Scavenging, and this happens

Romit’s friends were closing down their gym and had a bunch of stuff that they were trying get rid of. And in keeping with our attempts to reuse anything we can, we took a break from picking pepper and offered to help clear things up. So, Neeti treated us to lunch at Mangalore Pearl, in exchange for a few hours lifting 6kg 18"x18" rubber tiles off the gym floor and piling them up in a corner for later storage. We cleared maybe 1500 sq ft, which means, we lifted and carried 650 tiles or so… 3900 kgs! Not bad, and we picked up 2 benches, a wooden box, a shoe rack, a metal rack of shelves, 3 rolls of artificial turf, a large mirror and 43 of those heavy bloody rubber tiles. Thank you, Neeti!

So, all this stuff, we pile onto Manik’s Isuzu that I had borrowed for this purpose, add an old wooden sofa on top and set off back to pin code 571201. Of course, a cop’s eyes light up when he sees a private vehicle carrying “goods” and he waves us down. “RC thorsi (show me the vehicle registration)”, he says, through his covid-19 prevention mask. I scramble for my phone where Manik had shared a photo of his RC card with me. Before I can locate the photo, we hear a mumble, “Corona… hogi, hogi (corona… go, go)”, and the cop’s gone! We stare at each other for a minute wondering what happened before the realization hits us… this is a “Chinese virus” and I must be a carrier! Muahahaha… I am a walking talking nightmare!

Anyhow, the rest of the drive up, I couldn’t help notice that the usually curious eyes in my direction were more wary than usual. Shrug, I guess.

Forgotten Below

The sunlight still lit up the higher floors of the buildings as I walked toward home. It's a little unusual for me to be on foot these days, the convenience of my motorbike having overcome my desire to keep fit. There isn't a footpath on the flyover, so I walked by the side of it. And suddenly, I was in something out of the past that perhaps is a vision of the future.

This little world below was dark before sundown. The sunlight doesn't reach here any more. The light is from dusty, dim lamps, the neon signboards having gone dark. Voices echoed against the thoroughfare up above giving the feel of being in a cavern. The traffic above sounded muffled. The road has fallen into disrepair down here. Little mopeds bounce over the stones shoving the bicyclists out of the way. A faded banner proclaiming 'मेरा भारत महान' sagged from one of the pillars, symbolic perhaps of how this great country of ours does not do its people justice. My imagination was getting the better of me, perhaps, but the smiles of the people seemed tinged with a pale desperation. The contrast is sharp. The expensive cars roaring overhead, and this dimly lit world below.

Perhaps I'm being unfair. How does one treat a billion people equally? I guess some people will inevitably fall through the cracks of the flyovers of development into the dark, forgotten world below. But if I'm being unfair, then think of the people that are left behind.