Engaging in conversations with kids, especially the ones in the post Power Rangers and pre- Asimov age range, has never been my forte. Just the other day, placed in a similar situation with my 12 year old nephew, I resorted to the non-polemical "What's happening at school?" question. With a face that, unsurprisingly, did not betray a sense of enthusiasm, he recounted the rather long list of 'home activities' assigned to him - one of which was to write a 500 word description of the 'Road to my house'.
Though our conversation soon drifted to sports and movies, this seemingly unexciting task of describing the road one takes everyday transported me to the sights and sounds that greet me during my half hour drive to office, meandering through the dusty lanes of Gurgaon. No two days are the same - something that prevents any account of the experiences from being exhaustive. Yet, there is one peculiar element that makes its presence felt every single day, with unequivocal non-chalance.
Who can forget the pug that diligently followed his boy-master in those old Hutch ads? And who can forget Babe - the non-conformist, adorable pig? Or pictures of neat, well-fed cows grazing green pastures and lovingly staring out of Social Studies textbooks?
The dogs, the pigs and the cows on the streets of Gurgaon look nothing like them.
The canine members go about looking ill and lounge about like algae. So much so that, at times, their inactivity in the face of my approaching wheels makes me believe they have a latent suicidal urge. The pigs are quite the boar (homophone joke cue), playfully flaunting their tar-dipped coats. And the cows' stare at you as if you just told them that Chetan Bhagat is your favourite author. To top it all, the number of these creatures on the streets is such that if I had a penny for each of them, I would replace every single one of the characters on Big Bang Theory. They, of course, make up the cream of the 'Gurgaon is safe for..." pack.
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| The real cattle class has it way easier than Tharoor's |
There was a time I wouldn't have had this kind of vitriol, especially not so for pigs. That, however, changed on a fateful Wednesday morning about four months ago. As I was happily driving to work, overdosing on the radio airplay of Arijit Singh songs, and hurling abuses at mindless drivers and pedestrians with my windows conveniently rolled up, I saw a black dot dash across the other end of the road and fling itself into the air. I heard a thud on my front bumper and barely regained my wits to look into the rear view mirror to see a hideous pig shake off the impact and walk off the road. My car's bumper wasn't as fortunate. When I recounted this incident to friends and colleagues later, it amused me that nine on ten responses included the words "Did it die?" and "pork", mostly in the same sentence.
That day, I went back home and played Angry Birds for two straight hours. It was satisfying.
As someone has rightly said, "To driv-err is human, to misgive is swine".
