DTC Ride-1

I was one of the happiest citizens of Delhi when the Indian capital commenced the brand new red-coloured Airconditioned city bus service coinciding with the Commonwealth Games 2010.

However, of late the service levels have fallen.

This in turn prompted me to write to the authorities (see below) early this week.

Attn: Mr Naresh Kumar, Chairman & Managing Director, DTC

Dear Mr Kumar,

I wish to bring to your notice two issues pertaining to airconditioned (red) buses in the city route

1. As we all know, summer has set in. DTC drivers in the saddle of airconditoned buses randomly switch off and switch on airconditon buses during the day. When confronted, they claim that it is too much of cold for them. In the process passengers suffer for no fault of theirs. Another related issue is the practice of keeping the aisle window next to the driver's seat open even if the aircondition is switched on. The very purpose of providing cool environment is defeated. None of the drivers listen to conductors. Why the public should pay a premium rate and suffer.

Perhaps it is time, DTC puts in a mechanism to check/monitor misuse of a/c facility in your fleet.

2. Having lived in Chennai and Bombay for several years and travelled in city bus servcies (Pallavan/Chennai and BEST/Bombay), I failed to understand the reluctance or refusal of conductors to walk up the aisle for distribution of tickets in DTC buses. This in the process puts a strain on passengers to crowd around conductors who unfortuantely are seated near the rear door. It will be good for conductors to walk a bit from the health angle.

3. Cleanliness of fleet is pathetic. Please travel once in a while unannounced and see for yourself. Dirty from inside and dirty from outside.


4. The misuse of DTC terminus space by denotified Blue LIne fleet. The less said the better. Visit Mehrauli Bus Terminal (where I live and commute from). Even today, many denotified Blue Line buses occupy premium space iinside DTC terminus. The road within DTC terminus is perpetually in bad condition. Needless to say that such bad roads within the terminus cause severe damage to DTC vehicles.

Mr Kumar, the fleet is public property and the billboard inside hammers this point with heavy emphasis.

I request you to look into this and revert.

Expiry 7 March 2016

Yes, my Driving Licence arrived by Speed Post Wednesday evening.

It was a renewal exercise.

Last time, I got my licence renewed 2006.

Once you are past 40 plus, the renewal takes place every five years.

It cost me two hundred fifty rupees to Delhi government transport department and Rs.50 for mandatory medical report (to check colour blindness), plus Rs.50 for Speed Post delivery.

By the by, when was the last time, I sat behind steering?

Can't recollect because I had stopped driving several months ago - particularly after daughter's usurpation of the car(!) as she began to drive down for work.

Secondly, I was becoming a huge practitioner of the infamous 'road rage'. I was losing temper at a faster clip on road, causing discomfort for my spouse.

"You're becoming a ruffian," she chided me several times.

Thirdly, I realised that I was "unnecessarily" taking the car out of parking lot just for the heck of it.

Let me put it this way. I used to drive even if I have no business to be out.

Necessity-driven travel, I found to be the best remedy.

In this process, two goals were achieved. Primarily, my petrol bill has nosedived drastically. Bingo!

Secondly, I became a much quieter person. No road rage!

The Commonwealth Games 2010 and the launch of Delhi Metro changed my movements in the metropolis. I procured a smart card for use in Metros.



And grabbed the Rs.50 green ticket on DTC airconditioned buses that provided unlimited access on a daily basis. Any time, any number of trips.

I plan my outings meticulously these days.

Never agree for any meetings before 12 noon. And step out 2 hours in advance to travel comfortably.

Before boarding any DTC bus, I pick up an Outlook, India Today or Open. Find a seat and read the magazine. Usually I am through with the magazine (at least 80%) by the time the destination is reached.

The unread portion is completed in reverse direction.

I pick up something extra to read (from office or meeting places) to keep me busy on my return trip.

There are days I had wantonly stepped in and out of DTC buses purely to extract the maximum out of Rs.50 facility.

On one particular February day, I hop-skipped 10 buses spread over 6 hours. Pure joy, it was.

It was part of trying to explore unknown Delhi destinations.

ONce you have a Rs.50 ticket, you're a king.

Metro again is a blessing. Another airconditioned comfort.

The biggest advantage: no longer I am the chauffeur of my family!

With my daughter in driver's seat, I enjoy the backseat pleasure.

No plans to give it up.

If so, why did I renew my Driving Licence?, you ask?

Good question.

Because it is handy and shove it into my wallet. And use it is as residential and identity proof when travelling in trains and to gain access into airport lounges.

Who knows, one day I may drive before the present licence expires in 2016.

Five long years away.

Meanwhile, I am saving Planet Earth from global warming in my own way!

How about you?

Sex on highways

“Can you see her?”

“Who?”

“That lady … na, girl, Sir”

“Where?”

“There…”

Yes, at last I spotted her. Gawdily dressed. Kohl-eyed. Darkish pink lipstick.
Anil Pandeyji winked at me.

I know what that wink meant.

Yes, she is a commercial sex worker – CSW to be short.

Subtly she was signalling the approaching truck.

Would she be able to meet with the eyes of driver or his second in command behind the glasses of the Man Force truck coming in the opposite direction?

We were on National Highway 24 linking Lucknow with country’s capital: New Delhi.

We had passed Bareilly and it was past half past two.

Traffic was thin.

A phat-phat with an overload of passengers almost hanging on its bumper was in front of our 40 tonne Tata trailer.

In fact, that was moving faster than our truck.

We were cruising at 30 kmph.

Not because we love slow driving, but the highway was just a dual carriageway and with – yes, you’ve guess correctly – a lot of potholes.

The CSW, whom Pandeyji fingered at, was hardly 100 metres away perhaps.
Her signalling was superb: very subtle. Only a trained eye can spot that.

Pandeyji, a veteran 20 plus year highwayman, was one such who sported an expert eye.

Her right hand was kept closer to the body. Wherever it ended, her palm projected at 90 degrees and facing downwards, was moving up and down at a faster clip.

The message: “come, come!”

“Pandeyji, daytime prostitution?” I demanded.

“Anytime, Sir. Why only night?”

By then, we passed the CSW in question.

Pandeyji was keep looking at the rearview mirror to update me on further development! Nothing happened, I presume because he did not say anything.

After a deafening silence for a few minutes, Pandeyji’s eyes lit up.

“There… There. See… Another one.”

Pervez, second driver, who was lying down on the lower berth behind driver’s seat, quietly sat up, rubbing his eyes to get a better view.

He moved to the centre of the back seat which offered a better glimpse of whatever happening in front.

I peered in front closely. Almost my nose touching the frontside transparent glass.

I also rubbed my eyes. Quickly plucked out my eyewear, cleaned off and reinserted into the previous slot. A lot more clarity.

Hawn… There they were. Not one, but two.

Much younger lot. One in salwar kameez. Another in sari.

Yes, they too were gesticulating.

Suddenly, the Xylo in front stalled forcing us to halt.

Good comeuppance!

The driver from Xylo got out and began checking his tyre.

Now we are hardly 15 metres away from the two pretty-girls-on-the-road.

One of the trucks halted in response to their “mating call” perhaps.

In a typical Hindi film style, the sari-clad CSW remained silent; her shoulder-length free flowing hair was covering her left bosom. She was coy and demure; but the come-hither-look was unmistakeable.

The salwar kameez wali and the second driver or assistant were engaged in deep conversation. We were so close I could easily see her biting her lower lips in a seductive manner while the guy in the truck was mouthing something. Exploring business proposition!

But for the cacophony created by traffic that has built up behind us and in front made hearing impossible, I would have heard ‘juicy’ dialogue! Alas.

Pandeyji, Pervez and I were curiously watching the drama unfolding in front of us.

“Will the business materialise?” I asked no one in particular.

“Hmmm.”

The driver of Xylo, in front of our truck, managed to sort out his mess and vroomed away.

We had no option but to move on.

Again, we missed the full scene.

Do they stop on the roadside if the transaction fructifies so that the partners in passion move into the back seat for business compliance?

“Anything possible,” was Pandeyji’s quick repartee.

A few months ago, I had a close encounter with a CSW in Hubli – but that was past midnight. (http://myroadiary.blogspot.com/2010/11/sex-hubli.html).

Daytime solicitation was something I never anticipated.

I could not resist asking Pandeyji about his take on highway prostitution.

How was able to spot the CSWs whereas I could not?

“Sadhus recognise sadhus. Criminals recognise criminals,” he opened up. Single focus.
If one is looking for female company, he knows the signs and symptoms. No rocket science.

In fact, there are many roadside dhabas we noticed with female servants serving truckers while crossing Bihar and Uttar Pradesh.

“It’s just a camouflage,” explained my friendly driver. Everyone needs a pretext or setting to transact business. The dhabas or food stalls are used for negotiations.

Even if there were police raids while the verbal transaction is in full swing, the cover of serving tea or food is helpful. If the verbal negotiations mature, they move into back rooms behind curtains or the paddy fields.

It is a flourishing business.

Pandeyji had an interesting question. He had many friends in the driving community who had died of AIDS. But he never heard of any CSW dying of AIDS. How come? “One of my colleagues, I saw with my own eyes, shedding weight: from 75 kilos to 30 kilos.

Pathetic,” he recollected. At the same time, Pandeyji says with a straight face that he had seen many CSWs over years who continue to do business even today. “They are still alive. They have not changed profession,” remarks he. My argument that maybe these CSWs go for medical check up and subsequent remedial treatment at regular intervals. On the other hand, men just carry on as if nothing has happened and pay a heavy price: death. Pity.

**

Post Rampur, the sun is setting. Gentle breeze. I notice two ladies on the left side of the road walking towards us. They are beautiful. Come hither look, too. I pick up my camera to click a few images. Pandeyji restrains me. Why? “Sir, they are not CSWs. Family girls,” explains the road warrior. I quickly duck down in the truck cabin and dump the camera into the dashboard. Ohmigod! Mistaking rope for a snake!

The fallacy of malobservation!. Dunno. I have forgotten the nomenclature I had learnt 35 years ago as a student of logic in college. Never mind. Few more highway trips and I would be as good as Pandeyji.

NOTE: This trip – Jamshedpur to Ludhiana (1650 km over 6 days and 6 nights) was sponsored by Credence Logistics, Bombay. Www.credencelogistics.com

Ganja, gulab jamun & gud

“Yeh kya pata hai aapko?” demanded Anil Pandeyji, the fortyish driver, my companion on the 1650 km onroad trip from Jamshedpur to Ludhiana while flashing a 3 feet green plant in mid-February. We were parked on the roadside, 40 km away from Shahjanpur, Uttar Pradesh, for our morning tea. The weather was supine with sun and gentle breeze playing friendly game with us. I was brushing my teeth with a stub of neem stalk. Don’t know when was the last time I had used neem stalk instead of the bristled toothbrush. I simply could not recognise the plant Pandeyji was brandishing and naturally responded with “Tell me, na?”.

“Ganja plant!” he chortled.

“What? Ganja?” I retorted. I had never seen a ganja plant in my life so far. Not that I am unaware of ganja as a “nasha” item. Never ever had I seen it in the form of plant. For me, it was always in the powder or crushed dry leaves form. Naturally I was puzzled.

How did ganja sprout in the middle of the paddy field on the Uttar Pradesh roadside? Sensing my discomfort, Pandeyji explained that these patch of ganja ought to have germinated from the remnants of ganja thrown by passengers who had halted for a tea break and partaken the nasha item.

“No, this is not a place where they are grown for commercial consideration,” he hastened to add. Out of curiosity, I grabbed the plant from his hands and plucked a few green leaves to crush. The patch of ganja plants at the back of the roadside dhaba was sizeable: maybe 200 individual plants, each, two or three feet high. They were hale and hearty. Green and swaying in the morning breeze. When dried and crushed, what damage they can cause to the homo sapiens was unimaginable. They are all God’s own creation, no doubt.
**
Even before I could recover from ganja shock, I began to notice sweetmeat shops tomtoming about “gulb jamun” warranting a question as to what is so special about the gulab jamun of Michaelganj. “Kakki dekko,” pat came the reply from second driver Pervez Khan. We alighted down for sampling.

Every single shop in the crowded marketplace boasted they were the best. If so, which one to choose? Pandeyji, a regular traveller on this route, without any loss of time guided us to Ramakant’s “mashoor” dukaan – a favourite stop for his gulab jamun consumption.



The elderly Ramakant filled up three plastic containers with two gulab jamun each. Piping hot they were. I noticed that every shop on this busy stretch was selling more and more gulab jamun: many were picking up these sugary, dark and soft brownish sweetmeats in mud pots – not in glass or plastic or tin containers – for consumption at home or wherever.

“Gulab jamun galli hai, yeh,” chipped in Pervez Khan. Ramakant kaka was eagerly dishing out more to buyers. Pandeyji, expectedly, opted for a second helping. I could not, though wanted to, because I am diabetic. But would not mind stopping at this junction again, next time.
**
Traversing through Uttar Pradesh after entering from Bihar before exiting into Haryana at Karnal several hours later, one could not escape witnessing sugarcane fields. Occasionally, we would pass over onsite gud (jaggery) making. The wafting jaggery aroma is unmistakable.

Pandeyji, a hardcore UP Brahmin with an agricultural background besides “drivery”, promised to halt at one of the gud factories en route to give me a first hand exposure. I seldom had any idea when and where he would oblige me. It did happen in Shamli, situated on the Meerut-Karnal unmotorable road, which was 15 kilometre before one crossed the river that separates Uttar Pradesh from Haryana.

“This is it,” the graduate-turned-Raymond’s sporting Pandeyji thundered before slowing down on the roadside near a gud manufacturing facility. We jumped out in glee. Rather I. Diabetic and therefore can’t afford to partake sweets, so what? At least, I can see. Say around a dozen people were busy in an old-style tiled roof shed:



Some feeding neatly laid out sugarcane bundles into the crusher; someone manning three huge vats with simmering boiled sugarcane juice in various stages; someon was thrusting dried sugarcane leaves into oven as fuel three feet down. Honestly, it was disgusting to watch the dirty sugarcane juice cruising through the narrow cemented canal from the crusher to the ground level tank.



There was some amount of cleansing of sugarcane juice was in progress. Someone was lifting hot and liquid gud from the final melting vat to pour into the huge aluminium plate where it was spread evenly by another helper. Once it solidified – it happens quickly – many sitting around the plate began slicing them into small cakes. Soon, I saw them dumping the warm gud cakes into a mound near the corner of the room.



Pandeyji picked up his usual quota of 10 kilos for his family and friends. Once he bought almost a quintal (100 kg) just before Sankranti. “Nowhere in India, you will get to see gud in this small cake form,” he explained. What about me? Yes, I did take just one kilo. “What? Is that sufficient?” asked the owner of the gud facility.



He does not know about my diabetic history. However, I bit into a stub of sugarcane and one small piece of gud cake. Oh, God, you’ve been cruel!

NOTE: This trip (1650 km from Jamshedpur to Ludhiana over 6 days/6 nites was sponsored by Credence Logistics Ltd, Mumbai. www.credencelogistics.com)

Speechless!

"Miles passed without a word."

I stopped reading further at this point in John Grisham's The Confession (page 182, 10th line from bottom).

Reverend Keith Scheroeder is at the wheels and murderer Travis Boyette is seated next to him as they dash towards Dallas, Texas to save an innocent man from capital punishment.

Two passengers travelling with a deadline in sight. One a priest and the other: murderer.

I stopped proceeding further because I could not help correlating to my own experience a few weeks ago while trucking 2800 kilometre from Chennai to Gurgaon with Umesh Rana (driver) and Pinto Sau (assistant) for company over 8 days.

Considering the fact that we use to drive for close to 20 hours daily, spending time in the 8 x 5 ft cabin was a task. Added to this crisis are two more issues: one, my HIndi was no where close to their Jharkhand version. Secondly, lack of common topics to talk about.

There used to interminably long hours of silence en route.

Day one was not a challenge as I managed to wangle as much personal information out of them as possible.

Somehow, I was able to break ice with this twentyish driver-assistant duo as early as possible.

Conversational comfort began to emerge from Day two. Umesh was the spokesperson for the two, due to his seniority. Except broaching his sex life, I made Umesh spell out everything else.

Not that I did not want to discuss sex with him. But what stopped me was his initial remark on Day One (actually "first night" of our travel) that I reminded him of his father!

I was floored and felt ashamed to talk 'sex' with him.

Umesh was a quiet guy. He responded only when asked specific questions.

They never watched movies. So any talk about Bollywood was ruled out. They never smoked or drank. So no question of such interesting topics.

Most of our talks used to centre around the life of a truck driver.

I used to wonder how can he be driving non stop, silently for hours together.

Even between the two, the conversation could have been tough. Pinto was a rookie and an able assistant to Umesh. PUt it differently, Umesh was boss to Pinto.

Occasionally, they used to speak in a strange dialect which I later learnt to be "Jharkhandi".

Irrepsective of who was driving, I used to occupy the front seat watching the vast expanse in front. For a short while between 2 and 4, i quietly moved to lower berth for a short nap to avoid harsh November sun as we were passing through Karnataka and Maharashtra.

How much one can talk, anyhow! Silence was the only way out.

Am sure they also must have felt what to share with an old man like me.

Surprisingly, not a single day passes since I returned home without a call from Umesh.

Thank you, Umesh!

One day, Pinto casually remarked that people of my age in his hometown sit on the charpoy and smoke hookah. Don't hop onto a car carrier weighing 22 tones and travel 2800 km like a madcap.

That's me, Pinto.

Can't help it.

Just before entering Gurgaon final stop, Pinto asked: "Sirji, will you do this again?"

He was, am sure, disappointed with my "Yes" response.

Maybe a trip to Jammu in Feb/March is very on the cards.

Or a trip on car-carrying ship to China from Chennai.

Why not?

Sex @ Hubli

"Hello".

I heard someone calling me from nearby.

But could not locate. Because it was dark with hardly a 25 watts filament bulb near the tap bay where one washes one's hands after emptying bowels.

Again, "hello". The hushed voice was heard.

I stopped and looked around.

Now I was able to spot the voice owner. Now she was in 3 feet distance.

Must be in her early 20s.

Can see her plunging boobs.

Also protruding navel button.

Possibly at birth, the ayah or nurse while delivering this girl has cut the umbilical cord at a wrong place.

Yes, she is a human being, not a non-terrestrial person.

Only human beings have a navel button, I had read somewhere.

Now she was just a feet away.

I can see her clearly.

Dark lip sticks. Chiffon saree. Sleeveless blouse. Some cheap talcum powder. And some cheap perfume.

Come hither looks.

I was getting nervous.

Yes, she is a pros... sorry, commercial sex worker. Female at that.

"Karna hai kya? (Want to do it?)," she asked.

Her voice was soft and gentle.

Her trade USP.

I know what service she wanted to provide.

Am I in need of that service?

Good question.

Honestly I did not want to answer.

Sex is the best form of stress buster, I had read somewhere.

400 odd kilometres ride on a 40kmph speed truck carrying 28 tonne load.

The ride was smooth. But I am not used to travelling in trucks such long distances on highways that too in night time. Body was aching. A bit of relaxation is a necessity.

Sex? No.

Sleep? Yes.

Wanted to rush out from there.

It was past 1.30 a.m.

Hardly half an hour ago, I had arrived from Krishnagiri, Tamilnadu on a Mercurio Pallia car carrier with 8 Hyundai's i10s from Chennai for delivery in Delhi/Gurgaon in 7 days time.

The stoppage at this moment was Hubli in Karnataka.

It was my Day 2 on this 2800 km long journey to understand logistical challenges one faces when transporting goods across interstate borders.

I had left Chennai the previous evening 6.30 p.m.

"Worried?"

It was she again.

"What?," I responded.

"Aap ko dar lakta hain kya? Koi nahi ayega ither," (Are you afaid? No one will come here) she tried to assure me thinking that I was game for a sexual encounter with her, but was worried about police etc.

I remained silent. Also my legs were frozen. Out of fear. Out of anxiety.

Do I want to have sex with this young thing?

Bullshit.

"Sir, mere pas rubber hai," she said. (I have condoms)

The mention of condoms immediately brought back memories of Dr Neeraj Dhingra, Deputy Director General of National Aid Coordination Organisation (NACO), a government body set up under the Ministry of Healthcare whom I had met with Ved Shukla a fortnight ago in Delhi in his office.

We met to discuss the possibility of exploring the sex behaviour of drivers on highways. I was interested and Dr Dhingra briefed me a lot on the issues to be addressed. Junior officials in NACO were introduced to me to help me en route.

In fact, an official letter was put out to all NACO outfits in the states I was crossing through to help me with all support. Including supply of condoms!!!

This Hubli incident happened so soon. Instead myself offering condoms to drivers for safe sex, now I was being offered one for my personal use!

Friends, who were in the know of things, joked that I will be having a 'gala' trip on all nights during this 8-day, 7 night trip!

"Sorry. Mujhe jaroot nahi hai," (Sorry. I don't need your sexual services), I told her.

"Madrasi hai kya, aap?," (Are you from Madras?) she demanded.

My Bollywood style Hindi would have been the giveaway. She was smart enough to figure out my roots. Yes, I am from Chennai, the erstwhile Madras.

I did not respond to her.

Now she was much closer to me: less than a feet away.

I can smell her perfume.

Too heady.

In another step, her nipples would definitely rub my chest.

I was worried.

55 years never strayed away.

Now this challenge!

A pleasant or punishing encounter?

"I am tired. I am going to sleep," I told her.

She was not ready to give up.

"Hum saath mein soyengi," (We will sleep together), she said.

I began to perspire. It was November and had rained in the past few days Still I was sweating.

The fear factor.

I stepped back to avoid and body contacts with her.

What if...

her nipples brush against me?

What if...

she forcefully hugs me?

What if ...

she quickly undresses me?

I was just wearing shorts which will come off in just one solitary pull downwards.

Oh God, why not someone come to the toilet and save me?

"Koi baat nahi. Basuri karengi. Aap ko kuch takleef nahi hogi... Ghoda sawari mein shayad ...," she said. (No issues. Let us do 'flute' style. You don't have to exert like in horseride style).

My breathing was getting quicker. Out of excitement or fear? Dunno.

"Chalo. Aap dar gaye hai," (No problem. You are afraid) she said and moved away.

Yes, she moved away.

Driver Umesh Rana enquired about the delay when I returned to the Tata 3516x model horse to sleep for the next couple of hours before resuming journey.

I narrated the entire story.

Umesh in his 20s could not hide his chuckle.

He did not make any nasty remarks.

But sure, he must have something to say. Out of politeness, kept quiet.

The Hubli incident made me do one thing over the next 6 nights.

Invariably we will reach a highway side dhaba (eating joint) where the truckers would halt for dinner and 4-hour sleep which also has a large parking space.

Every night, I would request Umesh or his assistant Pinto Sau (21 year old Jharkhandi) to accompany me to the toilet!

Honestly, I can never forget that girl's face outside Hubli toilet.

Was my flesh willing, but morality prevented any sex outside marriage?

Am clueless.

Will I be ready next time at least to face and talk boldly with this kind of service providers?

Dunno.

This Hubli encounter would have lasted a little under 5 minutes.

But it appears that I was "engaged" with her for eternity.

I have become time-unconscious.

What was I worried about?

Need time to assimilate and assess my capability: mental and physical.

Is it over really?

2,804 kilometres.

Over a period of 8 days.

From Chennai (southern part of India) to Gurgaon (northern India).

On a car-carrier weighing 28 tonnes.

With Hyundai's i10 vehicles. Eight in number. Four over four in two tier format.

Umesh Kumar Rana (29 years) at the steering and Pinto Kumar Sau (21 years) as his deputy.

Both hailing from the mineral rich Jharkhand state.

Passed through the states of Tamil Nadu, Kanataka, Maharastra, Gujarat, Rajasthan and Haryana.

What did I witness?

First the positives:

India is on a big move.

I can confidently say, "watch your highways to feel the pulse of the nation".

Honestly I am glad the Indian economy is literally on a roll.

Secondly, the nation is pretty young. Why do I say this?

A majority of drivers whom I meet over this 8-day odyssey are definitely in late 20s and ealy 30s.

The kind of Over Dimensional Cargo (ODC) I saw trundling on Indian roads gives a feeling of what India is upto. Boilers, windmasts, turbines, etc.

A big pat on NHAI's back. Lovely, broad roads.

Yes, there is a massive construction in the new or broading of existing ones is in full swing.

Must have crossed over 40 odd Toll Gates operated and managed by private sector. Amazing efficiency.

The highest Toll (user fee) paid in this trip was for the Pune-Mumbai Expressway - Rs.946.

There is always scope for improvement.

Now, the saddest part: the negatives.

The state machinery is corrupt.

AT every inter state border, I personally interacted or transacted with Commercial Tax and RTO officials and paid - yes, paid bribe - to ensure my truck's smooth passage.

The Mumbai crossing (from Panvel in Maharashtra to Ghodbunder) was the cesspot of hooliganism by state machinery. Knowingly or unknowningly.

These people behave like road mafia with private sector participation.

I personally witnessed the 3-4 hour long orchestrated congestation by Bruhan Mumbai oficials to extract their pound of flesh from illiterate driver who are physically tired.

I planto write letters to all state chief ministers/secretaries and the federal government.

Enough of this highhandedness.

Transporters are the backbone of our - for that matter - any nation.

If these unkempt, ugly and illiterate drivers decided not to ignite their engines, Mr Prime Minister, all your dream about building u a powerful nation,will come to a naught.

I feel cheated and irritated by the harsh treatment meted to the transporters at inter state borders.

If highways remain empty, Sir, neither raw materials will reach assembly plants nor the finished goods (whatever it may be - be it a car, textile, chemicals, oil etc) will reach the end user.

My eyes have welled up.

I can't see my desktop screen clearly.

So, here I stop.

For the time being...