What Dreams Are Made Of  

On 14^th April 2012, we had as many as 65 volunteers which included residents from the neighbourhood and employees from Genpact. My fellow trustee, Arathi, and I supervised the work which started quite early in the morning. The volunteers’ enthusiasm translated into a great deal of weeding, piling it into baskets and taking it for composting to a corner in our Puttenahalli Lake.

Working under the blazing sun our gang pushed on till noon. We saw them off hoping that they would return soon for we needed to get the lake ready for the monsoon. After checking that no rake or basket was lying around forgotten, Arathi and I left together. Just as we came out, we saw thick black smoke rising from the vacant plot across the lake. In a city struggling to manage its solid waste, it was common to see trash thrown into any open patch of land and equally common to see it all go up in flames one day. But this was bigger than any we had seen before. Arathi called the Fire Brigade and a fire engine arrived promptly. Led by one Mr. Puttaboraiah, the firemen directed water from their hose pipe and put out the fire.

They raked the blackened mass and doused the lurking flames. Several people stopped to watch. Was the person who caused the fire among them? Would he realize what he had done to the environment? To me?  

When the situation came under control, I wanted to leave but Mr. Puttaboraiah asked me to wait. As the complainant and Chairperson of the Trust, I had to sign the log book. I could do this only after he had written about the incident. He would first ensure that the fire was fully extinguished and the men had rolled up the hose. Would I like to wait in the fire engine? Would I?

Up so close, the bright red fire truck loomed like a monster. I climbed the narrow ledge of a step and entered a fantasy world.

It seemed as if my head wasn’t a few inches from the ceiling, my feet didn’t touch the ground, and my butt didn’t rest on the rexine seat behind the driver. From this height, the outside world was far away and the rush of vehicles, endless. I was tempted to ask the driver if I could occupy his seat but decided not to push my luck too far.

For the full five minutes that it took Mr. Puttaboraiah to return, I lived a dream that any child would envy, and perhaps any adult too!

Thanks to Arathi Manay for preserving those memorable moments.