I was on my way to work and it turned out to be yet another day in Chennai’s weather calendar - humid, sultry and hot. Predictable! The auto driver had just reached Music academy and the signal turned red. Murphy’s law? Why blame him now? You know a lot of interesting things happen at traffic signals in India. Do we even pay attention to red light and zebra crossing in India? Two wheelers were standing ahead of the zebra crossing and annoying auto drivers were maneuvering dangerously to get ahead of them. In India, chaos is also predictable.
I felt the sweat beads tickling and trickling down my ribs and flowing down to my hip. While I was patiently waiting for the lights to turn green I saw an elderly woman at a distance. May be in her late 60’s draped in a white polyester saree filled with red flowers, her grey hair neatly oiled, and wrinkled face decorated with bright red kumkum. The face of poverty was beautiful! She would not need more than 60 cms of blouse material to cover the ribs that hugged her heart and lungs tightly. She was doing her tricks to get the guy in the car roll down the window. Was she selling ears buds, cleaning cloth, knick knacks, jasmine flowers, magazines or holding her brass pot (piggy bank) draped with yellow cloth in the name of Ganesha?
Sounds like Madhur Bhandarkar movie, huh?
Over the next few seconds the old lady was surrounded by vehicles on all sides, but she boldly stood there trying to get the attention of the man in the car. Was she trying to attract his attention or was she trying to rouse the patriotism in him? My eyes toggled between the old lady and the traffic light. If she didn’t cross over to the other side or get back on the pavement the impatient and unruly Chennai traffic would have definitely abused her and merciless metro water lorries would have run over her.
I could faintly hear her voice over the deafening noise of horns and revving automobile engines. Still the guy in the car refused to roll down the windows. What does it take for people to roll down the windows? Does it need compassion, kindness, empathy, sympathy or patriotism? Can freckles, wrinkles and frailty do it?
She was not like others who target your pocket change at traffic lights, her focus was sharp and clear. I was increasingly feeling anxious and I tried to put my hand out and get her attention. Even at the age of 60+ she was ready to sweat it out, take it all in and make ends meet.
She was holding two dozen tricolor plastic flags between her right arm and chest, while her left arm was busy knocking the window and I must tell I have never seen such intense and raw emotions before. Is she Kodikatha Kumaran’s sister or is she Barath Maatha? Barath Maatha at traffic lights? Sound blasphemous?
Does anyone even remember her on days other than Aug 15 and Jan 26? Well who can even recognize her? But before the amber turned green the windows of the wealthy man’s Toyota Corolla rolled down and a few tricolors went in the car and tucked the currency in her wrinkled hip. I searched for a smile on her face, but in the meantime green appeared on the tricolor stand in the corner of the street, and chaos returned. Did her patriotism pay off or her perseverance? Did poverty sell patriotism or patriotism sold poverty? God alone knows.
63 years of Independence…and many more to come…but and yet...? You think about it…
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