UNTIMELY TRAGEDIES

 UNTIMELY TRAGEDIES 

Published in Herald on 13th Nov 2009

Every morning, I begin my day with a hot cup of tea and the daily newspaper, scanning the headlines, then checking page 8 to see if my article has finally come or not. Then I flip over to the obituaries, and my heart skips a beat. 

Almost every other day, I see young faces “We deeply mourn the sad and untimely demise of …” Immediately, I flip back to the news pages, to discover that an innocent life has been lost by careless driving.

It breaks my heart to think how the foolishness of one individual can bring about untold suffering to so many, in a matter of seconds. The words stand out: ‘sorrowful’ ‘bereaved’. I picture the parents of the victim; shattered, their family now incomplete. Sometimes it is an only child, and then all hope is lost.

I recall the death of a young boy, Calvin, who died on a ship, (maybe it was an accident) and, for weeks, I was amazed at the condolences sent. There were so many people out there who missed that boy so much.

I am told that rash, reckless driving coupled with unsafe roads is behind this mass murder in Goa. Sensible people have warned me not to learn how to drive, for it is the surest way to meet my Maker soon.

When I travel pillion, there is a constant prayer on my lips. I wonder as I walk on the road whether I will see my family ever again. When I see an old man check left and right so he can cross the road safely, I have this urge to shout, “Hey, it doesn’t matter. You could be mowed down anywhere, anytime!”

Spotting a gang of unruly young boys on their fancy bikes, I think to myself, “Is this the future of Goa or the end?” A couple of months back, I heard of a boy who had taken a bike for a test ride. As he sped down the slope, he rammed into a bus that had slowed down, was flung up into the air and crash landed. He was an only son.

Another shocking story is of a boy riding recklessly late one night, who landed on the spikes of a circular garden in the heart of Mapusa. One can only imagine his suffering…

When my son, who is 16 years old, asks me if he can learn to ride a bike, I have only two words, “Not yet.” It makes no sense to send danger onto the roads. I wish parents would understand the risk of allowing their children to master bikes especially the powerful kind, before they have mastered themselves.

I know of some parents who are soooo… proud of Johnny being able to ride a bike at a tender school-going age. But little Johnny could be the death of Uncle Jimmy one day, if he loses control.

We have traffic rules. The government reminds us of them off and on. But who cares? Even the novel idea of rewarding good driving behaviour has died its own tragic and untimely death.

We read so many quaint sayings on safe driving, but they just pass through our minds. My mind is still fresh with the tragedy of a year ago involving a bridal entourage on its way to the church for nuptials. As new life was about to begin for the bride and groom, the life of the beautiful bridesmaid Branda was snuffed out in an instant.

Living may have become expensive, but life has become so cheap, and easily dispensable. The murder of a girl for just Rs. 2,000 has shown us that. What is the solution? I believe that it should start in the home. If you have watched the tiatr ‘Ekssident’, you probably have a few ideas already.

Observe traffic rules even if the whole world is not following them. Drive carefully; you want to reach the right destination in one piece, don’t you? Do not drink and drive; nothing is more important. Give the right hand signals or light signals. Do not be lazy, or you will drive the one behind you crazy.

When walking, keep to the pavement. Do not confuse drivers by darting across the road. Face the traffic, so you can save yourself if you feel that an approaching vehicle may hit you. Use the zebra crossing; alert the traffic policeman that you are waiting to cross if he has gone to sleep.

I hope that when I travel next, my prayers will be shorter, and that a day will dawn when I can catch the bull by the horns and mount my Scooty with the confidence of a rodeo master, safe in the knowledge that my photo won’t land up in the obituary column the next day.