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Spice of Life | Indebted to the helping hands on the highway
He then went about looking for the jack, but couldn’t find it. This was understandable because he wasn’t my usual driver. As I called the latter hoping that he would pick up the phone at that unearthly hour, a highway patrol jeep stopped beside us
It was a simple task. One of the many I had put on my son’s to-do list. He was home for a month and I felt entitled to make him do some chores around the house. ‘Men stuff’, as it is called, some fixing and tinkering, repairing and replacing. The task in question was to check if the spare wheel of my car had deflated and needed fixing.
He forgot, as youngsters, with so much on their mind, often do and I forgot as the aged, with so little in their mind, often do. On our way to the airport, I was suddenly reminded of the task and asked him about it. He sheepishly admitted to have forgotten. Disappointed, I asked him what would happen if I was stuck with a flat tyre on a deserted road on my way home. I made up this hypothetical situation to emphasise my displeasure. Since he was leaving, I restrained from saying anything further. Farewells are anyway difficult, teary, messy affairs.
On my return journey, in the wee hours of the morning, I was jerked out of my sleep when I sensed that the car wasn’t moving. I opened my eyes and found that the driver was at the rear opening its boot. Upon asking, he told me that we had a flat tyre. It seemed that by vividly imagining the situation, I had made it manifest; a secret law of attraction most sensible people know! Fearing the worst, I asked him to check the spare wheel. Seconds later, he told me that although it was partially deflated it was still our best option.
He then went about looking for the jack but couldn’t find it. This was understandable because he wasn’t my usual driver. As I called the latter hoping that he would pick up the phone at that unearthly hour, a highway patrol jeep stopped beside us. Sensing trouble, I quickly ascertained whether we were in a no parking stretch. Relieved that it wasn’t the case, I wondered what else could be the reason. I started crossing off items from a mental check list. My car registration, pollution control certificate and insurance papers were in the glove case. I had my driving licence and hopefully the driver would have his.
As I was trying to figure out the reason for their interest, they briefly talked to the driver and came back with a jack. They helped him change the tyre. Then noticing that it needed air, they brought out a pump and filled it. All this was done in a matter of minutes. Quite impressed with their resourcefulness and promptness, I asked my driver how much I needed to pay them. “Nothing,” he said with confidence. “The government has appointed them to patrol the highway and provide assistance.”
I looked at the two representatives of the government doubtfully. Incredibly, they didn’t have the typical “kuchh chai paani” faces. As I thanked them profusely, feeling almost guilty for not paying, they gathered their equipment and were gone.
And I stood there, ashamed of my prejudice against these helping hands on the highway.
dr_manjugupta@icloud.com
The writer is a Gharaunda-based gynaecologist
