Tags:
Journalism of Courage
I was driving to my brother8217;s place in Delhi Cantonment. It was a long drive -about 40 minutes-and part of the road ran by the Yamuna. The sun was low and the buff golden winter sunlight was washing the blooming elephant grass by the riverside. I parked my car to take a better look.
From the corner of my eye I could see a guard standing thirty feet ahead. I reckoned I had about three minutes before he decided to approach the car. Sure enough, he began moving towards me and when he was blocking my view said, 8220;Kya hua sirjee?8221; In my best Hindi I said that I was taking in nature8217;s beauty and asked him whether he had any problem with that. Well, he said, he didn8217;t have a problem but his seniors would, so I8217;d better move along. Then, being helpful, he suggested I watch the view from the bridge over the river. Here it was just grass, out there it was nicer. Just grass, I admonished him and urged him to take in the beauty of the purple expanse along with me. I told him how 10 years ago, when there was no highway here, this place would attract many birds. I asked him whether he watched birds.
Not impressed, he said that this was a good road and I was complaining, and that in his village there were no roads and they complained about that. Didn8217;t make any sense. Now if I could please get going. I slowly advanced the car and, to my astonishment, saw a Grey Francolin just ahead of me.
As the cars whizzed past, she ran back among the grass screaming 8216;khirr khirr khateeja khateeja khateeja8217;. I was sure she was complaining about the road too.
