We’ve a small road that connects the campus of our college with the main road. This is not the official road; it is rather a small by lane many college students use as a hide out cum hang out for extra curricular activities like smoking and smooching. I use this road normally when I’ve to photo copy papers, visit the internet café or make an STD telephone call. At one end of this lane is an imperial building facing the main road. It serves as an office to some well to do business man. Every time I pass from there I see one of dream cars. It’s a black Audi. Its number plate declares that the business man is very rich indeed as its number is 1-2-3-4. A number RTO in India charges a bomb for.
Exactly opposite this lane is our hang out called Sharvaree. It’s the place we have our breakfast, lunch and tea at.
The other day I was just coming out of Sharvaree when I noticed a huge crowd gathered on the main road. The black Audi stood in the centre as a diagonal to the road. A tempo stood near by. Its nose kissing the butt of Audi. There were two voices. One raised, angry and clear. The other blurred and distant as it was coming from inside the tempo. The first one was of a man in extremely good clothes. He was wearing a beautiful sky blue shirt. Black shining trousers. Polished leather shoes. An expensive cell phone was peeping out of its holder on the waist. The language being used wasn’t what any one would call the best though. Unprintable words were being shouted by him. One of his hands was busy pulling the tempo driver to the window. The other hand had taken the hammer position and it was being used to hit on the driver’s head.
The tempo driver was pulling himself away from the hand turned into hammer and pleading to be left alone before they could talk the matter out. Police arrived and separated them. The man sat back in the Audi and drove it straight to where I was standing. Curiosity got the better of me and I inspected the car as he parked it on my left before leaving to talk to the police. All the car had was a 2 inch minute scratch on the back bumper.
There’s a small colony of backward castes near my old house. Once as my ride was passing through that area my cell phone rang. I pulled the bike over and answered the phone. As I finished my call I saw a man turning right without indicating it in anyway. He did not put his hand out or put his indicator on. The rider behind him had already made a decision to over take him long back and as the first man turned right the rider ran straight into him. His mud guard cracked into pieces. As he skidded to the ground further his head light had scratches. When he got back on his feet and both of them had pulled over, the first one expecting a heated argument. He was right. The second rider was really angry. He looked the first rider in the eye and said “It was because you didn’t indicate you were going to turn that we both fell, my mud guard broke and headlight was scratched.” The second one, naturally, wanted to rebel. He said, “Yeah, yeah! So how much money do you want? How much will repairing that cost anyway?” On this the second rider showed disgust on his face and said this, “Just make sure you don’t ride like this from now on. That’s all I want!” No base words spoken, no money asked! This man was a mere milk man and his bike was just an M 80.
I have just one question: Who do you think is richer between the milkman and the man with that dream Audi?
The Happy Prince.
