By Ratna Manucha
Beautiful legs, no.11. The thought flashed through my mind as I tried to extricate myself from the web of snarling traffic that entrapped me. Beautiful, no longer. In their place there are tired legs, wobbly legs, jittery legs, don’t know where to walk or stand legs, confused legs. Look at me. I am the owner of these legs that you are reading about. I am your everyday lowly pedestrian. Unassuming to a fault. I am constantly being overwhelmed by traffic and rude horns from all sides. I know what you are going to say next. Why don’t I walk on the footpaths? Well, I can’t, because the footpaths are crowded too – with cars and scooters parked on them and, in many cases, carts and people selling wares. What about inside the white line – that narrow stretch of road that is meant for the pedestrians, you ask. Oh, that! That is now in most cases, a parking spot for two wheelers or vegetable vendors who have their carts firmly established there. In fact, the other day, I actually had the gumption to ask a vegetable vendor how he had the gall to park his cart inside the white line on a prominent main road. I was met with a stare and sullen silence. Mum’s the word. ‘Are you dumb?’ his eyes spoke volumes.
Trying to get from point A to point B on Subhash Road is a herculean task. The road is hardly visible. I couldn’t walk on the other side of the white line meant for us lowly pedestrians – there was an open drain on one side and the other side was packed with two wheelers each trying to outdo the other. The road or what was left of it was full of the four wheeled monsters with some two wheelers thrown in for good measure. What was I supposed to do? Jump into the drain and find my way or balance on the white line? I chose the latter since I was stuck between the devil and the deep blue sea. I felt like a trapeze artist, probably looked like one too (that is if anyone cared to notice in the mayhem) walking delicately on the rope, one foot in front of the other…I had barely taken five steps when I was rudely nudged across by a two-wheeler. He was giving me the dirts as if I was encroaching on a territory not meant for me. Really?
Zebra crossings are a logistical nightmare. Oh, yes, we are lucky enough to finally have some zebra crossings on some roads. But on most occasions, they can’t be spotted as the big, mean machines are already parked on them. Will somebody please teach these people traffic rules?
Actually, how about playing a little jingle on all zebra crossings –
Zebra crossings are put there
So we can cross with greater care.
Cars and buses go very fast
We have to wait
Till they have passed.
We always remember
The safest law
Look right, then left
Then right once more.
If nothing is coming
We cross the road
This is all part of the Highway Code.
Back to school, everyone.
The roads don’t belong to us plebian pedestrians any more. What are we to do, then? Grow a pair of wings? And flap our way out of this mess?
(Ratna Manucha is an academician, storyteller, poet, columnist and author of fact and fiction. She lives, dreams and writes in Dehradun, her happy place.)
