A tiffin box in a traffic jam

Instead of entering my office premises, I decided to do a somersault. I had to take that decision, if I wanted to save myself from the lashes of a biting tongue back home. I decided to pedal back the four kilometres that I had covered. The going was tough, the traffic was moving very slowly, and with it was slowing down the pace of my heart. Suddenly it stopped. Oh! Not the heart, but the flow of traffic.

"What is the problem," I asked an anxious looking face, peering out from his driving window. "Oh there is a bomb on the crossroad ahead," so saying he crossed his heart. "A bomb!" thought I, and immediately the high alert warning alarm rang in my ears. After the recent serial blasts, the government had issued a caution against touching abandoned things.

I decided to lock the bike on the road side and wade my way through the milling crowd to the epicentre of the entire rigmarole. My journalistic instinct made me forget the urgency that had made me cancel my entry into the office. The urge to see the "apprehensive" object overpowered my prior priority.

The entire area was buzzing with excited voices. "It is rapped in a cloth," said one voice. "What? The bomb?" enquired another. "What else you fool?" answered an irritated voice. The entire area was cordoned off. The police dogs were already doing their job. Sniffing all around.

Suddenly there was a great shout of alarm. "It is going to explode," some one shouted from the crowd. And that cry was enough to create a near stampede.

I had to jostle with a hoard of retreating onlookers, who had decided to read about it in the newspaper the next day, rather than be read about! Adding to the noise of the human chaos, were the blaring sirens on the police cars. And lending their voices to it, were the ones resounding on ambulances and fire tenders. The barking dogs, contributed their own might to the ongoing pandemonium.

The bomb-disposal squad was all ready with its mask and other equipment needed for any exigency. The fire tenders were all set with the nozzles of their water cannons pointing at the article. Doctors hastily arranged their apparatus too. Some were already putting on their gloves. Three masked persons inched forward, holding before them, the bomb-detectors.

Green signal

While the unaware crowd at the back, continued with their clamouring; those occupying the front view were all silent. We could see the green lights beeping from the indicators. Yup! green meant that things were under control. But people were also aware that the green turning into red did not take much time. Many were already in the "On your marks..." style, ready to flee. The squad personnel inched closer, yet the instrument continued to beep the green light. Then one of them touched the brown envelope with his device. The green remained green. Well this was indeed an encouraging signal.

Finally, one of them could muster both courage and conviction and touched the brown paper bag. But with no unusual activity taking place, the officer picked up the bag and opened it. He peered in the interior and then put his hands inside and started fumbling with something. He then looked up at the gazing, anxious eyes that were glued on him. He gave a smile, picked out a tiffin box from the paper bag and waved it to the crowd.

The news that it was just a tiffin box and not a bomb brought a halt to the exodus. Now the crowd at the back surged forward.

The multitude started pushing onwards once again. Their eyes were still as shiny and bright, as they were two hours back, when the tiffin box was spotted lying on the road. But the sparkle this time, was not so much for the box, as it was to know about what it contained.

I again had to push myself against the crowd. I had no reasons to see, what the rest were so curious to know. I knew the menu. For the tiffin box was mine.

Vimal Yogi Tiwari is a journalist based in India.