With due apologies to the Chola greats from many moons ago.
"We made it!" said the King. His Man Friday behind him nodded in agreement.
The Chola king stood at the top of the hill, taking in the view below. The satisfaction in the achievement apparent by the way he twirled his mustache like a King, like the King that he was. The stream below, like a tentacle of the river Kaveri, babbled making the sounds that one associates with brooks, the kind that babble when they come across pebbles. The kind that caught Lord Tennyson's attention.
He had ridden many a stone-strewn kilometer, climbed many a rock, crossed many a pristine lake, to get to where he had. His crown proudly perched on his dome. He had conquered many a rival along the way using his strength of arm, fist and finger. He had crossed many a gathering in his quest to get to where he was, his preordained destiny, forcing them to give way by the sound of his trumpet. Many an abandoned village left in his wake. All too many to count.
The back hurt, so did the knee, the forehead throbbing marking the beginning of a stress-induced headache. But our King was contented. Yet another day, yet another conquest, yet another view atop yet another hill.
Enought to keep a King proud and contended indeed!
Fast forward....or slow down depending on what the dear reader's commute situation is...
Our IT engineer from Bangalore, a kindred spirit for sure, rubbed the sweat off his forehead.
A smile on his face as he reached the office, 5 minutes before office hours began. No issues with HR today about shortfall of hours for the month, no emails to the boss requesting her to "do the needful".
He had ridden many a pothole-filled kilometer on his trusted Honda 100 cc motorcycle.Helmet under his armpit. Many a rival two-wheeler that he had overtaken. Many a four-wheeler driver's ire that he had drawn, many a finger that he had raised at packed intersections, like a smoking gun after a fight on the corral. Many a honk that he had had to make driving away men, women, chickens and children from his preordained path. Many a street dog, many a stray cow. Many a dying, shrinking, stinking lake along the way, most of them having yielded to towering, unoccupied complexes. All too many, many to count.
His back hurt from all the speed bumps on his route. The knee, a painful reminder from the previous evening's run on the pothole filled streets of Bangalore. The drum beats in his head, a sinus headache surely on its way with all the smoke and dust he had inhaled.
But, yet another triumph over the roads of Bangalore. Like a Chola King.
Enough to keep an IT team leader happy indeed!
Enough to keep a King proud and contended indeed!
Any resemblance to people real or imaginary is coincidental. Any bruised backs or egos of the battered, daily Bangalore commuter, all real.
Note: Could not decide whether Tennyson's 'The Charge of the Light Brigade' or 'The Brook' would have been appropriate to make a point here. Maybe a typical stress-filled weekday would have resulted in 'The Charge...' as opposed to a relaxed weekend resulting in the choice of 'The Brook'. The modern day protagonist will surely agree that 'The Charge..' is more appropriate! On this matter he would brook no opposition, one can be sure!
-- Srivatsan Krishnan
"We made it!" said the King. His Man Friday behind him nodded in agreement.
The Chola king stood at the top of the hill, taking in the view below. The satisfaction in the achievement apparent by the way he twirled his mustache like a King, like the King that he was. The stream below, like a tentacle of the river Kaveri, babbled making the sounds that one associates with brooks, the kind that babble when they come across pebbles. The kind that caught Lord Tennyson's attention.
He had ridden many a stone-strewn kilometer, climbed many a rock, crossed many a pristine lake, to get to where he had. His crown proudly perched on his dome. He had conquered many a rival along the way using his strength of arm, fist and finger. He had crossed many a gathering in his quest to get to where he was, his preordained destiny, forcing them to give way by the sound of his trumpet. Many an abandoned village left in his wake. All too many to count.
The back hurt, so did the knee, the forehead throbbing marking the beginning of a stress-induced headache. But our King was contented. Yet another day, yet another conquest, yet another view atop yet another hill.
Enought to keep a King proud and contended indeed!
Fast forward....or slow down depending on what the dear reader's commute situation is...
Our IT engineer from Bangalore, a kindred spirit for sure, rubbed the sweat off his forehead.
A smile on his face as he reached the office, 5 minutes before office hours began. No issues with HR today about shortfall of hours for the month, no emails to the boss requesting her to "do the needful".
He had ridden many a pothole-filled kilometer on his trusted Honda 100 cc motorcycle.Helmet under his armpit. Many a rival two-wheeler that he had overtaken. Many a four-wheeler driver's ire that he had drawn, many a finger that he had raised at packed intersections, like a smoking gun after a fight on the corral. Many a honk that he had had to make driving away men, women, chickens and children from his preordained path. Many a street dog, many a stray cow. Many a dying, shrinking, stinking lake along the way, most of them having yielded to towering, unoccupied complexes. All too many, many to count.
His back hurt from all the speed bumps on his route. The knee, a painful reminder from the previous evening's run on the pothole filled streets of Bangalore. The drum beats in his head, a sinus headache surely on its way with all the smoke and dust he had inhaled.
But, yet another triumph over the roads of Bangalore. Like a Chola King.
Enough to keep an IT team leader happy indeed!
Enough to keep a King proud and contended indeed!
Any resemblance to people real or imaginary is coincidental. Any bruised backs or egos of the battered, daily Bangalore commuter, all real.
Note: Could not decide whether Tennyson's 'The Charge of the Light Brigade' or 'The Brook' would have been appropriate to make a point here. Maybe a typical stress-filled weekday would have resulted in 'The Charge...' as opposed to a relaxed weekend resulting in the choice of 'The Brook'. The modern day protagonist will surely agree that 'The Charge..' is more appropriate! On this matter he would brook no opposition, one can be sure!
-- Srivatsan Krishnan
