Screech….. Peeeeep. Peeep peeep peeeeeeeeeeeeep. Hoonnnnnnnkkk. Pwom pwom..
Oh, do you hear these lovely sounds! Yeah, they come from the western express highway. How do I know? Oh come on, Are you kinda kidding me! How do I know? I’m a pot hole in the mid of Western Express Highway. Well, you wanna know my story?
The riders and the drivers are not scared of the pot-bellied traffic cop as they are of the Pot hole. Each and every one has to slow down, bow to me and pay honor, lest they had it. I’m proud rouge who has brutally murdered 23 people, fractured 70 limbs, dislocated 10 shoulders; oh sorry lost the count of the spinal cord injuries. Generally, growth is phenomenon which happens due to consumption of stuff. Mine is different. I grow due to deterioration of myself. My edges swell when I’m hit by the vehicles. I love rapes to be performed upon me, cos that helps me rape people in return. Yup that’s my passion.
My best days are the monsoon. I love rains. The more rains, the more I grow and more I can rape the population. I hid under the water, muddy dark water, who likes to accumulate in me and stay as my companion; and in disguise of the road, people hit hard on me. Ah, what a pleasure! My father never wanted to produce me. He never wanted a brutal child like me. But fate had a different will.
How did I fucking come here? You wanna know? Well, you really wanna know? Okay, pay attention then.
Pot holes in Mumbai are generally created before they create a road. My Father, the Great Western Express highway told me this before my birth. My father was born outta the great efforts of the laborers, contractors, corporators, Municipal officers and the Commissioner as well many gluttonous politicians in the city. The whole patch of the concrete and tar and sand and mortar and what not, congregated to form a uniformed leveled stretch connecting the Suburbs of the Western Mumbai. Now these smart asses, under the leveled uniformed road hatched a big plot to vex up the millions of rupees under the name of maintenance. The hollow fillings, the low quality raw material and cheap other stuff could not help my father to survive the constant rape the vehicles on the road performed on him.
And I was born due to the negligence & ignorance of you fucking morons who is reading this stuff, who call themselves the citizen of the country and the voters of the constitution, the so called elite educated people, whose minds have never gotta time to think of the serious injuries and death I caused due to no fault of mine. Bloody curses and slangs are thrown at me for no fault of mine. None of you ever wanted to know the quality of the cement and concrete used to make my father. Fuck RTI.Yes, it’s my fault to cause mishaps & accidents, I know. But I didn’t apply for the job, neither did I apply to be produced in the first hand, why curse me? These gluttons first make me rape you, and then they rape your wallet, your rights and your peace of mind and keep on doing this by filling me with the temporary sand or patches of black tar. Do they think I’m a fool?
I'm already famous enough to create landmarks now. People guide others in this way, " Take a left to that big pot hole on the corner of the signal". I’ll adapt and evolve to every step taken to fill or patch me. I know how to do that! I’m invincible (atleast in Mumbai).
