Traffic jams. Integral, indispensable part of city life. These mystical blockages in the space-time continuum are cornerstones of healthy, everyday commutes. It’s what constitutes of much of your life if you leave for work post 8.30am, and for home post 5pm.
So, the cure seems pretty straightforward. The one and the only way to beat the city folk at what they do best (*ahem* create jams) is to catapult to work before fellow road users wake up from their deep slumber. Of course, to get back home for dinner on time, you’ll have to leave your workplace at 2pm, at the very least. Because, somewhere on the way, one small, little, itsy hatchback will just HAVE to have broken down at 3:02pm. That too precisely where a busy road bottlenecks. That alone would have stopped that area’s proverbial pipes from clearing.
But don’t worry. Even if you are stuck in a 7-hour-long jam, everything’s going to be all right, as long as you’re in the company of your uber smartphone. That you have already checked 76 times at the very least in the past 3 minutes. You shouldn’t worry unless you’re at the helm of an ambulance lugging an ICU patient to the operation theatre. Well, if you are the helm of an ambulance with a serious patient in the back – gasping for breath – and you aren’t worried, then a few, maybe all, of the below are possible.
a) You’re a psychopath.
b) You’re a psychopath.The chap/ woman behind is going to die while you’re stuck in traffic.
c) You don’t care.
d) He/She’s so going to die.
e) Maybe, he/she’s already dead.
If you’re an auto-rickshaw driver, you’re definitely having the time of your life, breathing in the smoke, dust and all that good stuff. It’s going to extend your life by half of what you’ve already lived but in reverse. And, it serves you right, given how you swerve in front of cars, and cut lanes without ever using your indicator switches (What, you wanted to gift the switchgear to your great-grandchildren?)
However, there’s some bad news. The chief engineers of traffic jams – Uber and Ola drivers driving their loathsome Dzires, breadbox WagonRs and godawful Xcents – will sit safely in their air-conditioned death traps. Utterly unaware of the shit-storm that they have whipped up behind.
Now, mind you, there’s a cure. It’s called music. And nowadays, you don’t need a phone with 1TB worth of memory to carry all your favourite songs. You don’t need a fancy device with a click-wheel and a screen the size of a postage stamp to carry 1000 songs in your pocket. Because today, you can carry all, ALL your favourite songs in your pocket, without ever worrying about running out of memory. All you need to do is switch on the data on your phone, and sing along. All those miserable moments you’d have cursed yourself for not being able to find a work-from-home job, would dissipate into thin air when Kishore or Marley personally hum their melodies to you. Or is Beiber your thing?
That brings me to an observation that struck me a few days ago. It wasn’t long ago that we used to think a thousand times before switching on our mobile-phone’s internet connection. When the Nokias reigned supreme, GPRS was strictly the privilege of the elite. Slowly, the Samsungs and the Chinese phones stepped in, “Data packs” became more accessible, and we’d be off to grab hold of scratch-cards that would give, what, 100mb boosts of internet usage?
The DOCOMOs, Airtels and Vodafones of the world then turned a little more generous. They slapped on a little data, 250, 500mb, 1GB (if they were feeling particularly generous) into our tariff plans and let us rollick in a few moments of internet bills. However, the moment you’d spend a single extra megabyte of the data browsing your favourite porn site, your bill for the month would skyrocket quicker than the Apollo 11 crew could say “Oh Shit” together.
Status quo stayed status quo for a couple of years after which things got a little interesting. Very interesting. Because. Jio happened, and how. It’s the literal manifestation of Dhirubhai Ambani’s idea of “Kar lo duniya mutthi mein” (Take the world into your hands). Mind you, I’m not getting paid by Reliance to say this, but on a serious note, Jio democratised the internet for India. Haven’t you seen it yet? The service providers haven’t taken a single sigh of relief since Jio became the rage. Their calls everyday go like this….
“Good morning sir, I’m calling from XYZ service provider. We have a plan that gives you 999999999TB of data, unlimited calls, unlimited messages, unlimited roaming, unlimited massages, a Rolls Royce, an island in the Bahamas, and a lifetime’s worth of condoms and 15kg of Malana Cream for just Rs 359 per month. Would you like to port your number to our services?”
Me: Hell yes! But no, thanks.
Why am I saying all this? I don’t even use a Jio number. However, I must add, every time I drive back home, listening to music that’s not stored on my phone, there’s a certain sense of satisfaction that I get. Holy cow, you’re listening to stuff that your device is streaming, literally from thin air. From the stuff you’re breathing. How cool is that! Of course, you have the microwaves doing their mystical trickery, but just imagine. You don’t need to carry clunky cassettes, CDs or even a pendrive for that matter to keep your favourite music/video with you. And that’s pretty much the case wherever you go. Unless, you’re in Ladakh, or something. Only BSNL works there, that too sparingly.
All in all, this world is a positively mesmerising place, don’t you think? Yes, we all have our daily miseries, the pay isn’t good, and neither is the reception from the cellphone tower near your home. The neighbour has the cute girlfriend, your dog ignores you after devouring all the biscuits YOU fed him, Yankee doodle went to town and you feel bad that he didn’t go to a city, a 3-week-long traffic jam stands between your office and your home, and the list goes on.
Meh, just switch on the internet, pump up the bass and let the music melt your sorrows away.
