Kallola

          S ummer was expected to be hot, but the ‘highest temperatures in eight years’ was the last endurance test we were willing to abide by at the end of a hectic spell of changes and reorientation. And so we decided to run – literally.          My parents were headed westwards on work and though we desperately needed some rest, anything seemed better than having to tolerate the mercury in Bangalore. So we joined them. And as, bit by bit, the smog of a city bursting at the seams gave way to wider and roomier stretches of relaxed and less aggressive countryside, our stresses also started ebbing. By the time we rolled, unaccustomedly unhindered, into laid-back and even (as a friend says) languid Mysore, we were breathing easy again.         And then we stepped out of the car.        Ah! The mirth of deception! The Sun seethed as if avenging a lost ...

Since being back in Bangalore, it would have been my third or fourth solo drive in my dad’s car, in the city’s rather exuberant traffic. This time, however, I had with me a wholly participating witness to yet another Bangalore Bombaat ness * (as I have come to lovingly call my experiences here). Scene I: RT Nagar traffic junction just after the Hebbal flyover. I was among the first line of vehicles. Having just caught up with my friend for the first time since I last visited, I was relying on the movement of other motorists around me instead of paying attention to the traffic lights ahead. As engines started to rev, I pushed the pedal and inched forward before noticing that the green light was still off. A good few vehicles had sped past and I hesitated, though way ahead of the stop line. As a driver new to these reformed and ill-marked roads, my confusion was mounting to near panic. My friend had gone completely quiet and I was solo again. Never to be beaten, this is what ensued betw...