"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.
