Rahul and the Road

Rahul and the Road

 

Rahul, old childhood friend, was a history buff and for some ‘history-related’ reason was affectionately “Clive of Arcot” to our group of friends.    A youth of several passions and skills which included stamp and picture postcard collecting, he was a very good driver - a skill taught to him by his dad, a medical college Professor who exuded clinical precision in all his actions. This trait the son not just inherited, but also assiduously imbibed not just into his driving but every of his actions.

The old Professor’s instructions were crisp and unambiguous.  ‘Respect the Road’ and ‘Respect those on it’.   Treat the vehicle - much like a then jingle - as an ‘extension of your limbs’. Rahul complied, and the streets of Poona City of those times were that much the safer.

Those were the laid-back days of the Sixties when life in Poona went by at a staid ‘old world’ pace affording indulgences quite unimaginable in present times.

 “A good driver rarely uses his horns and his brakes” was another of dad’s cardinal tenets.  There were also other such `safe driving' advisories which, put together, wove an intricate safe driving ‘culture’.

Road accidents, always there, were still uncommon and reckoned featuring as first page news in the Poona Herald. 

Rahul's street-friendly jalopy however was invariably at the safe end of the danger spectrum.  If at all, it was bidding to be the safest automobile on Poona’s roads, waiting patiently as it did behind prospective kite chasing urchins staring into the skies, and coming to a respectful halt to allow elders and even for stray dogs to cross the road. 

‘Right of first passage’ was accorded to the aged, women, teachers, those known and met regularly – be they the maid, the maali or dhobi.  Such courteous driving entirely precluded the horn from ever requiring to be used. Rahul’s justification was  Tagore’s oft mentioned quote that ‘The power of God is in the gentle breeze, not in the storm’.

A motor car no doubt has enormous capability to cause harm but in Rahul’s mindset, maryaada preceded all – and even the power of the car’s engine had to bow in modesty and humility before humanity.

With the dawn of the new motor car era, Rahul’s fascination for vehicles increased. The old jalopy gave way to a new gizmo, but the core ethics and principles of his driving remained the same. The city was now officially Pune and its narrow roads became increasingly clogged with an assortment of two, three and four wheeled vehicles. Negotiating on old terms, without horn and brakes, became well neigh impossible, but Rahul persisted, clinging on to dad’s advice against the tide of increasing traffic - and the changing times.

Driving down after the morning routine of walking up Fergusson College Hill, we once found ourselves behind a group of primary school children ambling to school in the centre of the road innocently oblivious to risk and danger as only children can be -walking arm in arm, kicking stones. Rahul’s car was the frontmost in a growing line up of obstructed vehicles.  No horn here.

Rahul’s car crawled slowly and silently behind the children at a safe distance so as not to distract or startle them. His face gleamed as he watched the kids in amusement, even sharing their joy. For him, the young were not to be hurried but instead left to blossom in their own time. Horns that startled a child, were like insults and only ‘fast- forwarded’ the child to early maturity – not good for humankind.

Not all those in the lengthening line-up of vehicles following our car shared this delicate notion but the high patron of gracious conduct on the road held out right till the little ones entered the gates of their school. Only then did Rahul and his car moved on, no doubt with smiling satisfaction.

On another occasion, Rahul kept the same silent snail’s pace behind an elderly man walking in the middle of a single-cart track his finger gripped by a grandchild. That finger-grasp for him was  one of the most enduring bonds in human relationships - not to be disrupted or disturbed merely to give way to a passing car.

Indeed, a cruel irony that this titan of the roads, who possessed all the piety, humility and compassion required to be an ideal driver, lost his own life in a road accident.

For some dark, unfathomable reason, the harsh roads had claimed one of their great respecters and an era of `on-road’ dignity had quietly come to an end.

Goodbye, Old friend!