On Pedestrians

BY K. CHANDRASEKHARAN, M.A., B.L.

Walking in as old as human life on our planet. It was the earliest mode of conveyance from place to place, before man could learn to subdue the fleet-footed animal and harness it. It was more a necessity with the nomadic habits of our ancestors. It has a beauty and plainness which cannot be surpassed by the quickest of modern locomotion. The discovery of motor power, with its infinite capacity to satisfy the complex needs of our civilization, has only taxed us heavily. It has sapped our muscular strength and robbed us of the pleasure of slow and leisurely moving. It has quickened the pace of life and crowded the thoroughfares of men. It has increased the trade of the West and multiplied the wants of the East. It has added considerably to the output of labour per head and proportionately denied to all the free growth and pure air essential for health and contentment.

Walking which was once a sheer necessity has become now quite a thing of medical value. Unlike any other method of exercise, walking allows the mind freedom from exertion. The pedestrian is enviably unique in this respect. He can score his points in the midst of distractions. His muscular movement also gains an evenness which has even the qualities of mechanical regularity.

The pedestrian has an innate jealousy of the man in the vehicle. He has a secret hatred for the rotation of the wheel which has caused almost a discord in the ancient order of things. He dislikes it, as it imprints the line of demarcation between the rich and the poor. He loathes it because he covets it. The millionaire proceeding on foot earns a cheap popularity for his quite simple habits. For walking levels down all beings to the ordinary. The man who lacks a lively interest in sports, often resorts to pedestrianism. For it does not require any special training or capacity. It can never give the bitterness of failure resulting from inherent disabilities for games. For walking is to the child just as eating or sleeping is. But there are swift and tardy walkers, even as there are quick and slow brains. This difference, if it exists, is often more providential than man-made.

The pedestrian has his own waywardness and opinions. He derives keen pleasure in crossing the road. His sense of dignity is cut to the quick when the traffic regulations define his limits on the King's Highway. He revolts occasionally against the law, only to blink helplessly in the midst of rushing traffic on the road. The rainy day enthuses him sufficiently to indulge in his pet aversion for cars, us the constant fear of a shower bath in the dirty water drives him to and fro in self-protection. And the audible merriment, sometimes, of the inmates of a car at the sight of his plight, exasperates him to despair. But he little reckons that the instincts of man and the love of motion are more responsible for the callousness of the car driver. And when, with god-like grace, he himself turns from a pedestrian into a car owner, he leaves behind him all his principles, even as the raging democrat does when armed with the power he once despised.

Though walking has never been considered a rare endowment, pedestrians have always a pride in their own achievements. Great men have been and are good walkers. The sense of vanity is tickled on being reminded of it. But there are faddists here just as in everything else. To some, walking is as necessary a stimulant as the morning coffee. Many are indifferent as to the distance they cover. With a few, anything short of a daily routine easily upsets them. Some feel company an obstacle to their steady progress, others like moving with halts and starts as a marriage procession. Perhaps one or two avoid even familiar faces in order to gain a sure pace and purpose.

The joy of life is often given to the man who knows to enjoy. Slow movement has its own rewards for him just as quick action has its own profits. He alone knows the pleasure of strolling under the open skies, far from the din of madding crowds. Pure air improves him; fresh sights and sounds invigorate him. He sees more in Nature which is his. Smiling fields and waving branches, sweet sounds and distant hum, fill him with a satisfaction beyond comparison. The hard realities of existence are forgotten in the immensity of bright life around. It restores to him the capacity not to lay waste his powers. The world is not too much with him.

In the speedy delights of modern motion and the fast inter-communication of distant parts of the world by the aid of science, the pedestrian has no significance from an utilitarian point of view. The foot messenger has been long since substituted by the wire and the wireless. He no longer serves the needs of our society. He has become a relic of the past and an object of real curiosity. Still his pristine glory is preserved in this ancient land of mine as a mark of ascetic life.

The true Sanyasin avoids the train and the car in his great work and wanderings for social service. He begs on foot his way through the babbling world of high and low and brings the light of his vision to the dark and dingy corners of humanity. His feet can take him where cars and carriages may fail. The feeble voice of the suffering multitudes can rarely reach the man in haste. It is the lingering pedestrian who knows the normal life, the simple joys and the deep sorrows of countless hearts in all their magnitude. It is he that nourishes the best ideals of the humanitarian.