Horn Ok Please!

The rains began coming down in torrents. I rolled down my window and took in the fresh smell of wet soil and a few pleasant drops. The breeze rushed in, bringing the tangy aroma of chaat from nearby stalls and stopped abruptly as the traffic brought us to a standstill. A long queue of cars, buses, trucks, rickshaws waited in the rain, scooters and motorcycles occasionally weaving in and out of the dense mesh. Everybody honked once in a while as if to make their presence felt. The shrill notes of a rickshaw mingled with the low boom of a honking truck.

Our car too let out a delicate squeal and contributed towards the growing traffic symphony.

"Why did you honk?" I asked our driver and his usually neutral, shy face gave way to a sheepish smile. He shrugged and I felt bad about having put him on the spot.

"I just asked out of curiosity" I persisted. A few, long seconds of silence passed and then just as I was about to make yet another attempt at breaking the silence, he cleared his throat.

"Madam, what to do?" he began in a thick Bihari accent, "The rickshaw-wallahs need passengers and so they dilly-dally looking around for their girahik. If I don't honk they don't move."

"Yes, but this is a whole line of stalled vehicles" I asked almost wanting to kick myself in the ass for sounding so argumentative. I couldn't believe I was making my driver feel bad when cars all around us were sounding random beeps. He sank into the silent mode again. A hush fell around us as people settled down into the jam and stopped voicing their impatience with honks.

People were done honking and were now waiting silently hoping for a traffic policeman to come save them from this mess. A few cars down, a truck driver and a bus conductor were arguing relentlessly over who should budge.

To my great astonishment after a couple of minutes, my driver began to giggle.

"You want to see something funny, madam?" he asked, his eyes twinkling.

"Sure" I said. Entertainment in a traffic jam was more than welcome.

Suddenly and without warning our driver hit the center of the steering wheel and the car let out a sharp, long peal. Immediately, the cars in front of us honked and soon everybody in the line was honking.

"Chain reaction" my driver softly muttered in satisfaction, pointing over to a tea shanty. I looked around trying to figure out what it was the he was showing me. And then I saw him. Under an umbrella tied to a chair was a traffic policeman snoozing with his cap over his face. He stirred a few times and the sudden and insistent honking finally roused him from his deep reverie. He wiggled out of the chair, his face a picture of chagrin. He pulled up his trousers over an inflated belly and surveyed the scene while getting into a yellow raincoat. His red lips were rotating furiously over a mouthful of tobacco like alike a clockwork being unwound. He slowly and very self-importantly sauntered over to the front of the waiting traffic and waved his hands about, till the truck and the bus that had been clogging this intense bottle-neck finally moved. The vehicles began to inch forward and in a matter of minutes, the jam disloged. We were on our way, the breeze toying with my hair again and stray raindrops tickling my nose.

I looked over in awe at our driver who was beaming. He honked playfully and looked over at me.

"In Bombay, this is not a horn, Madam. It is an alarm clock for Mamu-log", he said, his shoulders bobbing in mirth.

Note: For those unfamiliar with Bombay lingo: Girahik: Passenger/ Customer, Mamu-log: Traffic policemen, hawaldars, police or anyone really! Also, the title "Horn Ok Please" is a message commonly found as bumper stickers on trucks that have an atrociously wide blind-spot.