A DAREDEVIL ON THE STREETS OF BHOPAL

Enjoying the evening zephyr caressing the face, while sitting comfortably on the window of the giant red bus, being chauffeured around the city; no, that isn't me, I am the one standing squashed just beside the lucky girl who got the window seat, waiting for this daily torturous commute from the work place to get over and cursing myself for the inability of being able to ride or drive a vehicle. The pang of not having picked up the art is quite unsettling as I often wonder how immensely exhilarating it would be, gliding through the broad roads of Bhopal, without being at the mercy of a friend or colleague. Just as I am approaching the climax of my delicate reverie, incessant honking and bashing of my head against the same lucky girl transports me to the harsh realities of the present. Dazed and confused in the pandemonium, smoke and smell of the burning rubber I realise a vehicle just collided with the leviathan bus I am in, leaving me in a quandary whether I am blessed not having to travel in a private transport. 

Although the enticement of romancing the lipstick red Vespa is too hard to resist, there always remains a chance of getting mown over by a car or bus that did not see you coming around. Not to forget, Bhopali rider's penchant for whizzing through the traffic might take you off-guard anytime, swiping you on the ground. Of course four-wheelers remain a pragmatic choice, but even they aren't spared the overwhelming touch of love received from fellow drivers who can squeeze their rides even where the pedestrians fail to approach. Every time serving pillion to someone you are likely to feel like a target with bevy of vehicles darting towards you from all directions.

So, did you think public transport was a better resort? As a vulnerable commuter, left to the whims of petulant mini-bus drivers, words of a friend from France currently in Bhopal, on the nettling traffic system of the city often resonate- 'Bhopal has the worst drivers in the world, ones without any regards for the  traffic rules whatsoever'. You can experience the pathos of this foreigner and the unadulterated veracity of his statement no sooner you board a bus or an auto-rickshaw. It is like conductors of the dingy mini buses are in some inexplicable competition of stuffing the 'sawaris'  like chicken into their vehicles, to the point the poor thing gets tilted. Having said this, imagine the roller-coaster ride you live through at every turning. If this was not enough, there are times when drivers, irrespective of buses or auto-rickshaws, possessed by spirit of some F1 racer, speed through the traffic, exhibiting their kinetic competency and making you apprehensive if this would be your last journey.

Working behind the wheels, a dedicated commuter of public transport or a harmless pedestrian, life is an equal gamble for all on the streets of the city of 'Nawabs'. No wonder then, had Hamlet been born in the present day Bhopal, his biggest crisis would possibly have been 'To go, or not to go'!