committee of four on the other side and, as MMM waded ashore, duly scooped him in and conducted him to the base of a nearby tree.

Did MMM realise that what he had done was extremely dangerous, they asked. The sudden darting forward of pedestrians, they said, was extremely dangerous for vehicles. MMM could almost imagine that the buses, cars and the rest were horses that shy and rear on seeing a human figure. The law was of the view that MMM, vide his stupidity, could have caused the worst of accidents. MMM explained that he had no other option. He then mustered enough courage and asked the four as to why they did not come forward to help. That was not possible, they said. They were not traffic police. They were posted there to check seat belt and helmet violations!

In God’s name

Has The Man from Madras Musings ever invited you home? Unlikely. But you must come and look him up sometime. Chez MMM, as those of you who have faithfully read this column over several years (and may your tribe increase) know, is the only surviving house in what was once a residential area. But that is neither here nor there. What MMM wishes to highlight now is an intersection of three roads just abaft the house (if you can call it that), and practically below the window of the room from where MMM churns out his immortal prose. This intersection is a busy one, frequently prone to gridlocks. It is, therefore, considered an ideal spot by political parties for holding public meetings. The police, who give permission freely, appear to be of the same view.

A couple of weeks ago a political outfit took over the spot, erected a makeshift stage, put up microphones and high decibel speakers and entertained everyone, MMM included, for an evening. This was one of those rationalist entities. Everyone was clad in black, the posters announcing the event being of the same hue. A few raunchy songs were sung, all from the latest films, and then the main speaker of the evening took over. Having thanked each one of the organisers (of whom there were fifty or so) and the vast numbers that had turned up to hear him (around five), he proceeded to attack God tooth and nail. The doings of the Hindu pantheon, by which he meant the divine beings in heaven and not those who run a beloved newspaper, occupied most of the speech. The blue God who wields the flute, and his amorous doings, came in for due censure. Then came a blistering attack on a God-on-the-hill who in mythology was born to two male Gods, albeit when one of the parents was in female garb. Towards the end he dwelt on the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost and the last named in particular came in for spirited badinage. The assembled throng of fifty-five applauded and cheered. Some of the more conservative elements in MMM’s neighbourhood were outraged. But MMM advised them to keep their peace.

A couple of days later, the same corner was allotted to a religious group. A band of the faithful was leaving to visit the God-on-the-hill, born to two male Gods. Everyone was back in place – the makeshift stage, the microphones, the speakers and the men in black. MMM noted that several of the organisers and attendees were the ones who had respectively organised and attended the earlier ‘rationalist’ meet. They wore the same black and nothing could have exceeded their piety when they sang the devotionals in a raucous chorus. On Christmas Day, carols were sung from the same spot.

Tailpiece

The newspapers of the city carried on the 1st of January reports on New Year Eve celebrations around the urb prima in Indis, viz Chennai. Just above this was the schedule for loadshedding for the month, neatly divided area-wise. The Man from Madras Musings realises that life goes on and has to go on.

-MMM