Justice at the Junction

Fleeting Thoughts By Ashvini Ranjan

By definition, the term “gridlock” refers to a severe traffic jam where an entire network of intersecting roads grinds to an absolute standstill. Unlike standard heavy traffic, where vehicles move however slowly,  gridlock brings total motionlessness because cars and other vehicles physically block one another’s paths. To this, add a few impatient drivers to the mix and the lock snaps shut tight.

Hunsur Road in Mysuru is a high-stakes thoroughfare, serving as both a busy inter-city highway and the main access route to the city’s largest industrial area, Hootagalli and Hebbal. Simply put, it’s a busy road. Turning onto it from a side street like Gokulam Road isn’t just tricky; it’s a test of nerve. I’ve taken this route to work for several years, yet it still gives me anxious moments every single time I have to cross.

Today, the traffic lights were completely dead and not a single traffic cop was in sight. I joined the line of cars slowly inching toward Hunsur Road. The lead drivers were aggressively hunting for any tiny gap in the flow to nudge ahead and once a driver makes a breakthrough, the rest of us follow like a pack of wolves before the gaps close again. It is a peculiar form of traffic management: the first man takes the risk and the rest of us take the credit.

Just as I reached the middle of the intersection, an autorickshaw squeezed in front of me and slammed on its brakes. There was no reason for this sudden stop. The car behind the auto couldn’t stop in time and gently nudged the rickshaw’s bumper.

That was all it took. The auto driver leapt out, screaming profanities at a volume that could wake the dead. The bumper if at all, had suffered a minor scratch; the driver behaved as though he was a victim of a hit-and-run.

Sitting in the passenger seats of the auto were two priests carrying bulging bags packed with puja essentials. They looked utterly baffled by the sudden chaos, no doubt worried about missing their auspicious appointment before the dreaded Rahu Kala set in. Unfortunately for them, their divine timetable was the very last thing on the auto driver’s mind.

The auto driver examined his vehicle’s rear bumper and immediately quoted a compensation figure so absurdly high it could have bought him a brand-new rickshaw. Having witnessed the entire event, I resisted the temptation of entering the fray. Profanities were not my forte.  Discretion was the better part of valour. The hapless car driver, perhaps a visitor or tourist to our city, was clearly outmatched, both in volume and vocabulary. I couldn’t help but feel sorry for the poor fellow.

The Central Institute of Indian Languages (CIIL) was literally within hearing distance of the spot of oratory. Had they offered a course in profanity, the auto driver could have enriched their curriculum with several new words. His delivery was harsh, but his vocabulary was impressively diverse.

With traffic now fully gridlocked and nowhere to go, a “Street Court” convened on the spot. Commuters abandoned their vehicles to enjoy the free live entertainment. The proceedings had no judge, no jury and no legal authority, but they had plenty of witnesses and a very enthusiastic prosecution.

Seeking an ally, the auto driver surveyed the crowd. Spotting my grey hair, he assumed I’d play the wise elder defending the downtrodden against the recklessness of “wealthy” car owners. He gestured dramatically for me to kindly inspect the damage.

“See saar,” he said in Kannada, “that man has seriously damaged the only source of my livelihood!”

Reluctantly, I stepped out. Upon inspecting the “crime scene,” I noticed not one, but dozens of old dents and scratches. This man was clearly a serial offender who appeared to have made a habit of turning minor bumps into major business opportunities. Then, as he leaned in, a wave of stale alcohol nearly knocked me over. The man was completely drunk.

The car driver looked at me apprehensively, with the expression of a man expecting a life sentence !

I pulled out my phone, took a few crisp photos of the auto and its driver and announced loudly to the gathering crowd:

“This man is driving heavily under the influence of alcohol. I am calling the Police right now to report him for drunk driving and intentionally causing an accident. He is liable for both a fine and a jail term.”

The auto driver’s jaw dropped. He realised instantly that he had recruited the worst possible lawyer to perpetuate his scam. He had been looking for a sympathetic elder and had accidentally appointed a unfavourable  prosecution.

To top off his bad luck, nobody had noticed that the two priestly passengers had quietly slipped out of the back. They had vanished into the crowd, taking their holy bags and the auto fare with them. The priests had apparently decided that the safest way to avoid Rahu Kala was to abandon the auto driver altogether.

Just then, the traffic lights flickered back to life. With his grand plot ruined, the humbled auto driver jumped into his rickshaw and cleared the road, instantly releasing the gridlock. The car driver heaved a sigh of relief. He felt assured that in Mysuru city, justice prevailed.  

The crowd dispersed, vehicles began to move and I resumed my commute to work, hoping our local actor would think twice before launching his next street performance. Probably, the next time the auto driver will be more careful in his choice of a lawyer  !!