I had to do it. I wanted to do it. To break the norm, break
the routine and do something I normally wouldn't The first step was of course
my mode of travel. I went up to a random van that was parked at the junction
half a mile from my house. I asked the driver if he’s going that way,
signalling with my left hand. He nodded. I boarded the vehicle. A couple of
people returning from their offices and heading home boarded as well. I put on
my favourite song Deliverance from my phone in full volume with my headphones
on. It was as if I was beginning to understand its
meaning in greater detail. The other passengers got down in their designated
stops. Very soon I had to too. The driver kept looking at me in his rear view
mirror. The van came to an abrupt halt at a busy junction; the driver turned
around and looked at me signalling that this was my stop. But I wanted to be in
the van, against the gushing wind, just looking through the window. I looked
out the window and found a couple of crossroads and asked him where those roads
would lead to. He said names of places that I had never heard of and that was
all I needed. I paid him ten rupees, thanked him and walked away. The van
disappeared and I was looking at a signage that read “Singapura PO”. The irony couldn't be missed, after being in the city for more than 6 years and having
witnessed its growth since I was about 8. I smiled and headed towards
Singapura.
Clad in capris and a humorous Che Guevara tee shirt with my
headphones on, I was already attracting attention from people who couldn't care
less about my presence. The music should stop now and the sounds of mooing
cows, angry people and incessantly honking vehicles should sink in, I thought
while turning my phone off. I walked. I walked like I had to be somewhere,
somewhere specific. Like I were a tourist looking for directions in every
signage, every advertisement hoarding, and every Iyengar Bakery hoping to find
something new in each one of them. And then Stanford Public School happened. It
was right there, not half as big as my tiny college campus, with the word
Stanford painted on its wall in the most grotesque (read horrible) font
possible. Yes, now I look at typefaces every time I read text. Sigh.
Moving on at full
speed, considering I usually walked very fast, I noticed the landscape was
getting increasingly un-Singapore-like. The roads got narrower, carelessly
thrown garbage was more vivid and it was Christmas for dogs, cows and birds –
all of them full of plastic I could tell. That is when I saw the abandoned
temple on top of a small hill. I had to go off-track and self-imposed rule
number one of the journey was not to get too distracted. I decided to go check
it out regardless. The hill had tiny steps made of stone and I almost ran. I
reached the top and found a small family of dogs – about 4 puppies and their
mother – at a distance. It was oddly poetic to find them outside a temple that
had gone without worship or prayer for ages. I took a step towards the temple
and the mother looked at me like I had just walked into their house without
asking. She was angry and started barking relentlessly clearly out of defence.
I heard a lady’s voice from the bottom of the hill. “It bites”, she shouted and
I could feel my heart in my mouth. As expected, the mother started running
towards me and there was nothing I could do apart from gesturing in my
shivering hands to stay the fuck away. I even tried the usual
bend-to-pick-up-a-stone trick and it didn’t seem to work. The lady realised it
rather soon, thankfully and she yelled something at the mother in some dialect
of Kannada, which is when the running stopped midway. The barking continued
however. Carefully I got down the hill like I was climbing down a ladder, with
my eyes fixed on the dog. “There’s nothing over there, what were you looking
for?” yelled the lady. With a sheepish grin, I replied “Oh of course, I just
wanted to look what was there” and without turning back I walked to the road
and just kept walking, leaving behind laughing children and puzzled ladies who
had come out of their homes hoping to witness a demonic destruction in the
hands (or teeth, or even claws) of the watchful protector of mankind in their
house of worship. “Man’s best friend! What am I, a monster?” I yelled at the
voices in my head. After that I swore to never take a detour out of whim.
(to be continued)
