Mad angles … Bingo

In the traffic police box, right in the centre of our four point crossing, there stands a mad man. Somehow a mad man or a crazy person does not have the vibrancy of the word ‘paagaol’. Lunatic? It comes close… but people have saturated the word dipping it too often in Pink Floydish connotations.
The crossing, bound with morose looking zebra crossing at its four sides suddenly blooms with a burst of colours in the middle. A traffic controlling madman takes the centrifugal attention. The green, yellow, red lights do not really obey his gleeful gestures. But the orange patched pajama wearing madman suddenly reminds the people trapped behind the black and white bars of the road, of the colours of life. For a moment the ‘9-o-clocks’ are forgotten and the briefcases turn into magic kits.
I have often found madmen taking up the role of a traffic sergeant, at crossings, pointing us to the right directions , we refuse to accept.

PS: I ruin it with the title don't I?