"Taxi..Taxi", shouted Nilu at a yello-black taxi which almost ran
over her. It was early Friday evening and she was in a hurry to get a taxi
before it was too crowded to find one. "It's getting harder to catch a
Taxi everyday.. ", she muttered to herself while wiping sweat off her
eyebrows.
A plain jane, Nilu, was an engineer, like millions of youngsters in the country. She had shifted from Gorakhpur, a small Tier 3 city in Uttar Pradesh to Mumbai - a city of dreams or so it was called. She was still confused about what her dreams were.. let alone achieve them. She was a creative yet confused soul. She liked her job but wanted to do so many things at the same time. She wanted to be a chef, a nomad, a writer, a high flying corporate manager.. all rolled into one.. all this while struggling with tough realities of life in Mumbai.
Friday evening meant fun. The city though trains you hard, provides you with occasional relief in the form of friends… people who form your virtual family in Mumbai, where it’s difficult to support your real one. Nilu was looking forward to the Friday night party at her friend’s place.. booze.. boys and some bitching.. things every young girl loves to indulge in.
It was 25th of the month and the last beep on her mobile was a reminder of not so great balance in her account. “Five more days to go before I feel rich again..”, Nilu thought while waving her hand frantically at every cab – empty or full. Her pay was not great but it was sufficient for her to survive in the city. She counted her blessings every day when she saw countless people sleeping on the pavement on her early morning walks. Atleast she had a roof on her head though one which drained most of her income.
With her mind full of anticipation, irritation at the heat, anxiety and so much more, she almost collided with the taxi that stopped right infront of her. Without much ado, she opened the door and slid on the back seat. Once she closed the door, she looked at the driver who was patiently looking at her for directions. She saw a wrinkled old face with bright eyes staring at her. The white moustache was pointed, proud and sat gracefully on his face. A hand with thousand creases held the steering wheel while another gently rocked the gear. She exclaimed almost too loud, “Bandra, Uncle”.
The taxi driver-Uncle turned with a slight smile on his face and the taxi smoothly merged into the traffic. Nilu kept fanning herself till she could feel cool breeze on her face. Finally settled in the taxi, she looked absent-mindedly at the rear view mirror and saw hint of a smile beneath the flowing white moustache. Something in the eyes caught her attention and she was intrigued. For a change, she felt like talking to this unknown taxi-driver uncle.
“Since when are you driving in Mumbai Uncle?”, she asked, half expecting a vague answer. The old man replied with a slight crispness in his accent, “Long before you were even born beta, it was 1969.”. “Phew! That was really long ago”, exclaimed Nilu. “How old are you?”, she asked curiously. “I am 78, still strong and young”, replied the taxi-driver uncle with a warm voice. She almost laughed at the candid reply. Suddenly she felt a huge camaraderie with the old taxi driver. Here she was – a working woman in her late twenties, sharing a laugh and some innocent conversations with a 78 years old taxi driver who might as well be her grand-father.
“Wasn’t there very less traffic back in the days?”, she asked with utmost interest. She could imagine empty roads with couple of Fiats being driven at the mere speed of 40Kmph. “Don’t ask Beta, those were the days.. this entire area used to be almost empty. I stayed in a hut in the area nearby and there were no water or electricity or even proper lanes. This area was part of a hill. You had to go up and down to reach Borivili national park. We didn’t prefer picking up passengers plying beyond Bandra as didn’t use to get return fare. The meter started at 13 ps instead of 21 rs that you see now. It was so difficult to make even 50Rs per day. Used to get full tank of petrol in 20 Rs. Those were the days.. ahh”, the sentence ended up in almost a longing.
Nilu observed the man carefully, all the while listening to him. He was an old man, who wore a white crisp shirt frayed at the collar. Though he didn’t look very well to do, he did sound wise. She asked him about his home town and came to know that he was a native of a small village near Gorakhpur. In her imagination, she could already see his big family working in fields in a small village and waiting for his return during harvest. They talked for quite some time about growing inflation, traffic congestions, hardships of life and how difficult it was for a poor man to survive in the city. She even poured her heart out expressing frustration at not finding a decent home with reasonable rent after being asked by the landlord to vacate the house in a month. Taxi driver uncle had lent a sympathetic ear to her rants. Nilu’s heart filled with more and more sympathy for the old man who seemed to be quite lonely and struggling to manage a living by driving in this big city. She could read his struggle in the lines of his face. In her youth, she felt insulated from the harshness of time and yet she was experiencing it full on in the form of old taxi driver uncle.
She reached her destination and checked the meter. It read “80.00”. She took out a crisp 100 Rs note from her purse and said , “Keep the change uncle”. He looked her with a broad smile and said, “Thanks. It was nice talking to you Beta. It was anyways my only ride before I reach home. Oh by the way, if you need a flat or something let me know. I have 6-7 flats here in Mumbai“. He turned the car and swiftly lost himself in the ever growing traffic.
A plain jane, Nilu, was an engineer, like millions of youngsters in the country. She had shifted from Gorakhpur, a small Tier 3 city in Uttar Pradesh to Mumbai - a city of dreams or so it was called. She was still confused about what her dreams were.. let alone achieve them. She was a creative yet confused soul. She liked her job but wanted to do so many things at the same time. She wanted to be a chef, a nomad, a writer, a high flying corporate manager.. all rolled into one.. all this while struggling with tough realities of life in Mumbai.
Friday evening meant fun. The city though trains you hard, provides you with occasional relief in the form of friends… people who form your virtual family in Mumbai, where it’s difficult to support your real one. Nilu was looking forward to the Friday night party at her friend’s place.. booze.. boys and some bitching.. things every young girl loves to indulge in.
It was 25th of the month and the last beep on her mobile was a reminder of not so great balance in her account. “Five more days to go before I feel rich again..”, Nilu thought while waving her hand frantically at every cab – empty or full. Her pay was not great but it was sufficient for her to survive in the city. She counted her blessings every day when she saw countless people sleeping on the pavement on her early morning walks. Atleast she had a roof on her head though one which drained most of her income.
With her mind full of anticipation, irritation at the heat, anxiety and so much more, she almost collided with the taxi that stopped right infront of her. Without much ado, she opened the door and slid on the back seat. Once she closed the door, she looked at the driver who was patiently looking at her for directions. She saw a wrinkled old face with bright eyes staring at her. The white moustache was pointed, proud and sat gracefully on his face. A hand with thousand creases held the steering wheel while another gently rocked the gear. She exclaimed almost too loud, “Bandra, Uncle”.
The taxi driver-Uncle turned with a slight smile on his face and the taxi smoothly merged into the traffic. Nilu kept fanning herself till she could feel cool breeze on her face. Finally settled in the taxi, she looked absent-mindedly at the rear view mirror and saw hint of a smile beneath the flowing white moustache. Something in the eyes caught her attention and she was intrigued. For a change, she felt like talking to this unknown taxi-driver uncle.
“Since when are you driving in Mumbai Uncle?”, she asked, half expecting a vague answer. The old man replied with a slight crispness in his accent, “Long before you were even born beta, it was 1969.”. “Phew! That was really long ago”, exclaimed Nilu. “How old are you?”, she asked curiously. “I am 78, still strong and young”, replied the taxi-driver uncle with a warm voice. She almost laughed at the candid reply. Suddenly she felt a huge camaraderie with the old taxi driver. Here she was – a working woman in her late twenties, sharing a laugh and some innocent conversations with a 78 years old taxi driver who might as well be her grand-father.
“Wasn’t there very less traffic back in the days?”, she asked with utmost interest. She could imagine empty roads with couple of Fiats being driven at the mere speed of 40Kmph. “Don’t ask Beta, those were the days.. this entire area used to be almost empty. I stayed in a hut in the area nearby and there were no water or electricity or even proper lanes. This area was part of a hill. You had to go up and down to reach Borivili national park. We didn’t prefer picking up passengers plying beyond Bandra as didn’t use to get return fare. The meter started at 13 ps instead of 21 rs that you see now. It was so difficult to make even 50Rs per day. Used to get full tank of petrol in 20 Rs. Those were the days.. ahh”, the sentence ended up in almost a longing.
Nilu observed the man carefully, all the while listening to him. He was an old man, who wore a white crisp shirt frayed at the collar. Though he didn’t look very well to do, he did sound wise. She asked him about his home town and came to know that he was a native of a small village near Gorakhpur. In her imagination, she could already see his big family working in fields in a small village and waiting for his return during harvest. They talked for quite some time about growing inflation, traffic congestions, hardships of life and how difficult it was for a poor man to survive in the city. She even poured her heart out expressing frustration at not finding a decent home with reasonable rent after being asked by the landlord to vacate the house in a month. Taxi driver uncle had lent a sympathetic ear to her rants. Nilu’s heart filled with more and more sympathy for the old man who seemed to be quite lonely and struggling to manage a living by driving in this big city. She could read his struggle in the lines of his face. In her youth, she felt insulated from the harshness of time and yet she was experiencing it full on in the form of old taxi driver uncle.
She reached her destination and checked the meter. It read “80.00”. She took out a crisp 100 Rs note from her purse and said , “Keep the change uncle”. He looked her with a broad smile and said, “Thanks. It was nice talking to you Beta. It was anyways my only ride before I reach home. Oh by the way, if you need a flat or something let me know. I have 6-7 flats here in Mumbai“. He turned the car and swiftly lost himself in the ever growing traffic.
