Diwali Blues

Nowadays, wherever I turn, I see diyas and lights. It is Diwali time in namma Chennai.

 The colors are resplendent and bright; flames flickering in the light wind. 

 Ladies decked in their best gold and Kancheevarams, throng the narrow busy streets of Mylapore; haggling with the flower vendors and pot-bellied men selling lovely mud diyas. 

 How people navigate their large bosoms and butts and reach their destinations is beyond me. I keep getting amazed at the ease with which a scooter wala uncle manages to reach home in one single piece with all his bones and flesh intact challenging the perversion of the organism called the MTC driver.

 It has been ages since I last boarded an MTC bus. I often drive to work and to other places of interest. I do not even donate money to the next set of perverts: the infamous Chennai auto walas. 

 I had a chilling run-in with a Chennai auto wala and after that I swore that I will not donate my hard-earned money to give business to the TASMAC owner and its perpetual customer, the Chennai auto wala.

 Now, back to Diwali in Chennai. 

 I had the good luck (?) of landing in another monstrous place called Thiyagaraya Nagar aka T. Nagar. My gleeful and wide-eyed mom and my male cousin went about doing their business and I did what I love doing: observing people and making my own amusing judgements.

 I had a hilarious time watching funny incidents, but the return was as funny. I was the designated chauffeur for both of them and had a harrowing time navigating my wide-assed car through the not-so-wide streets-now-cramped-with people T. Nagar. 

 When I reached Besant Nagar, I sighed, with relief. I had respite, till the next Diwali.     

   

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