Ulloor junction is a busy junction. It lies on the national highway connecting Kollam in the north and Kanyakumari in the south. A kilometer ahead in the southern direction lies the Medical College. Ambulances coming from the north pass through this junction. They are always given priority. A path will be carved for them by the policemen. Today there are no ambulances to be seen or heard of. Nor are there any incessant honking of cars and buses. An eerie silence prevails. A couple of cars have crashed onto either side of the junction. They are hard crashes. It seems that the vehicle wasn’t moving at a high speed when the crash happened. Unlike the first one, I saw these are better. Apart from that everything else is kind of similar. There is no one inside these cars. On a couple of fallen bikes, there isn’t any trace of human life. I think if I go and check these cars for their keys, I am sure to find them inside the car locked in the ignition. The street lamps are still on. I ride to the junction and will be taking the straight road to the college.

When I moved in with her after our marriage, we took time to adjust to life with each other. We are two very distinct individuals. Our tastes differ and so do our views. We have different approaches to things. Sometimes they clash with each other. But they have been healthy clashes. We talk it out and try to make sense of it together. Soon we would have brushed it aside and would be proceeding on with our day. Initially, she would take the scooter to go to college. Whenever she left the house, I would plant a kiss on her forehead and give her a good hug. As she took the scooter out of the apartment complex, I would look at her drive out from one of the bedroom windows. I would follow her till she went out of my sight. My day began after that.

Nowadays I drop her off and pick her up from college. It has become a ritual of sorts. We have our breakfast and get ready by eight. Most of the time I would be the one taking the wheels. She takes it whenever she feels she is getting late. When she is the pillion she likes to sit in a sideways stance. She tells me that she is more comfortable sitting in the normal way but she has always wanted to sit sideways and travel with whoever she was gonna end up with. She was fascinated seeing how her parents traveled in that manner and wanted to experience it once she got married. She likes to hug me and hold onto me in that position. Having done this for quite some time now, she has become very comfortable in it and has given up the thought of sitting the normal way. I have become very fond of it too. It feels very couple-like. It takes me back to my childhood days too when my parents also traveled in their scooter in the same manner. Up to a certain age, I got to sit in the front. As I was gaining height at a good pace, I was relegated to sitting in between them. Soon I was too big for that. A scooter wasn’t enough for the three of us.

Sitting behind me, she would observe our surroundings and pass on any interesting thing she comes across. Sometimes it would be the way someone was staring at us. She would scratch my thighs and draw my attention. Then she would whisper it to me in a very normal way, making sure that the person she was talking about remained in the dark. Mostly I would give some crappy remark which would either evoke a cheerful laugh or a sarcastic pinch. In both instances, I would laugh, which would create a lighter mood within us. This happens when we were waiting for the signal to turn green at this junction.

While we wait for the signal, a couple of restaurants in the surrounding have always attracted us. I tell her that we have to check them out one day. She concurs. But it hasn’t happened yet. These aren’t fancy restaurants. They are the local ones, where one is bound to get fresh local food. They display their menu out in the front on large blackboards - a typical menu of a Kerala restaurant. I feel shops like these are bound to have at least one dish that would surpass all the others. It would make the visit worthwhile. I really want to explore them and find it out. It is not an easy task but worth a try.

Hearing all this would make you think that I am a big foodie and love to eat. Well, I love to eat. And I like to discover new places and try them out. But I can’t eat much. I am someone who pecks, as put by my mother and wife. It is like feeding the chickens. You keep the food and they would peck at it. That is how I eat. A seven-year-old would eat more than I would. Even my grandfather eats almost double the amount I have for breakfast. He is in good health for a eighty-six year old. I am pretty sure I wouldn’t be in that state when I approach that number. Eighty-six looks far from happening. Seventy is what we see for ourselves.

I used to eat better when I was in college. During the final year, whenever a treat was organized by my friend for getting a job, I could finish off half a grilled chicken with ease. There would be enough space left for a dessert too. Now the thought itself terrifies me. Even quarter-grilled chicken looks daunting. I guess my intestines have shriveled. Stomach too. It is good in a way. I am healthy and feel great. The only bad thing that has occurred as a result of this is the decrease in my drinking capacity. I am done with a bottle of beer now. Back then I could easily finish off two bottles and maybe help myself to another half. I would be steady. I have always made it a point to drink till the point I am happy high. I would stop and drink no more cause I know it would finally waste me and end up crashing on a bed, or on the floor. I would be done for the night. I don’t want that. I want to be up for the night, enjoy the atmosphere and see all the shenanigans my friends are pulling off. This is what makes me feel great.

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I am taking a lot of time to reach her. I know this is not good but I can’t help it. I can’t make heads or tails or what is going on around here. This is affecting me. I am also wondering why isn’t she calling me or why hasn’t the networks come up again. I feel nauseous thinking about it.

The whole place feels like a ghost city. I have read about ghost cities somewhere. Maybe I have seen a movie or documentary, I don’t remember. They take us through this deserted city that has been left idle for years. The houses have started to degrade. Wild vegetation has slowly taken over and the place has a desolate feeling.

I approach the junction. It is not a great sight.

On the road that leads towards Kesavadasapuram, a couple of bikes have collided with each other and lie in a mangled heap. From one of them, petrol is leaking out. A car has crashed onto the pavement railing. Another car crashed onto a parked ambulance and pushed it onto the pavement near a bakery.

The road that I need to take has double the crashes. A car has rammed into the signal. It must have provided the necessary impact to throw away the signal lights. A jeep has crushed the railing on the pavement and has encroached on it. The lights are on and the hazard lights are blinking. A cycle lies under it, all mangled up. It’s one of those old cycles that our grandparent’s generation has used, the one with the scissor brakes, center stand, chain cover, and ringing bell. If my memory is correct then Atlas was one of the famous brands. I remember seeing the logo in front of the cycle right below the handle. In some cases, the crossbar would have a cover with an advertisement of the cycle shop from where it was bought. Some even had mud flaps. Most of them would have a seat cover. It would have extra padding, making it much more comfortable than the stock seat provided.

I tried them in my childhood. It was difficult to pedal them. The chain was tight and I was having difficulty getting my legs to pedal properly. They were big compared to the simpler Hero and Hercules cycles. One thing that was great about them was their ability to transport people. One could easily sit on the carrier. Another one could be accommodated in the front crossbar. It was sturdy and would easily take the weight. When riding in pairs, the pillion would be in the front. This made it much easier to pedal and take the extra load. The same has been glorified in countless Malayalam movies. The hero and the heroine would be riding one over a green landscape as a love song plays in the background. Even some stunts have been performed with these cycles. They have surely left a mark in the history of bicycles. Anyone who has had an experience with it would remember how iconic they were at one point in time. In a time when cycling has become a leisurely activity and a medium for workouts, these cycles will be easily forgotten. Soon they would be relegated to museums and would be showcased as an exhibit in their evolution.

The cycles that prowl the road now are mostly single-rider oriented. They are lightweight, sleek, and geared. They are on display in the decathlon in front of me. It had started in one of the building complexes here a few months back. The top floor showcases their range of cycles. It is a good advertisement. I too get allured seeing it from time to time. I was about to buy one. But my wife asked me to think hard and fast about it and give it some time in my head. I came to the conclusion that it would only be used in the initial days, after which it will be relegated to a corner of the house. Although she likes to cycle, she doesn't have time. She made this very clear from the moment I pitched the idea. I might use it when I am home if I am in the mood. It all depended on that. In the end, I dropped the idea. One day when I am more at home and have a scheduled life, I could probably think of keeping aside some time for cycling on a daily basis. Then it would make sense to invest in one.

Diagonally opposite a car has rammed onto another one from behind. There isn’t much impact on these cars. I can’t see anyone in them. Nor any signs that people inside were taken out. The doors are closed for both vehicles.

In short, it seems like the end of the world. There is chaos and a feeling that it has just started. I don’t know what role I have to play in all this. I secretly wish I don’t have to. I can become the victim wholeheartedly.

The chaos I witness kicks in the urge to reach her as quickly as possible. I throttle hard and speed up. I navigate a couple of cars that are lying on the road. One of them is in the middle, the other to the side. I look at the surroundings as I ride on. The neon boards of the testing centers are lit. The signboards of various hotels and lodges are lit too. All the shops are closed, even the medical shops. These aren’t twenty-four-hour shops. There are a couple of them at the medical college junction. But I won’t be taking that route. There is another shorter by-pass road leading to her department. It avoids the main signal. We take that. I turn the scooter at the cutting in the divider to the by-pass road. My heartbeat has risen. There is visible stress and tension in my face. I hope she is all right.