Before he could apply the brakes, I saw his bare hands folded, his eyes fixed on the rear-view mirror and his mouth mutter those seemingly pardonable words, “Chuki Zaala tar maaf kara.” Those were the first few words dad muttered after the cop with a moustache, not as big as his ego, accosted him right after he ran screaming, “Peela singal kaata! Thambaa O!!”
Flustered and flummoxed, I reached out for the seat-belt, trying hard to convince myself that I was not at fault. A seat-belt is not necessary. (It is, by the way.) Surprisingly, that was not why the traffic police caught us. As his job is, he noticed dad conveniently ignore the yellow light at one of the crucial junctions in Mulund. So, while I was busy gaping at the green lawn of Johnson and Johnson to the right, only to confuse dad that I was staring at him for no reason at all, I turned away to find a huge fat arm waving at us and a red-faced guy whistling his life out of a pipe, signaling us to stop.
Obviously we didn’t escape. So, as dad uttered those words of, “Chuki Zaala tar maaf kara” a thousand times with his hands annoyingly folded, I just wished my hands were steady enough to make God of Guttered Voice, Himesh Reshamiya (or whatever his name is) stop singing at a time when crisis had struck. But, I was holding on to the seat belt, only to escape a huge fine or something. ( I don’t know traffic rules that well.)
The magic of those words I know not, but it worked. The traffic police looked at my dad in the rear view mirror (Believe me, the entire conversation was through the mirror) and sighed. As far as I could comprehend, he said, (rephrasing it in English) “Sir, it’s my job. I have to check flouting of rules. Nowadays, so many accidents happen because of singal-cutting (sorry, I can’t help mentioning the way he pronounced signal :D)” Then he asked for dad’s license and the papers, all of which we thankfully had.
Well, just as I thought it was over and I could continue gazing at Johnson and Johnson’s nature-makeover masterpiece, dad subtly converted a formal cop-culprit conversation to an emotional dialogue. He said, “I work at Axis Bank, here in Mulund. I am a father, a husband , etc.” I went berserk. My instincts drove me crazy and all I wanted to do was press the accelerator and get away from there.
The cop said, “Chaalel. Zaa tumhi.” And then we left.
On a more serious note, traffic rules are made for a reason. We learnt it, though not the hard way. It would have been easier to wait for a couple of minutes and escape this trouble. But hurry caused it all. It’s good to learn that life, in a hurry will no longer be called life at all..
Flustered and flummoxed, I reached out for the seat-belt, trying hard to convince myself that I was not at fault. A seat-belt is not necessary. (It is, by the way.) Surprisingly, that was not why the traffic police caught us. As his job is, he noticed dad conveniently ignore the yellow light at one of the crucial junctions in Mulund. So, while I was busy gaping at the green lawn of Johnson and Johnson to the right, only to confuse dad that I was staring at him for no reason at all, I turned away to find a huge fat arm waving at us and a red-faced guy whistling his life out of a pipe, signaling us to stop.
Obviously we didn’t escape. So, as dad uttered those words of, “Chuki Zaala tar maaf kara” a thousand times with his hands annoyingly folded, I just wished my hands were steady enough to make God of Guttered Voice, Himesh Reshamiya (or whatever his name is) stop singing at a time when crisis had struck. But, I was holding on to the seat belt, only to escape a huge fine or something. ( I don’t know traffic rules that well.)
The magic of those words I know not, but it worked. The traffic police looked at my dad in the rear view mirror (Believe me, the entire conversation was through the mirror) and sighed. As far as I could comprehend, he said, (rephrasing it in English) “Sir, it’s my job. I have to check flouting of rules. Nowadays, so many accidents happen because of singal-cutting (sorry, I can’t help mentioning the way he pronounced signal :D)” Then he asked for dad’s license and the papers, all of which we thankfully had.
Well, just as I thought it was over and I could continue gazing at Johnson and Johnson’s nature-makeover masterpiece, dad subtly converted a formal cop-culprit conversation to an emotional dialogue. He said, “I work at Axis Bank, here in Mulund. I am a father, a husband , etc.” I went berserk. My instincts drove me crazy and all I wanted to do was press the accelerator and get away from there.
The cop said, “Chaalel. Zaa tumhi.” And then we left.
On a more serious note, traffic rules are made for a reason. We learnt it, though not the hard way. It would have been easier to wait for a couple of minutes and escape this trouble. But hurry caused it all. It’s good to learn that life, in a hurry will no longer be called life at all..
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2 comments:
i broke signal twice and on each occasion had to pay a fine. :-(
haha! probably you need to get a hang of connecting with the cop emotionally :D
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