A thick mane of hair faces us . The locks curl up to the base of the neck in a fetching, well oiled , well combed fashion . It is also caressed lovingly by the right hand, which has three glittering gold rings adorning three fingers . The forefinger, the thumb and one other finger . It is difficult to keep track of the finger as we are careening down a road full of the usual humanity and their detritus, which one encounters in every Indian road .
There are numerous obstacles, women in chador, shuffling across, urchins darting in between adults legs , playing a dangerous game of either chase or hide and seek.
Blind beggars straying into the main street , with arms outstretched, a doleful dirge on their lips. A shriek later , wide eyed and panting , they curse profusely , but we are out of earshot by then .
A man in impeccable suit and tie . talking on phone , athletically dodges , and raises his fist aggressively , as seen in the rear view mirror . The driver chuckles . We can see his shoulders shake .
We cross giant cut outs of his inspiration , a moustachioed , well built , south Indian movie star . A cigarette hangs limply from his fleshy lips . smoke rising in thin wisps , he is wearing an auto driver's khakis , sleeves rolled to display shining , bulging biceps , on which is balanced a tiny auto , daintily landed and almost missed like a yellow and black hornet .
The driver bows , acknowledging the greatness of the wasp bitten , biceps wielder .
In our country , movie fandom is crazy . We take hero worship to a whole new levels . The movie stars are venerated like Gods and have temples made after them .
I wonder what happens to these temples once some scandal ( with unerring regularity, very paradoxically ) breaks out , concerning these "Gods" .
At bends , we cling to the rods provided above our seats , for this exact purpose . To prevent Passengers from being jettisoned out into the gravel and the dust . A lighter human would have been swept off his or her feet . Thank God for body weight .
At bends the three wheeler becomes a two wheeler , and we are dosed with the exact amount of adrenaline that formula one drivers possess when they " drift " . A drift is not to be messed with , as pariah dogs languishing in shallow pools discover much to their chagrin . Quick reflexes save them and we are followed by raucous barks . More shoulder shakes , more mirth .
Our plaints of " bhaiya dheere chalo / abhi bahut time hai " is met with stoic silence / stone walling / linguistic incomprehensibility . In other words , entreaties fall on deaf ears .
Fervent prayers for our destination ( Railway station ) to materialise out of thin air , like the famous room of requirement in harry potter is answered and a cream and gold dome is seen rising in the distance . Several rapid swivels around bulls permanently seated like a living statues in the centre of the road ( now the driver curses , and smoothens his hair again ) , a hasty greeting shouted to a fellow auto wallah , a fellow monarch of the "kingdom of roads " , a heave of the bucking auto later , we have , incredulously stopped .
We walk on jelly legs as we have been floating around the city , on a carpet of wishes , driven by a crazed khaki wearing genie , and the terra firma feels mildly strange.
