When I woke up, that fine Tuesday morning, I realized something was wrong. Something was missing – something in my immediate environment. I looked at the watch on the nightstand, and saw that I had woken half an hour before my usual time. The alarm hadn’t gone off yet.

Scratching my head, I wondered what it was. Usually, at that time every morning, I start tossing and turning in bed, half-asleep, half-awake and irritable. It is the noise from outside – the constant honking and the buzz of motors as vehicles started plying on the street outside – that causes this.

That is it. The lack of noise from the outside which half-roused me from sleep – that’s what has roused me.

I got off the bed and walked over to the window that overlooked the main street. Except for the occasional car or truck, the road was empty. Instead, what I saw was abundance on the sidewalks. Grown-ups of both sexes with briefcases, students with bags slung on their shoulders, and other people of all ages, dressed in sweats and running shoes, going for a morning walk.

I went and made myself a cup of coffee and French toast.

By the time I got ready for work, I found that I had half an hour to spare. So I read, sat outside in the balcony, enjoying the morning quiet, interspersed with the chirping of birds. I had never felt this calm before. Usually, the rush outside affects me in a way that I realize I have to rush too. But that day, I felt relaxed and…refreshed.

I walk to work usually –the Department of English Literature, Philosophy and Languages of DU is only half an hour away from home. My doctor has told me that nothing is wrong with me as far as my physical health is concerned, despite my craving for good food and my sedentary lifestyle as a professor and writer.

But the walk to work allows me to get my mind working. It helps me mentally prepare to face a bunch of dreamy undergraduates, ambitious post-graduates and over-excited doctoral students I am guiding with their dissertations.

Like every other day, I stepped out of the house dressed for work and a cold January morning in Delhi – woollen trousers, shoes, a shirt, cardigan, woollen jacket and a shawl, and a bag slung across my shoulders.

I walked out of the society gates, and the moment I step on the sidewalk, I get my second shock of the day.

The lack of noise, once again, hits my ears. There are more cars on the road than earlier, but still the total number of vehicles seems to have reduced. No excessive honking, no cussing impatient drivers, no bikers riding dangerously or cars trying to overtake big trucks or vice versa. No near-accidents or rash driving.

I took a breath of fresh air. Fresh, yes. For the first time in five years of professional life. No clouds of exhaust fumes, no smog, no smell of diesel fumes or gasoline lingering.

There’s more. People were crossing the road without having to look both sides more than once, or being in perpetual fear of being knocked down or crushed under an oncoming vehicle – the terrified facial expression denoting the latter is missing from their faces. Cars and motorcycles were slowing down…yes, slowing down…to make way for pedestrians. They were stopping at red lights. The traffic policeman at the junction seemed happy to have less than half the usual number of vehicles to turn around. I didn’t see his whistle blowing to warn errant drivers or vehicles being pulled over for violation of traffic rules.

Pedestrians, in turn, seem to have rediscovered their road etiquettes and respect for rules. They’re sticking to crossing the street using the zebra crossing. They’re not running onto the path of oncoming vehicles.

What was happening? When did Delhi learn to behave? Where was the characteristic rudeness of the quintessential Dilliwalahs? We think we are above the laws and rules of the land. We are brash and arrogant and brazenly rude.

What has brought about this sea change? Did I land in Chandigarh by mistake?

Then I remember it. Of course. That was the first day of implementation of the temporary odd-even rule, proposed by the government as an experiment. That day, only vehicles with even registration numbers were supposed to be on the roads.

I noticed an increase in the number of buses plying that day. A special lane for buses came up a few months ago to coordinate the movement of traffic – and that day it seemed to be working in its full efficacy. Shiny red, new-looking buses stopped properly for commuters to get on or alight.

I started walking to the university, and to my surprise, reached ten minutes earlier.

I use the extra time to catch up on reading Mikhail Bulgakov’s The Master and Margarita.

My students shuffled into the classroom on time, looking refreshed. No tiredness or irritation from the hazardous, pollution-filled journey from homes for those who were Delhi residents.

We started the class, as usual, with a fifteen-minute discussion on current affairs. All my students talked about the odd-even rule, and how it had changed the face of Delhi traffic.

Evening brought with it one more pleasant surprise. My boyfriend came to the university from his office, as I was packing up and getting ready to go home.

“Adi! Why are you out of breath, honey?” I asked, seeing him panting and puffing.

“Hey Presh! I walked all the way from office today! It was so rejuvenating! You know what I’m thinking? Let’s walk down to the new open air restaurant on MK Gandhi Marg. The streets are literally empty of vehicles, would you believe! I’m really enamoured by this odd-even rule!” he replied.

So Adi and I walked from the university, on almost two kilometers of nearly empty streets, to the Pabas open air restaurant, chatting on our way without the traffic drowning out our voices.

We had dinner under the stars, and I didn’t mind the biting January chill in the air.

I felt surprisingly refreshed after a hectic day at work. Adi, too, looked happy and energetic, rather than listless and sapped – the way he usually looks after he gets off work.

I asked Adi to spend the night at my place. We have a nightcap and then a whole night of great sex. Neither of us seems to want to stop – that’s how jacked up we both were. At the end of our lovemaking, Adi proposed…and I accepted!

Just one tiny factor – lack of noise and air pollution – had changed our behaviour and attitude towards life. Just one tiny factor.

Thank you, Odd-Even.