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Song Of The Road - Part 2 - Madhumita Gupta Madhumita Gupta is from Alwar in Rajasthan, India. She has been an English teacher in Dhulesia Public School (Rajkot, Gujarat), Gyan Vihar Senior Sec. School (Jaipur, Rajasthan), Arts College Alwar (as lecturer), Alwar Public School (Alwar, Rajasthan). she and her husband are presently running Aditya English Institute in Alwar. She has been an All India Radio announcer. She has been writing for Hindustan Times, Times of India and Filmfare. She currently writes for Femina.

Song Of The Road - Part 1

There’s nothing to beat road travel, the way it gives characters to those who’d otherwise remain just vague ‘people’. While generalizing it may be stretching it too far, but the way people behave on highways can be fairly accurate in gauging their attitudes. Not to any credit to the supposedly highly educated, well-heeled class, it’s been a surprising discovery to find that its not they who top the etiquette charts. Any number of pricey top-segment cars will cross you without ever deigning to use low beam, least bothered by the fact that their bright lights are blinding the other driver. It’s the ‘rowdy’ truck-driver, on the other hand, who is the real gentleman of the road. Not only does he always lower his lights, the gaunt hand out of the right window often also warns you about the traffic ahead or courteously signals you on as he lumbers on behind at his own steady pace. And if God forbid, you have a break down, he’ll be the first one to give you a helping hand.

This monarch of the road, the ‘road ka raja’, who can look so menacing up-front has got a benign behind. Truck-philosophy, indigenous I believe, only to India, remains in a class of it own. Traveling even a few miles by road is enough to elevate minds as nothing else. Not for them the sophistication of bumper-stickers; a flourish of a paint brush and some fluorescent color is all they need to change this beast of burden to a serious philosopher.

From simple, loving assertion, ‘Chunnu te Munnu di gaddi’ to rustic humour to profound philosophy, it entertains and educates without discrimination. So while one exhorts us to curb the population explosion with, ‘Sher ka bachcha, ek hi achcha’, another philosophizes about detachment,

‘Kya saath laaya hai, kya saath le jayega,

Khali haath aaya tha, khali hath jayega’

Yet another extols the virtues of educating the girl-child, ‘Pari-Likhi Nari, ghar bhar ki khush-hali’. And another almost wags a finger at the reckless driver to slow down with a reprimanding ‘ Papa, mummy ghar par intezar karti hai’. And then the best gem of all, the succinct but unchallengeable bitter truth of-

‘100 mein se 99 beiman,

phir bhi mera bharat mahan’.

No prizes for guessing why we wound up as the 55th most corrupt nation among all the 193 countries in the world!

On these highways, the way people use, abuse or not use the horns is also a dead give-away to the character of the one behind the wheel. A short, hesitant ‘parp’= he wants to get ahead but he won’t pester you for side like the one with who makes you jump with his loud blare; an apologetic ‘peep’ that stops almost before it starts= a reluctant wife who’s been avoiding pressing that blasted thing, but has been asked by the hubby to do so. Come to think of it, you don’t even need to go on a long journey, if you stick around long enough you’ll find even among your acquaintances that like long-suffering spouses do in looks, horns and drivers too, sooner or later start resembling each other in the way they sound. The horn more or less imbibes the personality of the driver and faithfully echoes it, whenever touched by its master’s hands!

How drivers overtake other vehicles too gives a sound insight to their personalities. The very cautious one – is probably out on his first long journey; the one who weaves his way in and out of the traffic- either is awfully late for something or is a frustrated racing-driver; the car which seems about to overtake the truck ahead and then changes its mind halfway through, seems to muster courage and hits the accelerator again, and then thinks better of it and so on and on-bet your boots on it-it’ll be a lady-driver, no offence, but they (myself included!) do have this Hamlet in them about overtaking, specially on highways. ‘Should I or shouldn’t I?’ the eternal battle rages within them much to the consternation of the drivers behind, who have by this time started tearing their hair out in tufts!

Apart from the drivers, the highway is one hell of a good way to know the locals too. How they guide the newcomers around speaks volumes about the kind of people that inhabit a land. We met the most helpful and polite ones across Punjab and Goa. In Punjab the directions are interspersed liberally with a concerned ‘Hain ji?’ or a gentle ‘Haan ji’, and most of these kindly souls are liable to go into intricate details to ensure that you reach your destination. The turbaned taxi or auto-wallahs, if headed that way would go a step ahead and physically guide you, with a benign smile lighting up their bristly faces, ‘Aajao ji…’ and any attempts to thank them met with a bashful ‘O ji…aap bhi…”.

In spite of being the butt of innumerable jokes, Sikhs remain among the most straightforward, simple folks who are also the most hardworking. A funny fact, gathered over our sojourns all over India, is that we have come across the huge Sikh, the skinny Sikh, the farmer and the military-man Sikh, but never a Sikh with a begging bowl.

Contrary to the businesslike Punjabis, the Goanese, on the other hand, always gives the impression of being on an unending holiday. For him any stranger asking for directions is a virtual gold-mine and a simple question has all the possibility of developing into an delightful chat to pass the time of the day, as it were. For the rare taciturn Goanese, however, all destinations are ‘straight ahead’!

Conversations with the more commonly found voluble ones can range from hilarious to maddening, depending upon the time you have on hand. Sample this-

‘Excuse me, could you please tell us the way to Calangute?’

An interested stare would size you up at leisure, ‘You don’t appear to be from here?”

Well, obviously, why else would one need to ask directions! But you try again as there’s nobody else in sight except for some exceptionally well-fed strays, ‘No, but could you…’

‘Where are you from…Delhi?’

‘Not Delhi, Rajasthan, now could you…’

‘Ah, Rajasthan …Jaipur, No? Nice place, went there as a child…do they still have pink houses?’

‘Yes, they do, and lots of other colours too but listen man, we’re in a hurry’ and before he could interrupt, you say in one breath,

“could you tell us where’s Calangute?”

‘Oh? In a hurry?” he speaks slowly, “Why didn’t you tell me earlier? Calangute, eh? W..e..ll, just go straight ahead and er…ask the next person you come along…’!!

‘What’s there in journeys after all?’ one of the package- tour-type had asked us once, ‘roads and roads, that’s all there is to it!” Yes, perhaps for the one who sits with his eyes glued to the windscreen. But then he can’t be expected to understand how a single sight can make it all so worthwhile.

For instance, no ‘Sunset’ or ‘Sunrise Point’ anywhere compares to the ones you can catch on road. It can be among the majestic dunes, behind a skeletal tree, shorn of leaves but made memorable because of the solitary peacock silhouetted on its topmost branch, against the flaming sky. It is like watching an invisible artist live with his extraordinary palette of colors, rapidly transforming the giant canvas with bold strokes where colors change from brilliant whites, oranges and yellow to furry purples and pinks, gradually giving way to fuzzy grays and finally all encompassing darkness.

While the rest of the world packs up then, the road, even the most sluggish one, comes to life at this time, when the trucks take over the smaller traffic. And though mostly avoidable and avoided for various reasons, traveling by car at night, has its moments. Without any interesting sights to distract you, you’re all alone in the sea of shadows. Marooned, as it were, on your little mobile island. You notice the eerie beauty of the otherwise overlooked elephant-grass by the sides of the road- lighting up for an instant like a wild diwali ‘anar’ and the next second engulfed by the inky darkness. The darkness ahead sheared mercilessly by your headlights, but coming to life the next moment again in all its awful glory, when you glance back and find it chasing and swallowing the faint gleam of your tail-lights like an unshakeable, deathless dragon.

Being by yourself on a dark endless road can be strangely humbling too, it doesn’t matter there whether you’re the top-man of your concern or a nobody, you’re just that inconsequential speck in a scheme of things that is vaster than imagination.

And when you have been traveling for any length of time on such a road, you appreciate for once why ‘light’, any light, stands for hope. Whether its the faintly twinkling yellow ones of a distant village, or the brilliant pool of white light which marks out a factory, all hold out the reassurance that you’re not really the isolated speck you’d started imagining yourself to be.

Specially welcome is the light of the fairy-bulbs strung across the road, yes, of the ubiquitous ‘dhaba’. Any account of the highway would be incomplete without a mention of these oases of the roads- the roadside ‘dhabas’. Another of the definite pluses of traveling by road, they still reign the long roads which Mcdonald’s and Haldiram’s wouldn’t care bothering their heads about.

Though the high-end hotels have been trying for sometime to replicate that unique ambience of a ‘dhaba’, I guess, it takes more than just providing the set-up and colors, and it can be difficult if not impossible to re-create the feel of a real ‘dhaba’. Can anything really reconstitute the heady mix of relief and anticipation the sight that the riotous flags fluttering wildly in the slipstream arouses in one? I doubt it!

Light being faster than fragrances, it’s the clashing fluorescent colors of these flags, planted lovingly by someone quite definitely color-blind, which claim your road-weary eyes first. Then the anticipation gives way to barely concealed salivation as you pull up to the tempting aromas and sizzling sounds which hit your nose and ears simultaneously!

None of the insipid nonsense dished out by indifferent caterers in planes and trains here! But wholesome, tandoor-fresh fares, accompanied by garden-fresh salad, which can give any five-star a run for its money. And the whole beauty of the thing is that it doesn’t! At a fraction of what you would be paying through your nose at a pricey joint, you get the earthy flavors, minus the frills. But then who cares for the sparkling silver and china when your tummy is growling at you to start digging in at the steaming scrumptious fare in front of you?

Be it the ubiquitous ‘dal-fry’ with ‘lachcha pyaz’ and ‘aloo-zeera’ or the authentic cuisines like ‘sarson-da-saag and makki-ki-roti’ followed by a huge glass of frothy buttermilk in Punjab or the hot ‘poha’ sold early in the morning as breakfast in Madhya Pradesh and Gujarat, most of these joints can be trusted for their freshness, owing to the huge turnovers. Hygiene? Er uh…well that’s another question however, but nothing that a quick polish with a napkin couldn’t deal with. And moreover, certainly those microbes couldn’t survive the high temperatures of the piping-hot food unless they were blood-relations to a certain Mr. Modi, post- Godhra? Could they now?

Not all, of course, is roses on the highway. There are gory accidents, sometimes so pointless, so avoidable, that it can make even a sceptic believe in Fate. And yes, there are still those mountains of dirt and the multi hued bits of polythene over miles of wasteland, proudly proclaiming the triumph of convenience over environmental consciousness.

The ill, the decaying, the dying, the dead, yes, all of them-the very sights that made a Buddha out of a Siddartha are there. As are unexpected angels and archangels of mercy, along with inconsiderate brutes and devils who were too much in a hurry or too unconcerned to let the bent, old man or the little puppy-dog get safely to the other-side.

But then that’s life, isn’t it? Where the good exists with evil and beauty with ugliness.

Just as even the most beautiful sight isn’t forever, so too isn’t an ugly one, you realize and find the strength in yourself to accept the transience of everything, no matter how timeless it appears at that moment. You realize too, the amazing similarity a road shares with life. Deceptively straight and simple and yet full of unforeseen twists and turns. Seemingly uncomplicated but running into unexpected highs and lows. Just when one feels he has picked up speed and starts flying high, he hits that unmarked speed-breaker which brings him back to earth with a bone-breaking crash…

In both, you need to keep all the gears working smoothly, as you won’t get very far on any one gear. You need to keep an eye on the petrol tank too, if you don’t want to get stranded midway. You realize too, that too much air or too little, like enthusiasm, means trouble. You learn to watch out for the treacherous craters and unmarked bumps; accept being rattled and even lost at times but regaining your equanimity and finding your path again. You learn to control all and yet place more trust in The Hand much superior to yours and discover for yourself that He’s mostly fair. Just when you’ve given up on Him, He proves that He’s been there all along. Just like the time when you’d twisted your arms almost out of their sockets trying to avoid the potholes eclipsing the road when suddenly you’d hit the butter-smooth stretch, with the picture-perfect daisy- lined avenue of shady trees.

Is it just a road I’ve been writing about or is it life?

Photo Credits: http://www.canr.msu.edu/vanburen/India/traffic.htm

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