Our food soldiers on wheels

A colleague who returned from an Asian media conference in Philippines came back with a small but telling message that was circulating there — for a journalist, there is no story worth dying for.
It’s a simple, logical fact that if a journalist dies while trying to get a story, the journalist becomes a larger story than what that scribe intended to tell the world, but failed because the journalist never lived to tell it.

You will be surprised that even for soldiers, many of who have laid their lives down for their people, this simple message applies as relevantly as to anyone else. The famous tank-busting hero of World War II, General S Patton, once told his soldiers: “Don’t be a fool and die for your country. Make the other sonofa*#@!* (the enemy, of course) die for his.”

Often, the searing competition whether in civil or military arena, and whether they be rivals or enemies, triggers that passionate zeal among people to outdo the others. In doing so, at times, concern for life is relegated to the backburner.

An army officer once told me what drives a soldier to take life-threatening challenges during battle is seldom patriotism. “It is seeing your comrades and buddies die by your side that generates an intense anger and a burning desire to avenge their death. And every threat to life is ignored as you charge to bleed your enemy to death, no matter whether a hail of bullets or a barrage of artillery fire comes in the way,” he said.

When such anger overwhelms one, even General Patton’s advice is marginalised. If they die in the bargain, they’re martyrs, but little thought is given to what that deceased soldier could have done had he lived.

A thought goes to our “food soldiers on wheels,” the home delivery boys from restaurants and food outlets trying to beat the almost impossible deadlines set for them to ensure that the food ordered by customers reach their doorsteps in time.

Day after day, they deliver food to homes and offices. Many among them have died, as we know, while negotiating the city’s road junctions, failing even to notice the red signals.

What adjectives can one think of for those dead home delivery boys who gave their lives up for their food service firms? Martyrs? Heroes?

Do they get to say: “No timely dish for the customer is worth dying for”?

When you live in a city, especially like a rapidly evolving one like Bangalore, every step one takes has death written in the stride. More so, for these food soldiers who rush through traffic to ensure you are fed in time.

It’s time you told them that the dead hardly have potential to do anything, except get adjectives labelled on them. But what possible adjective can one think of for a dead home delivery boy?