On foot, a happy man

Rajesh Krishan

FOR most of my college days, my only mode of transportation was a scooter, Chetak, which was a big hit in the early 1990s. In contrast to my father’s Lambretta 150, or Lamby as it was famously known, which I occasionally rode, it was lighter in weight, quieter, fuel-efficient and easy to manoeuvre. I did everything on it: rode to friends’ homes, went for movies, picnics, even shopping. 

But then around 2000, not long after I finished my university studies, a change took place and I landed my first job which took me to a hill station. This rendered my scooter useless and eventually led me to sell it. As much as I enjoyed riding on it, I found out, much to my delight, that I enjoyed the liberty of travelling without it far more.

Time passed, and in a short few years, walking became my primary mode of transportation. It was then I decided that I’d stick to my habit and never own a vehicle again. Then, a few years later, I changed my job and went abroad only to return home to the family nest a few years later. All this time, I kept my habit going and continued to commute by walking. But things took a different turn when we moved to a suburb (of Panchkula), where there were no cycle-rickshaws or autorickshaws, bus service was almost nonexistent and taxis, well, too expensive.

Suddenly, even mundane tasks like shopping for groceries, posting a letter, visiting the hairdresser became an ordeal. Things got worse when my mom, who was in her mid-60s, broke her ankle. She had to be rushed to the hospital, which involved multiple trips for follow-up care over months. My dad offered me his car, which I gladly availed myself of. It saved me time and energy, but it also forced me to forego some of my independence. I had to drive with caution, concentrate on the speed, keep an eye out for traffic lights and no-parking zones, and follow one-way signs with precision. I also experienced a near-miss with a speeding bike on one occasion. And I sat stuck in massive jams to and from the hospital on innumerable occasions.

The doctor who operated my mom’s shattered ankle with a rod and screws cautioned me that her bones were like chalk. He warned me that unless she lost weight and adhered to the prescribed restrictions, her ankle would never recover. He also gave a piece of advice that’s stuck with me ever since — ‘Make sure your mother doesn’t fall again’.

Today, roughly a year and a half later, my mom has recovered a great deal, but I still often wonder if things would have panned out differently if she had taken care of her and restricted the rate of bone loss by walking regularly all those years. My mind keeps worrying about what the future holds for her and for everyone in this nation whose life is dependent on car travel.

Meanwhile, in the suburb where I reside, the facilities have hardly improved since we moved here and daily commuting continues to be a challenge with little attention paid to public transportation facilities. It troubles me to see that, but it troubles me even more to see people regularly rely on their personal vehicles even for short distances. The only thing that’s reassuring for me amidst this scenario is to know that I still enjoy using my feet as much as ever, and that I haven’t been stuck in traffic for a long time.