Bangalore Mirror, Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Why, at 8:45 am, is an attractive, young girl in ill-fitting mens’ trousers, short, braided hair and a purposeful smile, strutting bare-footed by the central reserve on the high-speed airport road, chatting up rather eager truck-drivers?
Hmmm… quite.
So why did I not stop watching this gaucherie? Because Britney Spears slithering ‘Toxic’ out of the radio could not have added more masala to this highway drama unfolding before me. There were 112 more seconds on the traffic lights countdown. There was nothing else to do. And I would give this intriguing little interplay, my absolute and unadulterated attention, anyway.
In the past, I have adhered to repeated warnings by well-wishers, to be wary of ‘sidey’ attractions along these parts, but this brazen encounter was too enticing not to give audience to.
For goodness' sake! This was early morning, on a working day where fleets of school busses ferrying less than happy kids, plied at that very moment, past this very scene. My presence was indispensable.
98…97…96… she didn’t have much more time and I had to know where this was going. Oblivious to everyone outside the ‘tiransport diriver’ demographic, this charmer gesticulated, animated and pouted. There was not much scope for imagination and yet nothing prepared me for what actually was.
73…72…71…she swaggered away as white teeth flashed through dark weather-beaten, leathery smiles in rear view mirrors. And she touted. 43…42…something quickened. Time was slipping by. Her eyes darted vehicle to vehicle and she flitted between the four trucks, spending less and less time at each.
19…18…17…16…a hand reached out. What an outrage! This was not a no-go area, it was a traffic stop at a main road on a busy highway that respectable people commute on!
Currency exchanged hands and I gaped, beside myself with disbelief.
This show was not just haemorrhaging my eyeballs, it also had the perfect twist in the script. My dilating pupils beheld a substantial garland of jasmines being thrown into the driver’s side and a burst of laughter. A thumb wagged in mockery and like lightening, she meted out the same embarrassment to the others before skipping away with a basket of flowers whisked out of nowhere!
5…4…I sat, immobile. Sheepish looks reflected in rear views ahead, fellow commuters shook their head in amusement and engines started rumbling.
Amber…green…the day's trade comple, this victorious flower vendor was laughing on the other side of the road.
Incredulity or even plain and simple curiosity compelled me to follow her. I took a U-turn and slowed down on the service road. She set down her flower basket on a bicycle parked a little way ahead, ruffled her hair loose, pulled something off from under her shirt and straightened herself.
The lackadaisical throw of leg over the seat and the even more masculine gait while pedaling, rendered my hair on end. This couldn’t be happening.
As this boy turned off to the main road, I noticed that the last remnants of feminine profile lay in a blue heap, in the flower basket behind him.
He was still laughing.
~
www.bangaloremirror.com>> Bangalore Talking >> blog talk >> Woo-man-ly pursuits
Why, at 8:45 am, is an attractive, young girl in ill-fitting mens’ trousers, short, braided hair and a purposeful smile, strutting bare-footed by the central reserve on the high-speed airport road, chatting up rather eager truck-drivers?
Hmmm… quite.
So why did I not stop watching this gaucherie? Because Britney Spears slithering ‘Toxic’ out of the radio could not have added more masala to this highway drama unfolding before me. There were 112 more seconds on the traffic lights countdown. There was nothing else to do. And I would give this intriguing little interplay, my absolute and unadulterated attention, anyway.
In the past, I have adhered to repeated warnings by well-wishers, to be wary of ‘sidey’ attractions along these parts, but this brazen encounter was too enticing not to give audience to.
For goodness' sake! This was early morning, on a working day where fleets of school busses ferrying less than happy kids, plied at that very moment, past this very scene. My presence was indispensable.
98…97…96… she didn’t have much more time and I had to know where this was going. Oblivious to everyone outside the ‘tiransport diriver’ demographic, this charmer gesticulated, animated and pouted. There was not much scope for imagination and yet nothing prepared me for what actually was.
73…72…71…she swaggered away as white teeth flashed through dark weather-beaten, leathery smiles in rear view mirrors. And she touted. 43…42…something quickened. Time was slipping by. Her eyes darted vehicle to vehicle and she flitted between the four trucks, spending less and less time at each.
19…18…17…16…a hand reached out. What an outrage! This was not a no-go area, it was a traffic stop at a main road on a busy highway that respectable people commute on!
Currency exchanged hands and I gaped, beside myself with disbelief.
This show was not just haemorrhaging my eyeballs, it also had the perfect twist in the script. My dilating pupils beheld a substantial garland of jasmines being thrown into the driver’s side and a burst of laughter. A thumb wagged in mockery and like lightening, she meted out the same embarrassment to the others before skipping away with a basket of flowers whisked out of nowhere!
5…4…I sat, immobile. Sheepish looks reflected in rear views ahead, fellow commuters shook their head in amusement and engines started rumbling.
Amber…green…the day's trade comple, this victorious flower vendor was laughing on the other side of the road.
Incredulity or even plain and simple curiosity compelled me to follow her. I took a U-turn and slowed down on the service road. She set down her flower basket on a bicycle parked a little way ahead, ruffled her hair loose, pulled something off from under her shirt and straightened herself.
The lackadaisical throw of leg over the seat and the even more masculine gait while pedaling, rendered my hair on end. This couldn’t be happening.
As this boy turned off to the main road, I noticed that the last remnants of feminine profile lay in a blue heap, in the flower basket behind him.
He was still laughing.
~
www.bangaloremirror.com>> Bangalore Talking >> blog talk >> Woo-man-ly pursuits
Comments
The lengths one has to go to make a sale...
Also i hope your music never fades.