The Hell met- helmet!

A rule is a rule. I hold onto the 'fryer' like a lifeline. Pulling the strap, I find the latch gone. Who is worried, anyway? Latch or no latch, I am going to sport the 'fryer' anyway. The "Fryer Movement- Part X" is in full sway in our state, the policemen gleefully filling the Government's coffer by paise and their personal pockets by bigger notes. The fryers are selling like hot cakes on platformds and pavements. All of them with ISI marks, mind it. Or are they JSI marks? ;)

The helmet melas organized by the retailers is the new 'happening' place in town. You can see bare bottom sporting jean clad youth amidst the humdrum yapping about the 'bestest' helmets in town. Quirky models, with visors, without visors, vibrant colors, in any price range, the mela is a huge hit. The neighborhood goes gaga over the who's got the hottest helmet. Little do the ladies of the clan know that whatever be the model, it will be the hottest! 

Imagine the plight of the head locked inside the hot air capsule. A merciless sun scorching you from above and your head pinned inside a fryer with absolutely no entry for air. Wow! Bring them on, I say! Had they invented the helmets earlier, our forefathers could have gone back to the stone ages, climbing trees and scratching their heads, losing whatever little grey matter they had. 

There is another ilk of 'scientists' intent on finding new varieties- the one that can support your basket, complete with shoulder stilts, one with air conditioner, one with an exhaust fan, mobile charger, solar panels, 'vettiver' stuffed for cooling your 'brain'- if you have one!

Now that can be easy for your neighborhood vegetable seller!

This one looks a bit scary- though air conditioned;)

 

 

 

As the days go by, traffic policemen are having a 'honeymoon' with the 'helmet haters'. The helmet haters and policemen play the game of cat and mouse, chasing in the bye lanes. I myself am aware of the mazes around my city, where a person can ride without a helmet, safe and sound. Travel without the helmet is unsafe, agreed. But how difficult it is to travel with a weight of two kgs plastered to your head with the greasy sweat around your hair line. Those men in forties who wear the helmets are losing their precious tresses that come one fine morning, their head might resemble a helmet- a shiny one better than the fiber thing ;)

Let's make Armstrong proud- we have helmets heavier than him, we are sun-walking at 40 degrees C, not moon walking like him. And would someone mind telling me, in accidents do only head injuries cause death? Asphyxia can be a reason for death, some helmets smell worse than my colleagues unwashed socks! If there is one person who is happy with the helmet, it must be the 'husband'. The ear muffs of the helmets are active filters that close out whatever blabbering he has to endure while travelling by his bike. And hence, my lord, accidents, averted!!

p.s.: To that policeman who smiles at me looking and my unbuckled helmet- may you fry more in the sun!

p.p.s.: My current assignment is killing my creativity. All I can think of are 'subject to all commercial formalities' and 'duly following rules in force' :(

p.p.p.s.: A hearty welcome to our PM on his seventh visit to our country. Hey Ram!

A wedding and a funeral

He looked once more at the calendar that whipped with the wind. Numbers scattered around his head. What was the day today? He tried to remember through the haze. What was he doing now? He shook his head, trying to clear it and came up with nothing. Nothing made sense. This should not have happened. Destiny is a bitch. He smiled to himself. He must actually be happy. Today was the day. 

She couldn't do this. Looking at the scattered sarees, neatly arranged jewellery, she moved away to the window. A cool breeze was blowing and she stepped out on the balcony. He must be happy now, she thought. He would now be doing his Sunday chores. If she had been a little more brave, she would have held his hands by now. Destiny is a bitch. She smiled to herself. She must actually be happy. Today was the day. In a few hours from now, she would be marrying someone. The man whom she knew nothing about.

The road ahead glistened with mist as he tread on the solitary road. He loved it here. The chirping of birds, the gurgling brooks by the road side, the mist, sudden rains and crisp mountain air. She loved it here. She had always been his love. The nimble fingers, trembling lips, locks of jet black hair in waves around her ever-smiling heart shaped face. She was a temptress. He yearned to hold her. To pull her into his embrace. God! He loved her. With all his heart and his soul. His poor battered soul. He wanted to listen to her voice.

A last dash of blush, she was ready. She looked at her reflection in the mirror. Tall, slender and languid, with her favorite maroon silk saree draped around her, she looked angelic. She traced her fingers on the mirror, along the contours of her face, trying to remember his features. They were more angular, weren't they? His dimples were the best. The way he reached out to her. His gentle perfume. Memories burst like a dam, flooding her with sensations that she could not comprehend. Would she love to hear his voice once? One last time? Her mother was skeptical when she begged her to see him once before the wedding. It was stuck down with a stern look. Incredulous. Her mother may hate him, very well, for reasons unknown to her. Yet, she couldn't ever forsake him. Could she? She couldn't even see him once? She gulped down her sorrow as always and walked away, tears brimming in her eyes.

She punched in his number on her mobile, her eyes darting towards the lock of her door. The shrill ringing of his phone filled her ears, as a lone tear started its way from the corner of her eye. 

He heard it. The ringing of his mobile. At last! His head seemed to clear as he skittered to his room. He had not received any call for a long time from her. He was yearning to listen to her sing song voice for a long long time. Was it her? She had promised to call him before the big day. Palms sweaty, he flicked the phone open and breathed out a Hello. "Papa!" was all he heard before falling down on the floor motionless. Somewhere, he heard the tinkling laugh of his angel. Her wavy hair around her angelic face bounced as she held him, rocked him to sleep. His daughter.