text: I drummed my fingers impatiently on the steering wheel, as if by some miracle my fingers would open up the roads and get me out of this crazy traffic jam. “Wake up to the sound of birds chirping....”, the lady in the jingle on the radio cooed. I muted the radio in disgust. It seems that we’ve lost our way in life. We were supposed to encounter a smattering of advertisements amid tunes but listening to the radio these days is the other way around. I reminisced back to a time when the serendipity of hearing a favourite song gave me so much joy. It was like finding money in an old pair of jeans that you wear after a long time. These ads just stressed me out. The car ahead of me inched two steps forward. I didn’t even bother accelerating, I took my foot off the brakes and let the car ease forward. I looked outside and saw a man leaning against the sidewalk barricade. He was covered in grease, must be a mechanic. There was something very menacing and intimidating about him even though he was just standing still. His face was expressionless. He looked at a man passing him from head to toe. There was no change in his expression. There was something severe about him, a feeling that he could spew hate. He would go out of his way to vent it and bring it to you. He probably beat up his wife and kids for no good reason. A few seconds passed and I marvelled at how quickly I inferred so much about a guy by just looking at him. For a brief second, our eyes met and I turned away, embarrassed and somehow afraid. If I could describe him briefly: >It was not just his life that he hated, he hated everybody else’s life because it was better. A motor-biker squeezed in ahead of me and parked himself horizontally in the space between me and the car. At that very moment, the car ahead of him began moving. For a fraction of a second, the car moved backward before easing forward. The biker lost his balance and the bike fell on to the car. A scuffle ensued. The man on the barricade watched, still expressionless but his interest was piqued. The biker lost his cool and punched the driver of the car. In a matter of seconds, there was chaos, people were watching the two guys fighting on the busy street, someone tried to intervene and presumably got hit. Suddenly, 5 people were fighting. At this point, the guy on the barricade jumped in. He was calm, composed and purposeful. He first kicked the guy who intervened to the ground and punched him violently twice. Then he pulled out the driver of the car and pinned him to the car. He punched him twice in the gut and held him up as he began sagging from the blows. The biker came in and landed a punch as well. At this point, the “barricade man” stepped away, dusted himself straightened his shirt and walked away with a smirk. That brief smirk was the only expression I had seen on his face the whole time. The fight had relocated to the pavement in response to relentless honking and abuses from the other drivers on the road. As this horror unfolded, my only thought was that my instincts about the “barricade man” had been right. A quote about the Joker from the dark night comes to mind, >“Some men just want to watch the world burn.” The “barricade man” wanted to watch the world burn. I was pleased with my assessment. It was only after a few minutes shame began to set in. I had normalised something abnormal. That could have been me. The bike could have fallen on my car and I would have been the one that got beat up. I began to think about the “barricade man” and what his life must be like. When life is mediocre or good, 35 years can go by without one realising it. When life is hard, even a day can seem like an eternity. That eternity hardens you because allowing yourself to be soft means you can get hurt and you have had enough of getting hurt. The minute I reached work, I forgot the entire debacle and went about my day as usual. It was a long day, some days are just about fighting battles one after the other. At last, it was over, so I pulled the car out of the basement parking and headed home. The last battle of the day was yet to be fought, the returning traffic. I switched the radio on. “Honey, I’m so tired of spending 2 hours every day on the road” “I have just the thing for you sweetheart, Hurva homes in the heart of the city....”, chirped the wife. I placed the stereo on mute. No wonder real estate prices in this city are so bloated, someone had to pay for the ads with the apartment. After two minutes of fidgeting, I unmuted the speaker. A song by Pink Floyd was playing. For a few minutes, until the song ended, I was at peace. The car ahead moved a few more feet and then stopped again. I could see the road beyond a few meters was clear but for some reason, this stretch was jammed. After another frustrating 20 mins, I finally reached the front of the jam. There was a large pothole on the road and all the cars had to navigate around it. This was the bottleneck causing the jam. I cursed loudly and floored the accelerator after navigating around it. Just a few seconds later, I could see the patrol standing with the speed camera. It was already too late, I must have broken the limit. In the distance, I could see a fat cop. His large belly spilling out of the uniform. It was as if the bribes he had been taking had filled his body. How the hell was this guy supposed to be protecting the public? He didn’t look like he could bend down to pick up the money if the thief dropped it. As I drew closer, he motioned with his hand for me to pull over. I obeyed. He stepped away, to stop a few more behind me. His expression reminded me of a strict teacher in school, who would reprimand you for your lack of discipline and question your upbringing. I hated the sight of him and the fact that I would have to request him to let me go. I knew the drill. At first, he would refuse, he would bring up the machine and start typing out the receipt. Then on persistent pleading, he would relent. He would then demand a bribe, half the fine for the offence and I would bargain but eventually pay something. Same dog & pony show. The “barricade man” suddenly came to mind, my instinct was working fast to predict the behaviour of the fat cop. “License & documents”, he muttered. That is when I realised, I had forgotten my wallet today, which meant he would go for the kill. I’d have to plead even more and he would extract a larger bribe. There was no way in hell this guy would accept seeing a soft copy of my license on the phone. He stepped away momentarily, to stop a bike. The biker must have broken the limit as well. The pothole was almost like a honey-trap, anybody would speed up after spending several worthless minutes stuck behind it. The cop presently came back to my car. “Documents”, he muttered. “Sir, Actually I ...” He suddenly stepped on to the traffic, deftly sidestepping to avoid a car. Where the hell was he going? He reached the divider in no time and intercepted a motorbike, the rider wasn’t wearing a helmet. Before the rider even realised what happened, the cop had switched off his bike and taken his keys. In a second, he was back with me. He moved surprisingly fast for a man of his size. He was almost cat-like. Perhaps I was too quick to judge the man by his appearance. “Sir, I forgot my wallet. I have a license but I forgot.....” He looked at me with an amused expression, “Did you forget the rules also at home? What is the speed limit on this road?” “Sir, pothole...” “Show me your license on the phone”, he interrupted. He had better things to do than listen to my sob story. I was pleasantly surprised that he would accept a copy of the license on the phone. I pulled up a copy on the phone, he gave it a quick look and began typing on the machine, “500 Rupees for breaking the speed limit”. “Sir, can you not excuse me? This is my first offense.” “Ok -- there is a constable there, go and stab him for me. I’ll let you go, first-time murder”, there was no expression on his face, he just stared at me intently. The show had begun, the stage was set. I bowed my head in mock shame, embarrassed for saying what I did. “Sir, can you reduce the fine? I don’t need a receipt”, I said softly. He ignored me and started asking the biker for his documents. The biker began his version of the act with some lame excuse. He turned to me, “That will be 500”, he said and tore off a receipt. “Sir, I don’t want the receipt, I can give you 300”, this time I was bold. It was 9 PM and I was tired. Enough of the charade. He looked at me sternly and said, “I heard you the first time. You look like an educated person with a good life, so I am not going to say this again. I don’t take bribes, you shouldn’t be offering them either. You broke the law, pay up and get out. Its 9 PM and I am sick of seeing every offender act out the same sorry play all-day. I want to go home.” I could feel my face turning red and my ears becoming hot. I handed a 500 rupee note, thanked him and got back into my car. It took a moment for the fact to sink in. I was too quick to judge. As I pulled the car slowly to join the traffic, the cop stepped out to catch another offender, I looked at him slowly with admiration do his thing. This was his craft. He had stopped yet another motorbiker without a helmet. Our eyes met for a brief moment, the biker was the “barricade man”. His contempt for the world and its ways were on full display on his face. He spat furiously on the ground as the cop made away with his key. I paused for a few seconds to watch, even the barricade man had to pretend and do his act eventually. A constable motioned for me to get out and make way. I watched the scene disappearing in the rearview mirror with regret. Would the cop treat the barricade man differently? How would the barricade man plead? Who would win? I guess I will never find out but one thing is for sure -- My judgment of people by appearances was just 50% accurate.