"Which school do you go to?" My cabbie looks at me from the rearview mirror. "I'm not a student," I respond. "I work." He's not the first one to have asked me this question.
"Did you start working right after school?" He asks me. "No, I went to college." "And how long did college take you?" "4 years," I say, "but some people do 3-year courses."
"How did you get into college?" I try to explain what I can in broken Hindi. He nods along, digesting all this information. "I want to educate my daughter," he explains. "I want her to learn English. Do your parents know English?" He asks. Yes, I say. "Must have been easy for you then." I nod.
"I tried to admit my daughter to a Catholic school. Thought that'd be good for her English. Then my relatives found out and staged a protest. I had to get her admission cancelled."
"My family doesn't like Christianity," he says by way of explanation. "Or even English. I was made to study in a school that forbade English and only taught in the regional language."
"Where are you from?" I ask. "Uttar Pradesh," he says. "Why did you move to Mumbai?" I ask. "I had to get away from them. So I came as far as I could."
"How much money do you make?" His question startles me. "Tell me, it's okay," he says. I relent. "I make double of that," he tells me with pride. "In fact, I own 12 trucks and 2 houses. But nobody respects me! Everyone just thinks I'm a truck driver." The pride is now tinged with sadness. "If only I knew English..." he drifts away into a chain of thoughts. I don't know what to say to this.
I look outside. It is a rainy day and we're stuck in traffic. The air around us is festive. Sweat-drenched bodies dance to music and carry idols of Ganesh for Visarjan.
"Do you celebrate Ganesh Chaturti?" I ask him.
"I celebrate Muharram at this time," he responds. It is then that I notice a picture of the green moon hanging from the dashboard.
"Do you?" He asks me in return. "Yes," I say, "but with my parents back in Chennai."
"Chennai is a great city," he tells me, with a smile on his face. "You want to know why I drive trucks all day?" I nod. "When I started working, I would just drive for hours on end. It was just me and my truck, alone on all the highways. I had no boss, no timings, no stupid people around me...life was perfect. Believe it or not, I've been to every major and minor city in this country!" His enthusiasm is infectious.
"Why did you come to Mumbai then?" I wonder out loud.
"Well I wanted my daughter to study in a city. Once she's gone off to college, I'll pack my things up and start trucking around the country again, this time with my wife to give me company," he chuckles.
"Wow, you've got your whole life planned out," I say.
"It's just a plan," he says. "My wife is sick. She won't survive the winter. And my daughter is only seven now. I've got more than a decade left before I can move around." The sadness is back. "But at least my daughter will learn English, find work somewhere, and be respected," he says.
I reach my stop. I pay him, bid him farewell, and watch him drive away. Too late, I realize I didn't even ask for his name.
Did you enjoy reading this? Like,
, and spread the word! You can also let me know what you think by leaving a comment. Thanks.
Comments