Cows are sacred.
We might not take good care of our cattle, or even shoo them away from our vegetable bags in the market and not even bother to stop and look how underfed they are, yet to us they are sacred. And so they roam about on our streets hoping for a better future where they might not be revered but be fed. Anyway, in the narrow lanes of my country as I walked one night, I could see the three greatest spectacles on Indian Roads.
A lone rickshaw was coming towards me at supersonic speed, a constant reminder that at times they can service you better than a chauffer driven car. I chose to ignore it. After all, there was no footpath, the road was my kingdom. Unfortunately at that point of time, God in the form of a cow chose to come and contemplate about the deepest philosophies in the middle of the road, a symbol of perfect inertia that plagues so many things around me. The rickshaw was faced with a choice, between a human and God. Obviously choosing to make his journey into the next world safe and prosperous he chose not to clash with God. After all, human sacrifices are often the road to nirvana. My life flashed before my eyes, the bell of the rickshaw was like the hymns at the gates of Heaven, but somehow with the flexibility that saves more Indian pedestrians than following rules could ever do; I managed to jump out of the way, asking about the driver’s parental lineage in the same breath.
But then the third wonder of Indian roads was awaiting me. I landed straight into a pothole, twisted my ankle and fell flat on my tashrif. And though it hurts a little even now, I am thankful to the layers of adipose that absorbed most of the pain.
Around me life went on as usual.