57 seconds

I was late today. After a late night party, my daughter had started feeling hunger pangs at 4 O’clock in the morning. Although the feed was by default my wife’s responsibility as I was not biologically designed for the same, my wife made sure that I woke up whenever baby was being fed; either to calm the baby before she forced herself out of bed, or to burp the baby after the feed so that she could hit the pillow as soon as possible. This morning was one such morning when I had spent a good part of an hour trying to make my three month old daughter understand that this was not the time to smile and play. It is quite obvious as to how much she understood whatever I was saying because by the time I could put her back in her cot it was well past 5 and I was ready to crash into my own cot. The ringing of my alarm thereafter sounded like a distant dream and by the time I woke up, the sun was shining with all it’s might and glory.

I started the bike in a hurry and as always I took the road from Budhwar Park towards Fort Covent School. From a distance I could make out that there was not much traffic at the Regal junction but the traffic signal had just turned red. As I approached the junction, the first thought that hit my still tired brain cells was not to stop and just carry on. After all, it was still a couple of minutes before 9 and the traffic cop would not be standing at his usual post at across the junction. More so, I was in uniform. Suddenly with this thought, it seemed that all my brains cells went into an overdrive and they were instantly divided into two groups; one half telling me to go on “Jump the light, you are in uniform!”, the other half stopping me, “Don’t jump the light, you are in uniform!”. Since then, this debate has been raging and has not yet ended. My brain cells are very neatly divided on the issue.

In smaller towns of North India, this kind of debate does not occur. Either there are no signals to be jumped or the traffic cops and the people are so helpful that they themselves stop the traffic and let you pass, that too with a salute. The fact that these towns are inhabited by the Army and not the Navy also helps apart from the fact that an Army officer would rarely be in his own private vehicle when in uniform.

Being in Mumbai (or for that matter any metro city) is different. Apart from the short bursts of patriotism that the city shows (like the post 26/11 week, or during the compulsory screening on the national flag before a movie show), there is not much show of respect for the men in uniform. People have their own daily worries to take care of and as a result, someone in uniform jumping the light and breaking rules would generally be looked down upon.

But what does our man who just reached the signal think?

One day he would take it as a privilege to be in uniform. After all, this is the man on whom the duty of defending and protecting the country and therefore the national pride has been bestowed upon by none other than The Honorable President of India. And today, like all days, he is reporting for that duty. Therefore, what harm has he done if has demanded the slightest courtesy to be allowed to jump a traffic signal, ever so when there is not much traffic and the cop has not reported for duty. Gabbar had also not done any harm in demanding rations from the villagers of Ramgarh to save them from the horrors of Gabbar himself.

Another day, at the same time but in a different mood, our man would be overcome by the other half of his brain cells. Today he would be thinking of possessing the dignified old world charm that was once associated with the armed forces. The armed forces man was the most respected man in the village, locality, town and city. He could eat food with a fork and knife, he could roam around with the confidence of Arnold Schwarzenegger, and he would make girls fall all over him with his aviators in uniform. He would shoot at the enemy just as easily as he would help and old lady cross the road. How could such a person, the epitome of ‘Gentleman’, break rules and jump a petty traffic signal? And for what, reaching office 57 seconds early? He would rather sit in office for an extra hour or two to finish his work rather than face the ignominy of being a rule breaker, that too for a mere 57 seconds?

I was running late today and so I moved on, barely giving the thought another second. But the debate would rage again tomorrow when god knows which half of my brain cells would dominate. I believe they would remain equally divided. Which side of the argument are your brain cells on? 

Stench in the City

I love working! And I love it even more when I am able to complete certain tasks that I had set myself to do, on time and with appreciation from my seniors. Today was one such day when I had managed to tick off a major task in my to-do list and was waiting to show it to my boss. I was reasonably sure that he would appreciate it and this thought was giving me a high. I wore a better set of clothes today and applied some extra after shave and as I moved out of the building complex onto the streets of Colaba, I was already imagining the manner in which I would present the work to my boss.

Crossing ‘Sea Wind’ on my left, a faint odor hit my nostrils and thirty meters further it became stronger and warned me of garbage truck up ahead. As I looked up, the very familiar and seemingly omnipresent garbage truck run by the Brihanmumbai Municipal Corporation loomed in sight. Suddenly, and very sadly, my upbeat mood just vanished. The stench of the garbage truck and the fact that it did not even allow me to overtake it, was the last thing I would’ve wanted at that point of time. Here I was, fresh and cheerful, off to my office early in the morning, and in front of me was a foul smelling garbage truck just pissing me off. Another 100 meters down, I overtook the truck and my nostrils breathed fresh but not before my cheerful spirits had evaporated and my thoughts had changed onto more provoking matters.

The early morning encounter with the garbage truck brought into my mind the one thought that seems to engulf me whenever I am driving in Mumbai; why can’t Mumbai manage it’s traffic and roads like Delhi? Garbage collection in Delhi is done in the night hours when it does not affect the usual traffic of the city and definitely does not inconvenience people travelling to office with the stench. BMC might have GPS tracked it’s garbage trucks to show the tech-savvy system, but it does not help if the system design itself puts people to inconvenience.

The garbage incidence is just one example to confirm my belief that traffic is managed much better in Delhi than in Mumbai. Delhi, even before he commonwealth games changed it’s landscape, has always had better quality broader roads than any roads in Mumbai. Some Delhi roads which are not as trafficked and critical as the ring road are broader and faster than the Eastern and Western Express Highways which are so very critical to the traffic of Mumbai. Delhi started work on making the ring road a non-stop road with flyovers covering all major intersections much before Mumbai started work on the Bandra-Worli sea link which has been touted as the biggest infrastructure project for the city till date.

I visited Delhi last month on a short leave. As I drove out of the spanking new T3 terminal of the airport in my father-in-law’s new I20, the first thing I noticed was the massive amount of space all around. Mumbai always has a claustrophobic feeling all around and that is why people keep flocking to Marine Drive and Gateway of India all the time. Everywhere, on every road, it seems like people are just crowding over each other, with cars buses, auto rickshaws jostling for space all the time. Narrow roads are surrounded by tall buildings that seem to overpower you with their sheer size. In Delhi terms, it seems like one is in Chandni Chowk all the time. Delhi on the other hand has a feeling of freshness to it. move out of the airport into the open and wide roads of the Gurgaon expressway, land straight into the Dhaula Kuan Chowk with it’s open green spaces, and cross over the SP Marg into the tree lined, roundabout laced avenues of Chanakya Puri. There is a sense of space all around, and with space comes freshness.

Mumbai and Delhi are like two cousins, with similar parentage but totally different personalities and outlook towards life. Both are old cities with great historical values, both had a very strong British influence, both are powerful, one financially, and the other politically, and both have a great snob value attached to their southern parts. The differences though are due to a whole lot of factors. Mumbai is the capital city of a government whose primary task is to look after a very large state apart from the relatively smaller nuances of the city. Delhi is in itself a state where the government is completely focused on the city which is the whole state in itself. More so, being the political capital and having access to the central government also help in no small measure. Space in Mumbai has always been at a premium. From seven islands in it’s early days, to the present size today, the city has never had space to grow into. Recent expansions into the northern suburbs and into Navi Mumbai have not been able to keep pace with the expanding needs. Delhi, being circular, and surrounded by villages and agricultural land, always had space all around to expand much like the bodies and waist sizes of most of it’s Punjabi residents.

It might seem my partiality towards Delhi stems from the fact that I despite having stayed away from Delhi since the past 16 years still remain a hardcore Delhiite at heart. After all, one thing which is undoubtedly common to both cities is the mutual hatred or to put it mildly, dislike for each other. Delhiites and mumbaikars can never see eye to eye on a plethora of issues ranging from the way Pani Puris are made to the manner in which people dress up. But, if I have to face or rather smell, the garbage truck first thing in the morning, I would rather stay in Delhi than Mumbai.