That the two men stood up for their female
companions was obviously the right thing to do, and they will always be respected
and admired for it. However, I still can’t understand why Keenan Santos and
Reuben Fernandez decided to continue to hang around outside the restaurant,
having been threatened by two vicious goons, that a bigger attack was coming.
Was the paan irresistible? Naah, can’t be that, most paan makers in Mumbai
churn out average stuff. My own hunch: It was male ego at work; not willing to
back away from a potential confrontation. Or not wanting to be seen to be
backing away.
Their tragedy reminds of a similar
situation I once found myself in. About twenty years ago, we had dropped by at
New Yorker restaurant at Marine Drive for dinner. I used to love their
strawberry ice-cream soda, wonder if they still serve it, and if it still tastes
as good. As usual, I digress.
For some reason, vehicles were crammed
along the Marine Drive stretch, and we couldn’t find a single slot to dump the
car in. It was peak summer, I still recall, and in those days, because I was
not ‘senior enough’ in the organization I worked for, they had allotted me a ‘non
air-conditioned’ Maruti 800. Hot under the collar, and desperate to dive into
the ice-cream soda, I frantically looked for space, any space. Eventually, not
finding any, I steered the car into the back lanes of Marine Drive, hoping to
get lucky. Of course, they were packed too, local residents park their vehicles
in these lanes. Builders of those ancient structures did not account for India’s
auto revolution.
By now I had run out of patience, and
so had my two companions, one male and one female. Just as I was about to drown
in my own sweat, I found one slot close to what looked like a car garage. Not
outside it, close to it. I triumphantly parked there, and we decided to make a
dash for New Yorker. The strawberry ice-cream soda alongside chana bhatura was
going to happen, after all.
Just at that moment, two young men, topless
and wearing soiled shorts, car mechanics that obviously crashed inside the
garage at night, came charging at me, and demanded that I remove my car. I launched
a protest. It was a public road, and I wasn’t blocking their gate, or anyone’s gate
for that matter.
‘Nahin bola matlab nahin. Yeh apun ka
space hai. Chal nikal abhi.’
Now the cocktail of Bombay summer, ‘non
air-conditioned vehicle’, and rude, unreasonable pests can be a lethal one. I
lost my already boiling head, and soon we were down to MCs and BCs.
‘%$#& tu thahar idhar, dikhate
hain tere ko.’ One of them hollered, as they rushed into their garage.
What was my immediate reaction? I
panicked. Not just because I’ve never been a ‘macho man’, I was conscious of
the fact there was a woman with us (and I state that at the risk of offending
my easily-offended feminist pals). And the panic probably saved our lives.
We jumped into the car, reversed, and
started to race out of the lane. In the review view mirror I saw six topless men
chasing the car, shouting cuss words, all of them armed with ‘weapons’ that can
be found in a car garage. Iron rods, car jacks, spanners, hammers and other
unrecognizable objects.
Thankfully the lane wasn’t crowded and
so I could speed out and hit the Marine Drive road. And these men chased us
right till there. They wanted to see blood that night, that was clear.
Heaving a sigh of relief, and having
long forgotten New Yorker’s tempting menu, we continued speeding right till
Haji Ali. And then slipped into the juice center, to down good old mausambi
juice. No match for strawberry ice-cream soda, but it did help me cool off, and
to be thankful for having escaped in one piece.
So what’s my point? There are times in
life when we men need to kill our stupid ego, and quietly exit from a dangerously
volatile situation. Because some battles in life just aren’t worth fighting.
To be fair, and as I said at the
start, we don’t know exactly what transpired at Amboli, what prompted that
group to continue to linger in the area. One thing I am sure of, however: Had
they chosen to flee, much like I did, they would have been alive today. The
group could have later visited the local police station to file charges, if
they wished to.
Some of you might find my actions to
be that of a chicken-hearted sissy, and you might diss me for suggesting Keenan
and Reuben ought to have behaved likewise. Fair enough, and I will live with
that.
And twenty years later I would
still catch the patli galli in a similar situation. Thank you very much. And yeah, must do New Yorker one of these days. Will hail an Uber this time, it's air-conditioned, too.
