another day on the roads..

The horizon was slate-gray, the rain was grimy, and the road was strewn with dirt; like god had washed his ashtray. The sky looked down in a grimace, an angry wife waiting to start throwing things, now silent and brooding. Potholes hid under sheets of water flowing from one side of the badly banked road to the other. Every time I hit one I apologized to my car, but like a thoroughbred she was taking it well. I had covered nearly all fourteen districts of the state in the last week or so, alone and absolutely at peace with the world. My only constant companion was the rain. "God is my co-driver" Senna had said. Well the rain was mine.
At every gas station, every chai-stop the discussion was always the weather. Wasn't it Mark Twain who said that everyone talks about the weather, but no one does anything about it? It was a strange rain, unusual for the time of the year. Roads had been washed away, cities were grid locked, power was down and the only smiling faces were kids who got unscheduled holidays. One wise cigarette vendor told me "Even pokunna varey inganey aayirikkum", which directly translates to "It's going to be like this until he (the rain) goes." This seemed a very stupid statement for a wise old ciagarette-walah, until I realized that he meant Ivan, the hurricane or whatever it was that had battered the west. Another lesson learnt -pronunciation is nothing, information is everything, this is Kerala, and we are like this only.
Every field was brown and green, every river swollen and muddy. The rain was all-pervasive. Bikers drove around with plastic bags on their heads as protection. Ever so often, a tree acted spoilsport by lying down across the road. PHHHTTT!there goes the power in the nearby town. I left the windows down most of the time, so the cigarette smoke would not hang on the upholstery, and that had made the seats and most of my clothes wet. They now occupied the back seat, and I was down to my last pair of shorts. Every afternoon and night I was required to call home and report my location, further route plans and distance covered in the last few hours. This last bit of information was for my Mom to do some quick mental math and work out my average speed. S = D/T...hmm...mumble-mumble...ADVICE (where S is speed in km/hr, D is distance in km, T is time in hours and advice in varying degrees of dark humour and pessimism.)
I stopped for lunch at Aleppy after 3 straight hours of exhilarating driving. A small place with a view of the paddy fields (not that you can escape them in Aleppy) and more importantly a phone booth. I didn't want to stop anywhere after lunch and this promised to be the perfect pit stop. The smell of kappa-meencurry was strong enough to whet my appetite to its full ferocity. I ordered a plate of the same and headed booth-wards to make my report to Mom. She was waiting as usual and picked up the phone on the first ring. It's like a psychological weapon Moms use to drive home the fact that their very existence is dependent on that phone call.
"Hi Amma, am at Aleppy having lunch'Kappa and meencurry'... Yeah it is raining... No three hours is not too fast to hit Aleppy, Dad did it in 2! Yeah I know he is the worst driver you've ever known but I took one hour more so relax...I'll be home by 5:30...what?..ok by 6:30...see you there then. Bye."
The food was as good as the aroma had promised. The rain had stopped as if challenging me to start driving again. I lit a cigarette, bills were paid, questions from the guy about my destination and the weather in the places I had passed were ignored and I got into my car again. The moment I pulled out on to the road, it started pouring.
The road from Aleppy to Angamali was a driver's dream - four-lanes, good surfaces, an international standard highway. The signboards were the only aberration. Put up by various departments that seemed to be at loggerheads, the distance to a certain town could be anything from 32km to 43 km depending on your political affiliations, bribes paid, apathy or maybe something less significant like an absolute lack of geographical knowledge. I had a system that seemed to work- take the difference between the distances shown on the blue and yellow boards and add it to the distance shown on the green tourism board. I believed it was all part of some intricate plan to throw any imperialistic aggressors off their invasion plans. Well it wasn't working with me.
Despite my mom's warnings I made it to Trichur by 5:15 and was wondering whether I should head straight home and face the music, or stop over at Mini's for the best burgers in the world. Home was now about 10 km away and I still hadn't made up my mind. The rain was now pulling out everything in its arsenal to show me that all that mileage still hadn't taken away from its stamina. I took a curve, overtaking a big blue ponderous Merc (Mom would have screamed her head off) and suddenly there was a crowd of people in the middle of the road.
I slammed on the brakes and heard the squealing tyres of the Merc behind me. In front of me was a golden Santro surrounded by people. They were trying to make him roll down his windows. "Bloody hartal," I thought, cursing my timing. Another 45 minutes and it would have been over. "Wonder why mom didn't tell me about it". I looked in the rear view mirror planning an escape route from the mob wrath, but the Merc wasn't budging. The Santro driver in front leaned on the horn, twisted off the road and drove off. The mob turned its attention to me and started for my car. I was stuck.
The leader ran up to my window and tapped for me to open it. I rolled it down and had just opened my mouth with some vague explanation when he said, " Please saar"accident. Help.
" I looked up and through the crowd of people and behind them I saw a man lying on the road, a neat circular cut across his forehead. The blood mixed with the rainwater and managed to look much more profuse than it really was. Another man stood next to him holding a child in his arms. I couldn't make out the extent of the kid's injuries, all I could see were his legs dangling over the man's arms, one shoe missing, jerking around all loose and lifeless.
I hurriedly opened the doors for them and the man with the kid jumped into the front seat. I didn't look. Another three guys got in the back and put the man across their legs."Which hospital?" I asked. One of the guys from the back seat shouted, "Medical College only they take accidents. Put your headlights on and don't spare the horn." The man at the back, who I assumed was the kid's dad, started groaning loudly. Not once did he ask about the kid. I thought that was strange. I drove like a maniac through the crowded and flooded city streets, pulling up into the casualty driveway in about five minutes. Everyone jumped out and dragged the guy onto the waiting stretcher. The guy with the kid in his arms had already run into the building.
I sat there for another 15 minutes, doors all lying open, headlights still on. Then I got out, wiped the blood off the back seats, closed the doors and drove home, slowly. Mom was waiting near the gate, umbrella in hand. She opened it for me and shouted for my brother to come and pick up my stuff.
"Tea?" she asked.
I nodded absently and walked in, taking off my drenched clothes and shoes. She brought me a towel and I wrapped it around myself and sank into the nearest chair. "Thank god you listened to me and drove slow. So many accidents these days, what with the rain and the condition of the roads."
I looked at the clock. It was 6:45. "Yeah Amma, so many accidents, makes one sick. I drove slowly all right."
She put the tea in front of me and hurried off to make some Dosas. I followed her to the kitchen and gave her a hug. "It's good to be home, Amma, good to be home."