A (N)IGHT AT THE STA(T)E CAPITAL

 Alarm – I:   6.30 pm… Tick tick… Tick tick… Tick tick…

Alarm – II:  6.40pm… Tick tick… Tick tick… Tick tick…

Alarm – III: 6.50pm… Tick tick… Tick tick… Tick tick…

Alarm – IV: 7.00pm… Tick tick … Tick tick … Tick tick…

Alarm – V: 7.02pm… “Dei Gokul ezhunthuru da, bus ku late aayda porthu.                                                          Kulichitu saaptu kelambu”(Gokul, wake up or else It would probably get delayed for you to catch the bus. Bath, eat and then depart for the journey),

These took a minute to reach my ears from my mother’s loud and clear throat.

                                        The extra fifth alarm from my mom was very much needed as the earlier four did not serve the purpose. Trying hard to separate the stuck together eye-lids, I entered the bathroom to take a refreshing bath which would help me get rid the laziness off I was besieged with. As soon as I took bath and changed the dress, I sat right away on the dining table to have the best of foods possible. All the dishes were my favourite and that made the process of selection and rejection tough. Having as much as my tummy can hold, I set myself ready for the return journey to Bangalore. The clock ticked half past eight and I started off from my house to the nearby bus stop from where I would be able to fetch buses to the intended destination. It was almost fifteen minutes and I could see no buses on the streets. The sixteenth and the seventeenth minute went on with all my cursing for MTC (Madras Transport Corporation) and boarding a moderately crowded bus and still managing to get a place for me to sit.

                                      One annoying traits of the conductors of MTC is that they stick their ass to a seat and that they do not even move a bit to fetch money and give tickets. Every passenger has to come to the conductor to get their ticketing done. I and the conductor happened to strike a conversation amongst us.

I: “Ashok Nagar Police Station, Onnnu”….

Conductor: “Purla, thirumba sollu”….

I: “Ashok Nagar Police Station na, moonavadhu stop”…

Conductor: “Oh, dation a? Apdi sollu pa. Puriyaatha maariye pesura.”…

I: “Ammam nae unga alavukku englipeesh pesa mudiyaathu nae, etho ennala mudinjathu nae”…

Conductor: “Kathukka thambi, englipeesh romba mukiyam ulagathula”…

I: “Kandipppaa nae, neenga soliteengala, kandippa paniren”…

                             Chennai speaks English in different languages. The buses headed towards the intended directions with the metals inside the bus making all tunes possible. After travelling for half an hour the three stops, I got down walking a little further to report at the travel agency from where the private bus starts. The length of the travel agency’s name board seemed longer than the horizontal dimension of the building, but nobody was sitting inside the office. I went on a few steps to find out where the missing guy was and came to know that generally nobody sits in the office and that they asked me to call and check so as where to board the bus from and that is when I wondered the necessity of the office when it does not serve the purpose.

                             Enquiring the required details I went on to sit inside the same venue. It would not be more than two minutes I sat and I was asked to go out as they were going to close this useless building with the shutters on. I reluctantly came out of the place and occupied an area just outside the building. I was standing and observing things around.      

                             This area is considered to be one among the centremost area of Chennai, the capital of Tamil Nadu. The locality looked as if a Tornado has brought about humungous wastes from many part of the city. The streets were filled with all kind of wastes (organic, inorganic, toxic, etc.) existed on earth. The streets were filled with ample number of petty shops that did quiet a good business; the appearance would kindle a nauseating feeling though.

                             The street was occupied by many a beggars who sleep on the shop entrances. They are kind of people who cannot even satisfy their basic needs. They eat something that they beg or that lies on the road, they wear something that they get from someone which will be able to cover only their private parts and they seek their shelters from the nearby shops only during the nights. These people literally catch hold of people’s leg and beg for money which would be a very pitiful sight.

                             When I saw all these and turned the other side, it was more even more excruciating. A person suffering from elephantiasis was trying and eating something from the dustbin that belonged to a particular shop. Seeing this, the owner of the shop came out and dragged him along the pavement and pushed him on to the roads after slapping hard and harassing him a number of times. The guy lied on the road and managed to get himself back on his own legs even before some vehicle passed by which on failure would have tasted his blood.

                             On top of all these repulsive acts, there were ladies on the other side of the road busy with “Their business”. They were trying and attracting men by their side so as to keep their business moving thereby earning a meagre sum of money for their living. Their dressing was so evident that they were trying and creating an affinity amongst men for them.

“SOME STRIP FOR MONEY BUT SOME ARE                 STRIPPED WITHOUT MONEY”

                             I want my eyes to keep off from all these and decided to walk a bit further. I was walking through a garbage filled road where quite a number of stray dogs were fighting for their own prey. This portion of the road saw a group of crooked auto men fighting to get a couple aboard while the lost ones destroying the winner’s family with words.

                             Disappointingly, turned towards the main road to see if my bus has turned up and saw a share auto guy taking in thrice the number of people that the auto can hold. People were literally clinging on to the auto and the city buses and private buses giving a damn at what the traffic signals indicated. The buses were running like an amuck dog which gives a shit at what is happening around which made me wonder the need for traffic signals.

                             By the time my bus came I realised it was one of the pathetic nights I had in my life time and still people call it “Singaara Chennai”. It would be good if the name or the plight changes which always lies in the hands of the people.

                   “WAKE UP PEOPLE, MAKE THIS CITY A BETTER PALCE TO LIVE IN FOR ALL CLASSES OF PEOPLE”