Saturday, 23 January 2016

The Impact - Blog Marathon #1

Travelling is a bliss.
Travelling during rain is heaven.
But at the end of the sentence is an asterisk mark, indicating the terms and conditions.
Also, you will never know what will be the impact!
It is enjoyable and you will feel like heaven only if you are safely seated inside a vehicle, like a car, bus or even bigger ones.
I happened to travel recently, in a bus, on a day blessed with medium pour. I do not like raining pouring like cats and dogs. It will make the outside scenario invisible and the only thing that you could see is white smoke through the glass window.
On that day, I was sitting in the corner seat, which I usually do. Who doesn't?
The bus was going smoothly,/without giving you the heart wrecking ups and downs!
The sky was clear grey. It was such a wonderful sight so early in the morning.
The sun has risen without showing its face, being afraid of the rain drops. They are after all rain drops, not tear drops, aren't they?
Through the window, I could see people waiting for buses with their umbrellas closely clutched. School children wearing raincoats and caps over their neatly pressed uniforms.
Early commuters rushing in two-wheelers, with the pillion rider providing cover for both himself and the driver with the widely stretched brightly coloured umbrellas.
Two rain drops fell on the glass window separately and fought against each other to reach down and finally, joined together, gained greater momentum and came down smoothly and went beyond the horizon.
By the time I was spending my time enjoying the various glorious visions, the bus came to a halt.
I removed the right sided ear piece of my headset, without pausing the song and, looked at what was happening.
The driver was sitting on his seat and the conductor of the bus was standing near him, chatting, which was the usual thing. So, what had happened?
Then after beating my wrecked remains of the brain, I realised that the front window was fully invisible because of the rain. And they have opened the door of the air-conditioned bus to make the glass clear. As we, living beings need time to cool ourselves, it was just a non-living thing and it can take some time too.
The driver had stopped the bus near a stopping. Many were standing, but all had their faces averted from the bus and directed towards the road. They must have been waiting for a bus which takes a different route.
Suddenly an old man, clad in a white shirt which had seen many years entered the bus. On his head, he had wrapped a plastic cover to protect his head. The cover stuck closely to his head and the hairs near the nape of his neck were wet and looked ready to poke anybody who dared to approach him.
He was selling newspapers.
He was shouting,'Thinakaran! Thinathanthi! Thinamalar!'
They were Tamil daily newspapers. I was watching him as he went shouting up to the end of the bus. They were no takers.
The old man did not relent and dragged his old, fragile body towards the front of the bus.
A young lady dressed in a black sweatshirt, addressed him and asked for The Hindu, the English daily.
The old man said that he did not have it and again  shouted, 'Thinakaran! Thinathanthi! Thinamalar!'
I was looking around the bus, expecting someone to call him and buy a newspaper.
He even had Telugu newspapers. He was saying it as a last resort.
And when he was about to leave the bus, a lady clad in a crisp maroon cotton saree, thrust a ten rupee note in his way and asked for Indian Express.
For minute his eyes turned bright and again turned to the expression less mode. He politely told her that he did not have it and got down from the bus.
The cry of Thinakaran! Thinathanthi! Thinamalar! was still audible to me from outside.
The bus shut it's glass doors and the bus moved forward, leaving the old man with the plastic cap waiting for his next bus and the next customer!
The once glorious scenes were no longer so enchanting.
Why was the old man not able to sell his goods? Was it his fault that he had only regional language. Here were a group of people of who must have started before dawn and who didn't have time to catch upon the happenings around the world.
Why were they indifferent to the paper containing news?
Because English papers were better? Some might say that! Our regional language papers carry more advertisements than the information they are supposed to carry! They have more 'wanted' ads and more 'Exam' ads. But with a little bit of change, they can be corrected!
Other thing is, the people of today find it proud to say that they are better in English than their own language. And also, they think that reading a English paper is always better in public to maintain their status, though half of them will be needing a dictionary for every other word!
The old man at his age, had the willpower to wake so early in the morning and had been standing there in the rain with his newspapers. It would have been great if a kind hearted soul had bought a paper just so he might earn a rupee or two. Not a single one!
Just then I realized that I too was one among them. I had just sat there, expecting someone to buy from him. I didn't get anything from him.
I was too busy observing him that I had lost an opportunity to do my part. An opportunity once lost is lost forever.
It might come again another time, but not in the same way!
We are always expecting someone else to come forward and do your part! And at that time, I wanted to be the one to initiate. The one to lead, than to follow.
The sky looked clear and the view through the window looked gracious again and I had an exciting journey to look forward to.


This blog post is inspired by the blogging marathon hosted on IndiBlogger for the launch of the #Fantastico Zica from Tata Motors. You can apply for a test drive of the hatchback Zica today.

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