Every evening, while going back home from office, I pass this cemetery underneath the fly over. Not very visible from the road but if you pull over your vehicle on the left side and look down you can see rows after rows of graves with crosses neatly arranged  sparkling white even by the dimming light of the downing sun.

Going by the colour, it seems comparatively new. But my driver tells me its an old one. “It was always there,” says he. I wonder why I never noticed it earlier. And now they have put up a signage too in the midst of the road with an arrow indicating to the left. I again wonder why. Perhaps we should be aware of the dead resting in peace beneath the busy thoroughfare. Respect the calmness of the place away from the clutter of everyday life.

The flyover is actually part of a speeding highway. The traffic is never slow here. No-one waits for anybody. No-one stops by. In the mornings while going to work I take a different route through the city. There is a cemetery along that route too. But its broad daylight. Though the place is rumoured to be haunted it does not give me the creeps.

Yet it is different in the evenings. Every time I pass by the cemetery I have this queer thought what will happen if my car breaks down here. Its almost dusk when I pass by in the summers and its dark during winters. You can feel the change in the seasons as you go by this route. The altering hues of the sky. As I move away from the Office Complexes and Commercial Areas, habitation thins. The road becomes broader flanked alternately by fallow lands or deep vegetation. You can see dimly lit villages further away. The traffic is heavy in patches intercepted by passages where you can accelerate your car happily till you reach the next oasis of vehicular congestion.

As my car cuts through the labyrinth of two and three and four wheelers, I ponder once again on what would happen if I am stranded on this speeding highway with no-one to help as night stealthily stalks the city-scape. It is more than a decade now that I have been rushing home by this road. Thankfully no such untoward event has ever happened till now. Yet, each time I see the signage the quirky thought presses upon my mind like a stone stuck in a ditch leaving me a little restless, a little uncomfortable, a little uncertain.

About gc1963

A working woman with interests in reading, writing, music, poetry and fine arts.

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