An Explanation - And A New Hope

I would very much like to say that a couple of days ago someone heaved a half-brick through a window of my house with a note wrapped around it that said “Why aren’t you writing more of the enlightening and entertaining blogposts that we love so much?” – but, of course, no such thing has happened, so I can’t. Literary deprivation hasn’t yet plunged to brick-chucking depths; but I am aware that eager readers are asking questions each time they see a link to an old post on my FB feed. “Where’s the new stuff?” they want to know. To them, I owe an explanation.

It’s all to do with driving times, you see. Back in the day when I was driving 30 minutes to work every morning and another 40 minutes back, there was time to gaze leisurely through the windscreen, and observe, and reflect, and ruminate. Then I changed jobs and all of a sudden office was just a hop and a skip away (no, not even a jump – not even enough time to complete the idiom). By the time I had engaged the seat belt, re-adjusted the seat position (isn’t it uncanny how car cleaners manage to change the position of the seat and the angle of the seatback with a masterful flick of a duster without disturbing a single molecule of dust?) and remembered to release the handbrake, I had already covered two-thirds of the distance to office. Certainly, it was good for the environment since I was releasing far fewer diesel fumes per diem; but lovers of quality literature took it as a minor debacle nonetheless.

And so it came to pass that the frequency of my pithy prose and omniscient observations abruptly hit zero. And that’s how it’s been for a while now. Beset by feelings of guilt and dereliction of duty, I have occasionally stooped to re-posting links to earlier pieces – and gentle readers have rendered polite appreciation while secretly wondering whether it was time to switch loyalties. Deplorable.

And then one morning last week, as I failed to maneuver past a brace of hurrying kanwariyas, it struck me that things had turned around. Bit by bit, and quite unnoticed from one day to the next, my driving time has been creeping up. Whether it is in reply to the silent entreaties of erstwhile loyalists, I do not know – but the fact remains that of late providence has conjured up a number of journey-expanding devices:

In terms of physical size, the one that’s hardest to miss is the one that bears the code-name 112. It has cunningly been deployed in two variants – the 112U and the 112D. These are gigantic moving roadblocks, wide as a house and longer than your Diwali shopping list. They move with all the speed and awesome majesty of a tectonic plate, oblivious to the honking tailbacks that gather in their wake. And just when you’re contemplating overtaking the 112U by crossing over to the other side of the road, along comes the 112D from the opposite direction to chidingly shove you back into your place. Diabolical, I tell you.

At first glance, this Mobile RBD (Road-Blocking Device) looks like a bus; but of course a second glance reveals that only five people are riding it – three of whom are the driver, the conductor and the driver’s brother-in-law’s friend taking a joy ride. The utter unsuitability of its dimensions for the modest two-lane road in front of my house is another dead giveaway that this is a bus with an agenda. As I gaze upon its whale-like length painstakingly backing and forthing for a minute and a half to go around the Amby Mall hairpin, it becomes clear to me that this is no ordinary vehicle – this is a Pause With A Cause, a motorized Thought Stirrer, a Ponderous Progenitor Of Prose.

Then there are the Stationary RBDs that have been multiplying steadily with the persistence of guinea pigs. And like guinea pigs, they look adorable too – all white and streamlined with big blank headlights gazing aloofly at the hapless traffic trying to wend a way through their massed ranks. Parked uberquitously all the way from Moulsari Arcade to the Micromax Station, they act like cute little clots of cholesterol, reducing the space available for vehicular flow from four lanes to two. The resulting bottlenecks have added at least a paragraph a day to my potential output.

Stationary RBDs create their own supportive eco-system too. The RBD handlers have to be fed and refreshed, so a clump of roadside eateries has sprung up as well. And a string of workshops and spare parts shops where the RBDs can be repaired and serviced. Their combined contribution, though modest on a daily basis, could add up to at least another couple of hundred words in a week.

So, all in all, things are looking good – in spite of better road maintenance and accelerated pothole removal – and the chances are you’ll be reading more from me soon. Therefore, in case you had acquired a half-brick recently, or were contemplating the purchase of one, now would be a good time to put it away. Or maybe heave it through the windscreen of an annoyingly parked RDB.