“Painting a pedestrian crossing across the road!” “He is spoiling our beautiful black road!” shouted the rickshaw driver to a truck driver who was passing by, “Hold onto him while I park my truck,” said the truck driver and parked his truck behind the little rickshaw, “What do you mean by spoiling our wonderful black road?” he asked the frightened painter.
“Please leave me sir, I am only doing my job!” “His job is to dirty our road!” shouted the rickshaw driver and the truck driver together. “Who told you to paint these white lines?” “The municipality sir, advised by the traffic police!” “Traffic police ha, ha, ha!” laughed the truck driver, and the rickshawwallah together. “Who are you fellows laughing about?” asked a traffic policeman walking to where the poor painter was being held by the two.
“He is dirtying the road constable sahib!” “That is not under my jurisdiction, I control traffic, not who dirties roads!” “Sir these lines I am painting, will help you control traffic!” “These white lines are to control traffic?” “Yes sir, traffic stops when a pedestrian steps on the zebra crossing!” said the painter struggling to free himself from the truck driver’s muscular grasp. The policeman walked over to the tin of paint and peered inside, “This tin of white paint is going to get me unemployed,” he said, “I am the one who controls traffic, not a zebra crossing!”
“Hear! Hear!” shouted both the truck driver and the rickshaw driver, “How dare you spoil a black road with white paint, how dare you belittle constable sahib over here?” “What is the matter?” asked two pedestrians as they stopped, “Why are you holding this man?” “He wants to paint lines across the road,” said the traffic constable, “So that you will cross only here!”
“What nonsense!” said the first pedestrian. “Curtailing our freedom by making us cross only at one spot,” fumed the second. “Forcing me to get unemployed!” shouted the policeman. “Wasting our time by making us stop for pedestrians!” shouted the truck driver. The crowd kicked the tin of white paint, spreading it all over the road, as the truck driver went back to his truck and the rickshawallah drove away, and the poor painter crossed the road, depressed, not looking and was hit by a taxi.
“Take him to hospital! Take him to hospital!” shouted the policeman. “What happened?” asked the doctor in the hospital. “Hit when crossing the road!” said the policeman. “You should have a pedestrian crossing painted there!” said the doctor as the policeman nodded and the painter moaned and turned wearily away.