The eternal mystery of ‘horn ok please’
AMONG unsolved mysteries, ‘horn ok please’ will stay right at the top. This message is written/painted behind almost every truck. One day, the puzzle of the Mohenjo-Daro script will be solved. But ‘horn ok please’ shall continue to confound us.
I surmise that ‘horn ok please’ must be some kind of ‘maha-vakya’ like ‘tat tvam asi’. I am sure the meaning is subtle and sublime. I try my best to understand it by rearranging the words. Does it mean ‘All is ok with you? Then, please sound the horn!’ Or ‘Is your horn ok? Then, please sound it!’ Whichever way I look at it, I am dissatisfied with the interpretation.
I can gauge from the style of honking the mood of the person behind the wheel. If it is a short, crisp ‘beep’ at each crossroads, it reflects a ‘cheery’ person. All is good with him and with the world around him. A person who is in a mad rush to reach the railway station conveys his impatience with a continuous round of ‘beep-beep-beep’. His intent is clear through the horn, ‘Get out of the way, you slobs! I have no time!’
The horn can also convey anger. This is apparent when the traffic signal turns green and the vehicle in front shows no urgency to start. The horn is sounded with a certain ‘continuum in the duration’— it is one long ‘beeeeep’. The horn taunts the person, ‘You sleepy head! Wake up and drive away!’
The horn can indicate frustration too. This mood is sensed when I am stuck in a traffic jam. For 45 minutes, I stay rooted to the same spot. I have no idea what the delay is all about. ‘When is this jam going to clear? God, I cannot take this anymore!’ How do I express this intense frustration? By honking! I honk without reason, knowing fully well that there’s no one to hear me or respond to my plea!
The entire gamut of human emotions — shringaara, raudra, bibhatsa — you name it, the nava-rasas can be conveyed through a simple horn.
It is 2 am. All is quiet. Pin-drop silence. Peace and tranquillity reign. Like a blanket, the night has spread itself out, enveloping the world in its cosy ambit. And then comes the anti-climax. Out of the blue, the burglar alarm sounds from one of the parked cars. It scares the living daylights out of us. It is a high-pitched shriek, followed by a continuous ‘clank-clank-clank’ and then, it’s back to the shriek. This pattern continues: ‘shriek-clank-clank-shriek-clank-clank’. Street dogs bark in anger. The entire neighbourhood is wide awake, some people peering out of the balcony. Imagine if every car was fitted with this monstrous horn!
After 20 minutes of mayhem, sanity returns. Maybe the burglar walked away with the car. I cannot thank him enough. Maybe the owner turned the alarm off. Maybe a Good Samaritan came with a cricket bat and smashed the car windows as well as the horn. Whichever way, I go back to sleep.
