<p>I step out of my gate and swiftly come to attention as if on command during an NCC parade. Myriad cars and scooters are waiting impatiently for the traffic signal to change.</p>.<p>When it turns green, I am assailed by the honking of vehicles with varying levels of loudness and tone. That’s no music, so I quickly plug my ears with my fingers.</p>.<p>The traffic light turns red, and I deftly weave my way through vehicles like a dodger in a game of Kho Kho while raising my outstretched palm towards the motorists to stop as they anxiously try to inch forward.</p>.<p>I reach the other side of the street and heave a sigh of relief.</p>.<p>Barely a few steps away, there’s a heap of gravel stones. I leverage my long jump skills and leap across. Further down the street, the footpath is occupied by at least five women, ensconced comfortably selling vegetables and fruits.</p>.<p>I step down onto the road and gingerly move when I spot several puddles and potholes ahead. I decide to bring into play my talent in hurdles as I efficiently and rhythmically clear them all.</p>.<p>Changing tracks, I turn towards another street. There are vehicles coming from all directions; I look up heavenwards for succour; my prayer is answered. A cow emerges from nowhere to cross the street. All vehicles stop to let the bovine pass, and I smugly walk alongside her, thanking my stars for small mercies.</p>.<p>The street seems relatively quiet. I take brisk steps, breathing the polluted evening air. Barely fifty metres away, I spot a pack of stray dogs in the distance. Terrified of canines, I stop dead in my tracks and do a volte-face. The sight before me is equally dreadful. A dog walker is leading two Dobermanns. I cross to the other side and continue walking.</p>.<p>At the crossroads, I stop, glance at the five streets around me, reflect, and decide to enter what I perceive as one with little traffic. Alas, two-wheelers and even four-wheelers are parked on the walkway, cable wires hang low and garbage is strewn haphazardly. Pressing my nostrils, I start jogging until I reach a stretch where a dug-up road is blocked with barricades.</p>.<p>Dusk has fallen; a few street lights are flickering. 'Enough is enough,' I mutter, and I take the route home amid a cacophony of horns, including ambulance sirens. I wonder if that patient will reach the hospital on time in such insane traffic.</p>.<p>When I enter my gate, I feel a weight off my shoulders. I sit on a concrete bench, and once again I’m foolishly drawn to the past. Of how in good old Bangalore, one could cross the street with closed eyes when there were more bicycles than cars or scooters and motorists rarely sped, when it was a pleasure to stroll leisurely on tree-lined streets inhaling fresh air.</p>.<p>Nostalgia is bittersweet!</p>.<p><em>(Disclaimer: The views expressed above are the author's own. They do not necessarily reflect the views of DH.)</em></p>
<p>I step out of my gate and swiftly come to attention as if on command during an NCC parade. Myriad cars and scooters are waiting impatiently for the traffic signal to change.</p>.<p>When it turns green, I am assailed by the honking of vehicles with varying levels of loudness and tone. That’s no music, so I quickly plug my ears with my fingers.</p>.<p>The traffic light turns red, and I deftly weave my way through vehicles like a dodger in a game of Kho Kho while raising my outstretched palm towards the motorists to stop as they anxiously try to inch forward.</p>.<p>I reach the other side of the street and heave a sigh of relief.</p>.<p>Barely a few steps away, there’s a heap of gravel stones. I leverage my long jump skills and leap across. Further down the street, the footpath is occupied by at least five women, ensconced comfortably selling vegetables and fruits.</p>.<p>I step down onto the road and gingerly move when I spot several puddles and potholes ahead. I decide to bring into play my talent in hurdles as I efficiently and rhythmically clear them all.</p>.<p>Changing tracks, I turn towards another street. There are vehicles coming from all directions; I look up heavenwards for succour; my prayer is answered. A cow emerges from nowhere to cross the street. All vehicles stop to let the bovine pass, and I smugly walk alongside her, thanking my stars for small mercies.</p>.<p>The street seems relatively quiet. I take brisk steps, breathing the polluted evening air. Barely fifty metres away, I spot a pack of stray dogs in the distance. Terrified of canines, I stop dead in my tracks and do a volte-face. The sight before me is equally dreadful. A dog walker is leading two Dobermanns. I cross to the other side and continue walking.</p>.<p>At the crossroads, I stop, glance at the five streets around me, reflect, and decide to enter what I perceive as one with little traffic. Alas, two-wheelers and even four-wheelers are parked on the walkway, cable wires hang low and garbage is strewn haphazardly. Pressing my nostrils, I start jogging until I reach a stretch where a dug-up road is blocked with barricades.</p>.<p>Dusk has fallen; a few street lights are flickering. 'Enough is enough,' I mutter, and I take the route home amid a cacophony of horns, including ambulance sirens. I wonder if that patient will reach the hospital on time in such insane traffic.</p>.<p>When I enter my gate, I feel a weight off my shoulders. I sit on a concrete bench, and once again I’m foolishly drawn to the past. Of how in good old Bangalore, one could cross the street with closed eyes when there were more bicycles than cars or scooters and motorists rarely sped, when it was a pleasure to stroll leisurely on tree-lined streets inhaling fresh air.</p>.<p>Nostalgia is bittersweet!</p>.<p><em>(Disclaimer: The views expressed above are the author's own. They do not necessarily reflect the views of DH.)</em></p>