I never thought I would walk...least of all as a means
of exercising. No sir, walking was meant for old, old people who have always
been old and will always be old to do anything else but walk as exercise.
I had never noticed them and when I did I wondered how could anyone walk for a
workout. I ran, on cricket ground, up the hill, on the hill, down the hill,
proud of my gait, my stride, my speed, leaving behind the old people who walked
slowly hunched over their thoughts.
I
really didn’t give them any thought, other than to say a polite hello.
That was then, now I walk like a person possessed and hard as it is to admit,
walking is hard, harder than running. It is very difficult to get in 'the
zone', to establish a rhythm that naturally needs a minimum speed. I have seen
people on the phone while walking. Maybe it works for them, but walking
while on the phone is too dangerous for me, especially on our roads with open
man-holes, people zealously breaking traffic rules, cables lying carelessly
on the streets and a whole other dozen reasons.
I
have found my own way (I think it's rather innovative). I started memorizing
Shloks, and have been able to establish a beautiful rhythm that is a
combination of my gait and repetitive chanting. I write a part of shlok
that I want to memorise and that's how I start my walk. By the time I finish, I
have a fair bit down pat. The downside is if I were to treat it as a spiritual
exercise, it is entirely pointless even though I have hundreds of hours of
repeating the shloks....for the simple reason that for every line of shlok, I
also have a dozen gaalis (expletives).
The
moment I step out on the street with a 'shree ganeshaya namaha'....which is
followed by "hey asshole watch it", a motorcycle rider has appeared
out of nowhere and decided to ride within an inch of my life. Kaushik Rushi
would be tsk tsking me out of this world entirely and it would be reasonable to
say that it would be hard for me to find a place on any planets above (or
below).
I
inhale, "Om Shanti, shanti, shantihi....", I exhale "you
idiot". And so the saga continues, a breath of the spiritual, followed
by several breaths of street-crassness and mad waving at people who refuse to
be considerate. These crazy Shumachers and Danica Patricks make life of
pedestrian walkers a living hell. Driving close to them, around them,
into them and over them.
It’s
quite funny actually. All the while, I am jumping hoops from the footpath onto
the road and back again, over ditches, manholes, skirting trash and trash cans,
holding my breath when I am close to the flies and releasing my breath
when I am past them.
On
a serious note, I am young and can navigate the worst of the lot on the
streets. I see senior citizens trying to negotiate the same and they have
the hardest time. The footpaths or sidewalks are impossible to get on to, they
are more than a foot above street level. They go on a couple of meters
and then suddenly there is a drop. One has to climb down from the
sidewalk, onto the road, and back on to them again. It is very very hard. There are motorcycles
parked on the footpath, hawkers, istriwallahs, squatters, flower
sellers, construction material in ugly piles discouraging people from using their
legs to commute. For older people, walking is very hazardous for health and life. My brother has a morbidly funny take on this. Whenever he sees an old person walking on the street (middle more like) completely clueless as to the direction or reason of the journey, he says that they have been been deliberately loose on the streets without supervison. If they come back home, its another very normal day and if they dont, then......
Walking
and cycling (more on that later) has given me a perspective on our cities and
their inhabitants. Where I live, the sidewalks are not sidewalks. They
are an extension of shops, homes, restaurants, tandoors and trashcans. I
have to steeple chase across and over...every day. On the other hand, people
are kind. They move out of my path to make space, the motorcyclist will be move
his motorcycle to give me way, a tempo will wait giving me right of way (most
of the times). I never mess with traffic signals. I move when the
lights flash green and stop when they glare red. It gives me the right to
wave my menacing walking stick at people who have not heeded the rules.
It gives me poetic satisfaction. It protects me against stray dogs that get too
close at times. It gives me the strength to walk on lonely stretch of
roads that may be too dark or too quiet for comfort.
It
makes me smile as I pass by a hot chips shop, with their crisp banana wafers
tempting me, it holds me back from the samosas being fried and deposited on the
huge tray. And it heaves a sigh a relief when I am inside the gates of my home.
I rest the stick in a corner (it has earned a well-deserved rest) my shoes have
borne the brunt of my weight and the filth of the streets.
The
scrap of paper I had written the shlok on is now in tatters wet and torn from
sweat.
I
have just had a great walk! 
