Adjustment is the name of the game these days. “Swalpa adjust maadi,” in Kannada, “Sahayichhu irikku,” in Malayalam, or ‘Sab mil ke chalo,” in Hindi, are choice expressions an unsuspecting third passenger deploys to squeeze himself, without any guilt, on to a seat meant for two. With one leg hanging on the edge initially, the other finding its way gradually on to the lap of the one who surrendered a portion, it makes the latter wonder if he should get up and yield in full.
Precisely for these reasons when Ola and Uber introduced the share-taxi concept to counter the recent exodus of the commuting public to metro rail, Aunty and I swore never to avail of it. But, during a morning walk-the-talk session, my friend shared with me in superlative terms his experience in Mumbai, Delhi and Bangalore. Seven out of ten times he and his wife had exclusive-rides at share-taxi rate. We fell for it.
Fortunately, we make and break promises with equal felicity. Thus, for a return trip from Whitefield to SFV on a Sunday we booked a share-taxi.
When the cab arrived, we patted ourselves. “Augurs well. We are the only ones”. But alas, he drove in the opposite direction, to a villa complex to pick up a passenger. At the last minute she cancelled the booking forcing him to halt the vehicle for the mandatory cancellation-waiting period. In less than two kilometers, he picked another passenger and did a small detour before dropping him somewhere in Whitefield itself. “Now, a straight drive,” we heaved a sigh of relief. No. again another passenger. and yet another, till the last pick-up was dropped in Brigade Millennium in JP Nagar. It was exclusive thereafter. “At least the ending was good,” we told ourselves as though we stepped out of a theatre.
A never-say-die, we tried it another occasion, this time from Jayanagar. There were two passengers already - a young lady at the rear, and a young man in front. As we boarded they were busy talking, making us wonder why then they chose sit thus. In the travel that followed Aunty and I maintained an observer status. Soon it emerged that they were both from North, and both in their own separate ways were aspiring for IIM - one in Ahmedabad and the other Bangalore. Yes, the girl is now doing her BBA from Bangalore, and the young man Management studies.
When at one stage their conversation centered around Delhi, I could no longer remain a silent spectator. I wished to initiate a dialogue with them. I asked Aunty if I could, so that back home, during the coffee session, she doesn’t grumble, “The problem with you is…”. But this time she readily agreed. She even prompted me, when it took me a little longer to start. Once we opened our mouth, both the youngsters very joyous - that we too were from Delhi. The conversation instantly acquired a friends-for-long tone. “Uncle, have you tried Samosa from the restaurant behind the IIT campus?” “Just once a week, not more,” I said, to sound modest, though it was more often than that. “How about Shiv…. dhabha in Gurgaon, uncle?” “No, never had a chance. I just had gone to Haldiram’s in one of Gurgaon’s main malls.” “You must, uncle. In fact I took my father last time. He was very reluctant; never wishes to venture out. But he was glad, he didn’t miss it.” Not to be left behind, I shot back, “Have you tried Dhoda burfi of Om Sweets in Gurgaon?” “How can anyone could miss it, uncle?”
He told the girl that ever since he moved to Bangalore a week back, he never missed one sweet called Mysore Pak. The girl, in the final year of BBA reassured him that it was one of the more popular sweets of South. He got down at a busy lane in Banashankari. “Glad I got a friend at last in a week’s time,” he told the girl as he bade farewell to us all. We watched him head towards a sweets shop. Probably the price for a debate on mouth-watering dishes.
Then began an active engagement between Aunty and the girl. Her father is in spare parts business until recently in Hyderabad, and now in Bangalore Thus, somewhat acquainted with Telugu, her current focus is to learn Kannada by actively talking to her classmates only in Kannada. “I give them ample chances to have a hearty laugh at my expense. But that is the only way one learns, isn’t it Aunty?” Her mother is very good at tailoring. “For a marriage reception, she stitched a lehanga for me, using one of her old but expensive sarees. Everyone admired it.” Aunty jumped at it and immediately noted her mother’s cell number. Hopefully some of the sarees overflowing from our cupboard will now find their way to that place for a makeover into salwar kameez for her morning walks.
After dropping her in Uttarahalli, the driver took us home through the Pipeline road, the only exclusive ride, bumpy though. “It must be a hard day for you taking every passenger through to different places, driver sahib? I asked him, so that he doesn’t feel left out. “Yes, sir. And, today my driver fell sick, and I had to take a day off from my office to drive our cab,” he said to clarify that he worked for an insurance company - like Policy Bazar. His family owns two or three cabs. When he did announce the company he worked for, I shot back, “Are you by chance Lokesh (name changed)?” He said yes. Gosh, it was through his company that I had insured my car in the last two years and he was the one who attended on me, though over the phone only. Also, just to be sure,I asked him, “Isn’t the name of your top boss in Ahmedabad Farooq?” “Siddique,” he corrected. I knew it was Siddique, but deliberately uttered a wrong name to see if he was not taking me for a ride, aside the cab ride. Unfounded suspicion, I realized.
As we alighted at SFV our fare was Rs 163. I gave him 170 and got down to allow him to keep the change. But he was one up. He gave me a tenner, saying he didn’t have change either. “There is no dearth of good humans in the world,” I said to myself. As for Aunty, she couldn’t be more overjoyed that she found at last an outlet for some of her sarees that she could neither keep nor throw.
V V Sundaram
Maple 3195
20 July 2017
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