MERA BHARAT MAHAAN!

(MY GREAT INDIA!)

I WAS stuck in a traffic jam the other day. What's new, you might ask. I was in the jam for over four hours. That's old hat, you might say. I was not in the driver's seat, and that made it all the more frustrating. You will, perhaps, sympathize with me and say, "Tut…tut…" At this point, I must tell you that it was the Mumbai-Ahmedabad Express Highway where the jam was spread over a long stretch. I confess I am not very fond of jam… not even when it is spread over a bread slice. So, you can well imagine my state of mind when I was faced with the jam, the traffic jam, for over four hours, on way to Mumbai from Vasai. Oh yes, at this point, I must also tell my reader friends that I not only like jam on my bread, but I am also not used to traffic jams. You see, I was back in Mumbai after a gap of … hold your breath… exactly twenty-five long years.

AND you will believe me when I say that life had changed hell of a lot in Mumbai. I loved Bombay when I had left it in search of greener pastures to the land of the sand, Dubai, to be precise. The only trips I made to my favourite city were once every two years, and never for more than two months. And when I dug into my wallet to pay for the services in the city, I almost always converted the rupees to dirhams and had found this habit very convenient, and, of course, cheaper. But now it was not so anymore. I had moved back permanently. Things had changed. When I say that, I am not only talking of the quality of life here. So many things had changed since I had left some years ago. The name of the city itself had changed from Bombay to Mumbai. Now there were more cars honking on the congested roads. There were more commuters on the local trains. The trains had become more and more crowded. And not being a hardcore environmentalist, I am not even talking of the pollution poisoning the city. In short, like I said earlier, life had changed a hell of a lot, turning the once-heavenly city into almost near-hell.

AND these were the exact thoughts racing through my tired mind when I was caught in the traffic jam for over four hours on a Sunday morning on the Mumbai-Ahmedabad Highway. And it was a heavy traffic jam, caused by all heavy vehicles. Any other time, I actually enjoy reading the profound thoughts printed on the rear of all vehicles. They range from suggestively sexy to thoughtful to profoundly philosophical. But on that not-so-lovely Sunday morning, I was in no mood to read and enjoy any of the wisecracks. I wished to doze off and forget the world around me, but my burning eyes made sure that I couldn't even afford that luxury.

My eyes were closed but I was not sleeping. And then I felt my little daughter waking me up…violently. "Daddy, wake up. Daddy, wake up fast…"

"DARLING, I am not sleeping."

"DADDY, don't tell lies. You WERE sleeping. Your eyes were closed."

I WANTED to tell her that every time your eyes are closed, you aren't really sleeping. However, in my then-state of mind, I was in no mood to say absolutely anything. I just shrugged my shoulders and asked in utter boredom, "Now what?"

"DADDY, read that."

"RAAT kii raani," I read the bold letters at the top of the huge vehicle in front of our tiny car. "That's the name of the truck," I explained.

"NOT that, Daddy. Read underneath. Read that."

"READ what?" I asked impatiently.

"MERA Bharat mahaan…," she read proudly, as if to tell me that she had not forgotten her Hindi alphabets after returning home to Mumbai.

"YES, 'Mera Bharat Mahaan'. That means 'My Great India'," I said.

"DADDY, I know my Hindi," she screamed. "I know what Mera Bharat Mahaan means, But read what is written in English after that."

AND I read, "Highly inflammable".

"HMM< I wanted you to read that. Something infllllaaa…"

"HIGHLY inflammable," I completed for her.

"YES, Daddy, Mera Bharat Mahaan…highly inflammable, or more difficult for me… like always," she complained.

"COMBUSTIBLE means… means…means…, " I was lost for words.

"…COMBUSTIBLE means something that can burn easily," my wife came to my rescue.

"YES, combustible means something that burns easily," I said with a new-found wisdom and vigour.

"YOU don't believe me. I always told you Mummy knows more than you do," Dear Daughter said while my Dear Wife beamed proudly, winking at me.

"OKAY, okay, don't start that all over again," I said trying to avoid further argument.

"NOW tell me, Daddy, what does that mean?"

I DID NOT immediately reply to that one, but once again my mind started racing. The writing on the truck expressed something that all of us Indians know to be true but have never , perhaps, had the courage to openly admit. Gang-wars… the dividing line between the rich and poor.. class barriers… caste barriers…religious barriers. There were so many barriers that threatened to tear the Indian fabric apart and could burn it to ashes. The "Unity in diversity" came to the fore only when faced with external threats. But when left on her own, India seemed more divided than united… highly inflammable. Sad but true, isn't it?

I SAT there glued to my seat when I really wanted to get out of the moving car for a whiff of fresh air. But I just couldn't. I don't remember for how long I sat there, my mind numb. And then, just as suddenly as the jam had started, the trucks started moving. And soon I lost track of the truck that had triggered it all off…"Mera Bharat Mahaan… Highly Inflammable".

Tags & Keywords : India. Chaotic traffic. Diverse problems.