An award winning entry !!!!

For those who have not understood the title, this article fetched me a gift voucher of 500 bucks from my organisation, as the best entry in non-technical stuff in our newsletter. Kudos to me ;)

A JOURNEY TO M.G.ROAD

-A.T.Raghuram

The sun rose as usual, so did I. A tiring day the previous one, had set me into such a slumber that only US pounding Iraq may have woke me up. And so was the case, my cell phone ringing the usual “Suprabhatam” early up in the morning, something which has been reverberating in my ears for the past 22 years early up every day, thanks to the traditions set up. A typical South Indian Brahmin, I pondered.

The days that passed by, how memorable were they!!! Out of college, and in these concrete jungles, life takes a twist which one never would have expected for. Sadly, I reached out for my formals, and set out on the morning ritual, a journey to my office place, in 270 E, set to drop me at Shivaji Nagar.

I vividly remember the day, August 7^th, 2006 when I met Mr.Khasim. Slender built, with a back which had perhaps taken more abuse than the roads on which he drives his autorickshaw, the best part of his life had easily overtaken him by then. I had alighted the bus and was loitering on the road musing over the breakfast in the morning, which had set off an alarm in my tummy, when this gentleman approached me, and enquired pathetically “Kahaan jaana hain saab?”

For one moment I was shocked, the next surprised; never had anyone offered their services to take me to my office. M.G.Road perhaps is considered sinister, for any auto driver early up the morning would never be ready to take off to that place. And the worst part was that they never offered an excuse for their denial; rather shrug their shoulders in disbelief, counting me as a moron out to disturb their daily routine of towing people from one corner of the city to another at exorbitant hire rates.

Well, this was to be my day, I suppose. Khasim readily accepted, and we moved along towards M.G.Road. This day was particularly crowded, as is always around my workplace, but never did it take more than a quarter of an hour to reach. The elderly gentleman broke the silence, questioning me about my details, for which I duly replied. He made an observation stating that my Hindi sounded perfect, and so took me to be an outsider to the city, which I am. We then spoke about Bangalore and the sundry, he being an old person spoke about all the changes in the city that he had seen, that the roads were more crowded and the people more rude in their senses.

I pondered over this useless talk as I kept listening. Perhaps the old man had other ideas, perhaps he expected me to shove a token of appreciation in his hands, an extra note or so.

Or perhaps, he planned to tow me daily, which looked absurd a thought, nevertheless appeared on the cards. Or worst still, he might next ask about our address, and plan for some mischief. I made up my mind not to encourage him anymore, and remained mum.

Vijaya Bank was soon in vicinity, and I was getting sick of the Monday morning blues at work. As I was preparing to alight, Khasim broke into tears. This was unexpected, for I was sure that I was no reason for that, and moreover to see such an elderly gentleman in tears was weird. He then said that he has a daughter, 17 years of age, who has a heart transplant surgery, due to some congenital disease which was never noticed as yet. The surgery was to be held on the 10^th, yet he moved along to make money for their daily bread.

Life is strange, I thought. I was just dreaming about the days of my future in Manhattan, about the lovely things I had to achieve, and of the glories to be made. And here was a person, with simple dreams, and a strong hope of seeing a better future for his loved ones. I offered him a twenty rupee note, for the meter read sixteen. As I walked along, he called me, and gave me five bucks, and said that he had no lesser denominations. He blessed me, and requested me to pray God for his daughter.

As I trotted towards my cubicle, I realized that life is made of subtleties which can be perceived only by our heart, and that a life is less understood if we tend to miss them out. We tend to misjudge many a times, but it’s just worthwhile to think about those decisions again, for we learn from such moments. I trudged along to our CCD machine; the aroma of café au lait filled my nostrils, carrying me back about my daily routine.