Strange story, my life this.

On one busy day in November, I was going to my office. Mid-way, finding out there was a huge traffic jam ahead, I steered into a narrow by lane, a characteristic of Hyderabad loved by twp wheelers and equally hated the car wallahs.
That morning was actually not very normal. I had woken up early & thought I would start up my dream routine from that day, a routine which included an hour of exercise, 15 minutes of meditation, 5 minutes of pooja, an hour at the guitar classes, half an hour of useful reading and a delicious breakfast at home and of course some spare time for unexpected things like a special edition in the news paper etc.

I woke up around 5:00 am & had managed tto do all the planned things by 8:30.

Leaving for office on Dad’s activa( Dad took a day off that day) I had one of my favourite songs on my lips. Singing all the way to office I as habit of mine I really enjoy.
So when I took the by lane I was very happy.
My routine had gone as planned & I was singing well that day.

A door opened from the left side & a girl ran out in front of my activa.
I had been serviced just a week ago but the brakes weren’t strong enough to tolerate my 90 kgs along with its 150 kgs. The obvious happened.
I braked hard enough to break the brake wire and crashed into the female. Without the delay of even a second, she rained abuses of the most premium quality on me.
My initial reaction was one of concern for her injuries (which weren’t there), which turned into a surprise, then shock, then anger.
Interrupting her I said, “I don’t know Telugu”, which stopped the deluge of filthy local language from…. the most beautifully carved lips I had ever seen.
My focus now shifted to the structure of the person standing before me.
5-6, 5-7 height, dark hair, hazel eyes, perfectly carved eyebrows, round cheeks and a little chubby, cute look to the face. Her body: right out of a beauty pageant.
The dress though left a lot to be desired. A dull grey suit (salwaar-kameez) with a black chunni and bathroom slippers for footwear wasn’t exactly the dress combination to do her justice.
“What the hell do you think you are, Michael Schumacher?” Her voice reverberated in my ears, the pitch, almost piercing my left eardrum.
I parked the activa near the electric pole and gave the I-know-there’s-nothing-serious-here-but-you-just-want-to-create-a–scene smile.
People gathered around as her voice crossed closed doors and windows.
Housewives looking for some morning masala joined the abuse fest.
My initial reaction which was no more than a faint feeling of concern for her and my office timings, started to shape up into something I hadn’t predicted, expected or the least, was prepared for.
Before they could have their fill off me, and stone me to death blaming me for the rape of the innocent girl abusing me (a crowd in India is the most potent, volatile and mindless weapon the world knows) I picked up my phone and started talking to Mr. Vijay Reddy, Superintendent of Police.
That was the best name I could make up. It had to have Reddy because the Chief Minister of State was Rajashekhar Reddy, I could at least feign some allegiance.
A loss of interest spread over the passers by and the joiners. The crowd started clearing as fast as it had gathered. I love India.
My call ended as abruptly as it had started and I was about to start off when the girl walked up to me and asked for compensation for her injuries.
Her voice had mellowed down, her face calmer and wiser. A distinctly strange feeling encompassed her face, a mix of anger, helplessness, guilt, pity, relief.
I started to feel this wasn’t actually an accident, and the veins in my stomach started tingling. That same feeling when you go to an exam half-prepared, praying to God, the other half doesn’t feature in the test.

I read her face expressions. They gave me a hint which I couldn’t decode. After all the commotion and drama she wanted more!
I gave her a stern, wry look. It seemed to work. Two gentle droplets of water flew down her round cheeks.
Of all the things in the world, I have never been able to show indifference to one thing, the tears of a woman, right from Kindergarten to Graduation and now, beyond. My heart melted.
The words came instantly from me, “I am very sorry. Are you hurt?” The weakness in my voice washing away any strength I had feigned, in front of a woman as beautiful as her.
She saw my face, and instantly realized she could press for her demands. I in the meantime sensed this woman sensing this and yet could do nothing but show my vulnerable self to her.