I see the distant traffic signal as I approach. The light has turned red with an assortment of vehicles around me and ahead of me Рbuses with drivers perched high up, rumbling forward, muscling their way through the m̩lange of vehicles, secure in the knowledge that all must give way to BEST, cocky autos scooting around almost touching the vehicle ahead and turning at the last moment, impertinent bikers casting challenging looks around as they force their way through tiny gaps between cars, unmindful of the scars left behind on paintwork. And finally there are the cars, a weary lot wending our way home or ferrying the memsahib and her daughters for shopping at one more brand before they call it a day.
Thankfully this signal has no right turn, so I can occupy the right lane without guilt. However the Mercedes ahead won’t give me enough room so that I can squeeze in and oblivious to my honking he persists in staying in the middle occupying two lanes, as he crawls along. Finally, a gap, and I shoot forward. As I draw level, I catch a glimpse of an ageing couple being chauffeured around – the lady on the rear seat and the elderly gentleman in front, next to a chauffer of similar vintage. No wonder the driver pays no attention to my dirty looks – the sahib and he probably go back a long way.
As I maneuver my way down Linking Road, avoiding potholes opened up by the recent rains, I wonder if it is only me who finds the paver-block covered roads a complete waste of time and money. Or, is it that the mandarins of the BMC are driven around by drivers adept at preventing the bumps and thuds of driving on Bombay’s roads from reaching their masters?
We’ve reached the Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf junction where there is a constant stream of autos and cars trying to cross the road at an angle in the complete absence of any attempt at traffic regulation. Anarchy prevails, with the cars on the main road refusing to give even an inch, while the crossing vehicles are determined to prise open the stream of bumper to bumper cars. I’ve learned a few tricks too and by now am quite adept at tailgating the guy ahead refusing to surrender territory to auto or nano. For some reason, I'm reminded of The Charge Of The Light Brigade - "cannons to the left of them, cannons to the right . . . "
We push our way through to the next traffic crossing at the junction of Linking Road and SV Road, where there is invariably a long wait while the local businessmen proceed with their commercial transactions. I firmly believe that one should study the models of business being transacted at the crossing. The merchants and traders descend on the waiting vehicles in what seems to be a pecking order. First come the eunuchs - the bigger and fancier the vehicle, the greater their affectations and attentions, further it helps if the windows are down, while cars with young mothers and kids receive focused attention, autos are more or less ignored being populated by the plebians. My own car receives only a cursory glance, being occupied by four men with two usually asleep or in deep conversation with their better halves.
Next come the salesmen, selling everything from plaster of paris vases to children’s drawing books to toy kitchen utensils to tissue boxes and cell phone car chargers. They have obviously studied their market carefully and carried out segmentation and targeting in advance, as the vase seller will gauge his customer with a quick glance at the occupants of a car. All male cars and autos are ignored while cars occupied by ladies and young couples are focused on. Similarly, the sellers of children’s books and toy utensils work more on the occupants of autos and small cars. Business is transacted in the space of a 90 second window, which is what it usually takes for the light to turn green.
While the salesmen are peddling their wares, a third wave comes in the form of beggars. They have their fixed beats and I recognize them, having travelled the same way several times.
The merchandise on sale changes with the territory, along with the prices. Although I’m certain that the merchants have never heard of the four P’s of marketing or Porter’s model, they have it down to a T. The product changes with the place. At the crossing near Atria mall, there are none of the tacky toy utensils on sale, and the eunuchs too are confined to the suburbs, this being SoBo you see. And no ‘sheengdana’ sellers please, whatever would the neighborhood say. What you get here are smart glossy magazines like Hello, or, highbrow ones like Harvard Business Review for 700 bucks apiece.
At the Haji Ali crossing, it’s the flower vendors and book sellers hawking the latest pirated releases. Once past the Mahalaxmi Temple crossing at the foot of Peddar Road, the hawkers and vendors vanish, and I often wonder why, for I used to see magazine vendors at the Pizzeria Crossing on Marine Drive. Probably the high price of the territory makes business unviable. Even beggars have disappeared sans for a few at strategic locations like around the Taj and Trident.
The irony strikes me – the city has become so costly that one can’t even beg for a living!
