It was strange to have so much traffic early at seven
at MG Marg on a Sunday. The road is usually empty in the morning hours. Turns
out some fool was driving his truck on the wrong side of the road to get to a
petrol depot. While waiting patiently in the middle of this chaos, I could see
a man from my rear view mirror. He was a tall slim guy, somewhere in his late
twenties. He was wearing a blue sleeveless, a jogger and a pair of Nike running
shoes. It looked like he was in the middle of a run when he possibly received
some bad news. He was desperately asking around the cab
drivers to drop him off somewhere. After getting rejected by three of them, he took a chance
on me. He asked me politely if I could
drop him off near St. John’s Hospital. I only agreed because my tennis
practice was
on the way and the man looked desperate for help. He hopped on and we wiggled
past the traffic jam which still did not clear. Before we could hit the empty
road, he asked me to fasten my seat-belt as he had done. Usually, in this
particular scenario I would have given him a piece of my mind? Saying, I’m doing
you a favour, can’t you be just grateful about it? But I chose to ignore any confrontation.
He looked like he was panicking from the inside yet he
tried his best to play it cool and keep his calm. While I was driving, he
looked around my Kwid and noticed my tennis kit. My Babolat racket was out in
the backseat. He grabbed it and admired
the racket. He examined the strings, shock absorbers and the grip very
meticulously. He remarked that it was one of the finest rackets and that he
also owned a couple of them. He asked me a little later why I agreed to help a
stranger and drop him off half way across the city. I replied that he looked desperate for help and that some sort of
emergency might have cropped up. I also
added that my tennis practice is just a couple of kilometres from St John’s
Hospital. I said I was only helping out a fellow citizen. He did not say
anything; only
smiled at the mere thought of it. His phone rang right before I made a turn towards
V.K Road where St John’s was situated. He insisted I stop near the tea stall. I
questioned him saying we were barely a kilometre away from the hospital. He
replied politely that some people were waiting for him and requested me to drop
him right there. I wasn’t too happy how things turned out.
At the back of my mind, during the
entire journey half way across the city, I was under the impression that this
man needed
some help. Perhaps his family member might have met with an accident or
something and had to be rushed to St John’s. I was disappointed, I couldn’t
play hero but merely followed the instructions without questioning. I could see some
men in casual clothes sipping tea when we reached. The man got out from my car,
thanked me and appreciated the help he received. I did not stick around to see what went down next and drove off to
practice rather puzzled.
Later that
night, I switched on the six o’clock Prime Time News. The television screen
constantly kept popping the breaking news tag: ‘Major Drug Racket Busted’. A
few moments later an interview was telecasted where a man was being interviewed
by a reporter. I recognised the blue sleeveless and those joggers. Yes! This
was the same man I had dropped at the tea stall today morning. Turns out he is Assistant Commissioner of
Police, Narcotics Department.
(This article is loosely based on a narrative)
