Accident

“O God. Fuck.”

And the girl whose bike met with an accident with a Sumo promptly bursts into tears.

“Ai, thoo, can you not see where you are going?” A dhoti with an umbrella says.

“I saw the accident with my own eyes. Paapa girl was just trying to turn. She was standing. How can it be her fault? These call center cab fellows think the world belongs to them.” A jute sari with a jute bag speaks up.

“Spot maga. Hudugi luck chenagi ithu. Spot illandre. Ille Spot.” A torn jeans and I ❤ NewYork shiny t-shirt speaks.

“Magu, are you hurt?” An old wrinkled sari asks.

The girl nods and points to her arms and knees. Her arms are bleeding. Her knees are bruised and possibly bleeding too. She sits on the pavement overcome by a sudden dizzy spell.

The driver in a white uniform is sweating. Acting busy with his mobile.

An IT tie and tapering, shined shoes calls the police.

Torn jeans says, “Here only, last week, one boy. Spot out, maga. My friend saw it. Spot out.”

“No sense these cab fellows. Bangalore is just not like it was before.” Jute sari adds.

“I had to go to the K R Puram market. I was standing at the stop waiting for the bus. And I saw this. Ayyo Raama, see how far he has dragged that poor girl and her bike?”, old wrinkled sari marvels at the tyre marks on the road.

“Careless, useless, driver. Magane. Thoo.” Dhoti continues spitting in general direction of driver.

Driver is acting oblivious to his surroundings and staring at IT tie with the shined shoes in malice.

“I am a responsible citizen, you know. We must get help in such cases. I have called Hoysala from my phone. My company does a lot of social work. I also do. I have called the police. They will teach this rascal a lesson.”

Just then, Khakhi pants show up in another Sumo with the police lights.

“Everyone come to the Police Station. Amma hudugi, call your parents, ma. Or your husband. Ask them to come to the K R Puram Police Station.” says Khakhi pants with a pot belly.

Khakhi pants without pot belly beats the driver. One strong punch on the arm. “Kobbu jaasti yeno, magane? Look at that bike. Chindi chindi agide. Activa that too. Most strong bike. Look at it now. Ninge baa, buddi kalisthena. You will learn how to drive today.”

Old wrinkled sari escorts accident girl to the car. Jute sari removes a bottle of water from the jute bag and gives it to the now visibly shivering girl.

“Drink, ma. Don’t worry. The cops will teach a listen. Driver na bida bedi, Saar. I saw the accident with my own eyes. You know what happened?”

“Madam, come to the station, please.”

“Ayyo, no Saar. I was not the only witness, Saar. Everyone here saw it. Take a gentleman, Saar. Ladies should not go to police station, no?”

Dhoti with umbrella shuffles away.

IT tie and tapering, shined shoes catches a bus.

Only wrinkled sari remains. She is chewing betel nuts now. “Okay I will come,” she says.

They reach the police station.

The girl’s father is there already. In black pants and white trousers. He hates that combination, she knows. So she promptly starts crying again. And immediately he hugs his daughter and takes out his handkerchief to wipe off her blood.

In the commotion, old wrinkled sari disappears. The cops see her slinking away but don’t try to stop her.

The driver and the father sit next to each other in front of the Inspector’s desk. Inspector is all khakhi with badges. The girl sits next to her father.

“So, what will you do now?”

“I want to book a complaint. File a case.” Father says hurriedly.

All khakhi orders for tea.

Tea comes.

He thinks twice about offering the driver and finally does.

Everyone is being civilised now and sipping tea. The girl has calmed a bit.

“Sir, I was waiting at the intersection, Sir. There was no way he could have missed seeing me. He was so fast. Before I could move back, he had hit the front of the bike. I was dragged with the bike, Sir. You will see tire marks on the road. You can still see it. And look at the state of the bike, Sir. It’s gone. We want to file a case. And he tried to run away, Sir, but one Uncle and a lady dressed in jute didn’t let him go. O and an IT professional, Sir. I think he was the one who called the Hoysala.”

“Saar, that is not true, kandri, Saar. This girl was turning into the road without looking here or there. Her fault, Saar. You know how girls are, Saar. Not my fault at all. Ella kandri Saar.”

“What do you mean how girls are?”

“Madam, please control.” Khakhi interrupts.

“Which call centre, kandri?”

“Accenture, Saar.”

“Hmmm. Call your manager.”

“Why all that, Saar? See, no witness also.”

That’s when everyone realises old wrinkled sari has run away.

“Okay. Settle maadi then.”

“Saar, I am poor driver man, Saar. I just got married, Saar. You will know, kandri. How much costly it is.”

“3,000 for repairs. 1,000 for the girl’s hospital. See, she is bleeding, paapa. And 5,000 for how easily we have solved this crime.”

“Saar, where I will get 9,000 from kandri Saar.”

“Excuse me, Sir, but we want to book a case. File a complaint. He cannot drive like that. He ought to be taught a lesson.” The girl has tears and fire in her eyes.

“Tell your daughter, ri. Will she come to court? And tell her how expensive it will be. This is best for all.”

“But Sir, he cannot be allowed to go scot-free. He almost killed my daughter.”

“Scot-free, ella, illa ri. Now he will pay, no? Take what you can and get the bike repaired. God is great. Nothing happened to your daughter. Otherwise. Just last week. Not so lucky as your daughter. Poor fellow. He was only 24. Same age as your daughter, I think. Paapa. What to do? Hanebaraha. All fate.”

“Ay, driver, come now, give cash.”

“Saar, I have only five thousand with me now, Saar.”

“Give me.”

Khakhi takes the 5,000 and puts the 1,000 in his pant pocket. His man boobs lean backwards as he does this. He offers the 4,000 to the dad and the girl.

“Leave now, Sir. Ai, constable, address thogoli ree. We will drop the bike to your house. Take our Hoysala gaadi and go home. We are here to serve people. Take care of your daughter, Sir. Paapa hudugi, bhaya biddidale. Put some Anjaneya yantra. Go, Sir. And you, driver, friend-gind ilva? Borrow madri. You need to give me another 4,000 rupees.

“Saar. Newly married saar…”

The whinging voice carries out of the police station as the father and the limping daughter go sit in the Hoysala gaadi.

Written for the challenge Character Chaos on ode.la: Describe a scene with as many characters as possible — but each character should be somewhat memorable.

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About Bhumika's Boudoir

I love to laugh, and end up being a part of high drama and stormy emotion even when I don't pursue it. Being creative, and communicating with people get me going. I enjoy all the good things in life especially those that are slightly risque, and apologise little, if ever, for all that I do. Literature is a passion and so is music.
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2 Responses to Accident

  1. Kanchan Char says:

    You should write a book, B ! 🙂 You can really paint a picture with your words, and invest details in even the most basic imagery. xxx

    Like

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