On Autorickshaws and Cruelty
There I stand in the chill morning with my hand stuck unavailingly out. Waving desperately at the smug little black and yellow three-wheeled bugs as they speed by.
Either they are already occupied, and my lucky fellow commuter gives me a glance that is an equal mix of pity and self-congratulation.
Or there appears to be some mysterious, and probably world-saving, reason why the driver cannot venture onto MG Road. Maybe the space time continuum will be disrupted? Maybe aliens are tracking him and he must hurry to a place that is less populated to save human life? Maybe the terrible mutant contagion that infests an inconspicuous jar at his feet needs to be rushed to a secure facility... I don't understand why else my simple request is met with such loathing and derision.
As one goes through the ritual morning after morning, a shell of cynicism develops. A sneer appears on the face of the hardened auto catcher. She no longer shows her hurt at these brusque and disdainful brush-offs. She wears a mask of disinterest and sticks her hand out with impunity. Nothing can jar her anymore. The situation could not possibly be worse...
This morning could. Insult to injury type worse.
There I stood in the tried and tested auto catching stance. The regulation 5 autos went by...
It was the 6th that gave me a pain in the heart. The lone passenger nestled smugly in the back seat, at ease and totally self satisfied. I stared in envy as the huge bunch of bananas whisked by, smirking all the way. It's a-peel must have been better than mine.


