Exasperation at Egmore

The Man from Madras Musings can hear you all groan "Oh, no, not another Egmore story." But let MMM assure you that once you have read it your knotted and combined locks will part and stand on end like quills on a fretful porpentine, as the Bard said. That by the way is something that will never happen to MMM, for what with working for the Chief on a permanent basis, he (meaning MMM and not the Chief) is challenged in the matter of hair.

But to get back to Egmore. The other day MMM had to go to the station, this time not as a passenger but to meet someone who was arriving. The person to be met needed assistance in walking and that made MMM's alabaster brow furrowed. There are overbridges to negotiate and the platforms are long, uneven and often dirty.

And so it was a pensive MMM who crossed the stately portals of Egmore station. He did not pause to admire the stained glass (once multicoloured but now stained a permanent betelnut red) or the corbels or the staircase, all of which, had MMM been differently situated, he would have spent time on. He was, after all, there with a purpose. MMM went straight to the office where, he was told, he needed to book a wheelchair. It was one of those places that could have passed for a morgue, for it appeared at first sight to be filled with winding sheets. The wheelchair booking office, it transpired, also doubled as the laundry collection area. The staff was friendly enough and MMM was assured that all he needed to do was to give a call on the wheelchair-in-charge's cell phone as soon as MMM's friend had alighted from his train. The wheelchair, MMM was given to understand, would be there in a jiffy.

And so off went MMM to the assigned platform. A load had been lifted from his head. He could not help contrasting it with his younger days when elderly relatives had to suffer the indignity of being transported in baggage trolleys, pushed by cursing porters. The train arrived. The person whom MMM had come to meet duly alighted and staggered off to a nearby bench. MMM made his call. The voice at the other end said that the wheelchair would soon be on its way. A stage wait occurred. MMM made a second call. He was informed that the wheelchair would be sent as soon as the previous hirer had returned it. And how long would that take, asked MMM. The voice had no answer. After some hesitation it replied that the entire station had one solitary wheelchair and it was anybody's guess as to when it would be returned to the booking office. There were, added the voice most helpfully, ten trains arriving in that one hour and so the wheelchair was in great demand. It could not have been more sought after had it been a minister's chair.

By that time the platform was pretty much deserted, barring MMM, the elderly passenger and a pile of luggage. The phone rang. It was the voice again. A wave of hope surged in MMM. Could the wheelchair have been returned, after all? But that was not the case. The wheelchair would take quite a while, said the Voice of God, but MMM could avail of the next best thing. The voice said that it had organised for a porter to bring a luggage trolley in which the passenger could be moved. It had, said the voice, the added advantage that the bags could also be loaded on to it. And then having added smartly that MMM could settle directly with the porter, the voice went off, no doubt to spend the rest of the day folding bed sheets.

In the distance MMM could see a porter wheeling a baggage trolley. He was weaving his way uncertainly towards MMM having, no doubt, spent a considerable portion of his anteprandial earnings on an aperitif or two. His vocabulary was rich judging by the way he addressed a stray dog that happened to cross his path. MMM looked at the elderly relative, who just had a resigned air. There is little further to be said, other than the fact that the journey was by trolley, pushed by a cursing porter.

Chennai's traffic laws

We Chennaiites are different. The rest of the world may go by the nursery rhyme that went 'Stop says the red light, go says the green. Change says the amber light twinkling in-between'. There is also something else about queens obeying it and all that which The Man from Madras Musings has forgotten. Not that any of it is relevant in Chennai where it is 'Run says the red light, go says the green. Keep going says the amber light twinkling in between', and twinkling is just about right given the number of traffic lights that are on the blink. There is one near where MMM lives which for over four months has literally been blinking. The ailment began with the various lights blinking rapidly all the time. Then they began to flicker at the edges. Someone then attended to them after which they ceased blinking together but blinked in proper sequence.

A few days later, it was noticed by those who look at traffic lights at all (and yes, that foolish fraternity, though dwindling, does have some members) that the lights had reduced in diameter though that did not in any way interfere with the blinking. Now, all of the three have become mere dots. You need to have the eyes of an eagle to be able to spot whether the lights have turned red, amber or green. Not that it matters to those on the road anyway.

Most of these road-hogging monsters, it appears to MMM, are those who think that the horn is the only component in a car that needs to work. And perhaps that is the only one that they know how to operate anyway. They use it to clear their route of other vehicles, pedestrians and stray animals. Above all, they somehow believe that the louder they hoot at a traffic light, the faster it is likely to change from red to green, assuming that these people are the variety that stops at traffic lights.

Onward, ever onward

There is yet another variety of road-users, as The Man from Madras Musings notices, that never really stops its vehicle. They merely slow down and all the while they keep looking for any gaps that they can perceive in the ranks in front of them. Having identified it, they proceed to nose their way there, often using their horns to good effect (that does remind you of what buffaloes and bison do, does it not?). Having reached the front of the waiting vehicles, they begin inching forward, keeping a wary eye for any vehicles coming at right angles, for the signal is green for them. By relentlessly keeping at it, they reach the other side, long before the signal actually turns green. Makes you green with envy especially when you are left waiting.

– MMM