Will one find it difficult, in the coming weeks, to experience one’s own city as a pedestrian?
The term “pedestrian” in elite societies is sometimes “looked down upon,” as against the person who sits smugly inside a four-wheeler and feels the difference.
The joy of walking that one had 50 years ago had a social context, as cities were less crowded, had fewer vehicles, and offered plenty of footpath space, or even portions of the road where one could easily walk from Point A to Point B to Point C and back home.
Currently, the recent expansion in the ownership and acquisition of vehicles has made it extremely difficult to remain a pedestrian.
In today’s terms, a pedestrian is probably neither looked down upon nor even cared for, except that the person who walks is rather isolated.
There are 300 helmets if 150 bikes are stopping at a red light, along with four-wheelers and buses separated by dividers, one chooses to walk only when the pedestrian signal turns green.
Yet, because of impatience or perhaps frustration, the pedestrian has little chance against these behemoths, and all the two-wheeler drivers are hidden behind visors.
That leaves me wiser to the reality that I should quickly negotiate between four or six vehicles by holding up my left or right hand to indicate that I am legitimately crossing at a zebra crossing – sauntering across stripes that are themselves almost invisible because they wear out faster than the city authorities can muster the resources to repaint them.
The complication is similar at road humps, where stripes are also supposed to exist but are sadly missing for the same reason: both the humps and the paint wear out quickly.
The city traffic police are definitely a stoic lot, or perhaps a harassed lot, though they rarely show their harassment or frustration. The sheer authority of the khaki uniform, the white shirt, and the whistle remains.
Sometimes they carry sticks and caps as part of standard issue, or even wear helmets because they may immediately have to rush on their own bikes to the next junction when the radio hoisted on their shoulders signals a problem or crisis at another location.
They have to contend with indifferent drivers, riders, pillion riders, and pedestrians who scurry across roads.
Yet, during traffic jams, it becomes strangely convenient to test the agility of our heels and knees while leaning toward or away from rear-view mirrors, all the while remaining conscious and aware of riders so as not to embarrass ourselves.
There is often a wondering look as to why I should be a pedestrian at all, and my dear friend who chooses to walk in the early mornings gently reminds me to take care.
The true adage in management is that a manager should measure what one manages.
So, managing to remain a pedestrian, I thought, would perhaps be the best way to increase awareness, contemplation, and meditation in the current world – something that seems impossible merely by reading or checking media.
So-called negativity is overwhelming, only lightly balanced by positivity from do-gooders who quantify and prescribe how one should live life here and now.
The pedestrian, however, exists in the here and now.
It is the driver, rider, and passengers whose lives are placed in the command of the person behind the steering wheel.
How a person responds to another who overtakes from the left or veers recklessly through traffic because it is time to reach the college bell reflects the current condition of society.
This is the present mode of life, where one must place a thumb on digital time recorders whose summaries go to the HR chief, or the delegate of the HR chief. Strict monitoring of time also enables ERP systems to deduct salaries proportionate to the minutes one is absent from the office.
How does all this affect a quiet village, where time once seemed to rest gently in one’s hands?
More and more employment now draws villagers into cities and back again, as commuting from rural areas becomes part of modern life after they equip themselves with the competencies needed for city jobs.
In a village, being a pedestrian was once very easy. It was always my favourite thought that I could simply lounge around in a village.
But with current levels of prosperity, village roads too are lined with parked vehicles – from brand new cars to second-hand ones.
It is surprising that the amicable rivalry between villages and cities is slowly transforming into affection, nostalgia, and the genuine ability to say that one can still be happy by visiting one’s own village.
There, one meets villagers who are friends or relatives and enjoys the quietude for a few hours. The quality of village life is overwhelmingly better than the exhausting travels of cities, whether they are Tier 1, Tier 2, or Tier 3.
City corporations and town municipalities alike ultimately serve only one Indian citizen who must constantly figure out how he or she will commute.