<p>I was in a taxi on Bengaluru roads, on my way to my sister’s house, when we stopped at a signal. It meant waiting, and I amused myself by looking at the others who were also waiting for the lights to turn green. It was easy to say who was pressed for time. Frustration was writ large on the faces of those who were impatient to get somewhere important. </p>.<p>Waiting on the side of my taxi was a chauffeur-driven limousine, with a passenger who looked like a busy business tycoon, looking at his mobile, oblivious to his surroundings milling with lesser mortals around him. Then there were a bunch of youngsters on their two-wheelers, talking and laughing in gay abandon; they too appeared unaware of their surroundings in their own carefree way. What struck me was that their helmets, which should have been on their heads, were strung on the handlebar or perched on the rear-view mirrors.</p>.<p>The pedestrians were making the best of stalled vehicles and clear roads, happy to be able to cross over to the other side and head their different ways.</p>.<p>As the commuters were getting impatient at the delay in the changing of the traffic lights, I turned my gaze from the chattering youngsters to vendors peddling toys, fruits, and towels, using the briefly available window of opportunity to sell their wares. </p><p>There was a man persuading people to buy guavas, a woman blowing bubbles enticing children—and succeeding at times, a glares seller—who was more persuasive than any advertisement featuring a celebrity endorsement. As a matter of principle, I do not buy any product endorsed by film stars or cricketers. That is a story for another day.</p>.<p>My gaze now shifted to a group of transgenders moving amid the cars and two-wheelers. Why do they always move in groups? I wondered. One stopped at the window of the chauffeur-driven limousine, trying to draw the attention of its businessman-like passenger. When he didn’t look up, she knocked on the window as they normally do. </p><p>Surprisingly, he lowered the glass, but only to sermonise in a lofty tone. He rattled off about the dignity of work. “Who will give me a job? I have done my schooling. I don’t like to beg. Will you give me a job?” she asked. The man seemed taken aback with this response, which, clearly, he hadn’t expected. The direct question caught him on the wrong foot. He took out a ten-rupee note from his wallet and pressed it into her hand—literally passing the buck!</p>.<p>She then turned to me and flashed an engaging smile. I held out a packet of biscuits. She gave me a sweet smile and indicated that she had eaten. </p><p>She would like money instead. I said I didn’t have any change. “No Gpay?” she asked. </p>.<p>The digital era has truly arrived.</p>
<p>I was in a taxi on Bengaluru roads, on my way to my sister’s house, when we stopped at a signal. It meant waiting, and I amused myself by looking at the others who were also waiting for the lights to turn green. It was easy to say who was pressed for time. Frustration was writ large on the faces of those who were impatient to get somewhere important. </p>.<p>Waiting on the side of my taxi was a chauffeur-driven limousine, with a passenger who looked like a busy business tycoon, looking at his mobile, oblivious to his surroundings milling with lesser mortals around him. Then there were a bunch of youngsters on their two-wheelers, talking and laughing in gay abandon; they too appeared unaware of their surroundings in their own carefree way. What struck me was that their helmets, which should have been on their heads, were strung on the handlebar or perched on the rear-view mirrors.</p>.<p>The pedestrians were making the best of stalled vehicles and clear roads, happy to be able to cross over to the other side and head their different ways.</p>.<p>As the commuters were getting impatient at the delay in the changing of the traffic lights, I turned my gaze from the chattering youngsters to vendors peddling toys, fruits, and towels, using the briefly available window of opportunity to sell their wares. </p><p>There was a man persuading people to buy guavas, a woman blowing bubbles enticing children—and succeeding at times, a glares seller—who was more persuasive than any advertisement featuring a celebrity endorsement. As a matter of principle, I do not buy any product endorsed by film stars or cricketers. That is a story for another day.</p>.<p>My gaze now shifted to a group of transgenders moving amid the cars and two-wheelers. Why do they always move in groups? I wondered. One stopped at the window of the chauffeur-driven limousine, trying to draw the attention of its businessman-like passenger. When he didn’t look up, she knocked on the window as they normally do. </p><p>Surprisingly, he lowered the glass, but only to sermonise in a lofty tone. He rattled off about the dignity of work. “Who will give me a job? I have done my schooling. I don’t like to beg. Will you give me a job?” she asked. The man seemed taken aback with this response, which, clearly, he hadn’t expected. The direct question caught him on the wrong foot. He took out a ten-rupee note from his wallet and pressed it into her hand—literally passing the buck!</p>.<p>She then turned to me and flashed an engaging smile. I held out a packet of biscuits. She gave me a sweet smile and indicated that she had eaten. </p><p>She would like money instead. I said I didn’t have any change. “No Gpay?” she asked. </p>.<p>The digital era has truly arrived.</p>
