Rickshaw - A ride through terror

Srinivas Velu glanced at his watch for the third time in a minute. “Where’s the bus?” he thought to himself, squinting his myopic eyes to catch that elusive flash of red across the signal, a few metres away. His anxiety was justified; today was an important day for him. He had an interview with B&J Software, one of India’s largest software companies, and he knew he stood a great chance. Srinivas had an excellent academic record, and armed with an honours diploma in Software Programming from a leading computer institute, he was high on confidence. The letter had mentioned that he must reach the Aarey Colony office of the Company by 10 am sharp. There was to be a written test, and successful candidates would be further whittled down via a Group Discussion and a Personal Interview.    1

Srinivas needed the job badly. He had lost his father at an early age, and his mother had battled constant illness, working hard as a teacher, to bring him up. But, despite their precarious financial condition, his mother had always given him whatever he asked for. He remembered the time he wanted Rs 20,000 to do the computer course. Without saying a word, his mother had given him the money the next day. It was only much later, that Srinivas realised that she had taken a loan with steep rates of interest to fund his studies. Today would be the day Srinivas would repay his mother’s debts.  2

The bus was still nowhere in sight. Srinivas made some quick mental calculations. He was at Santacruz, and getting to Goregaon would take at least an hour more in this traffic. Normally, he would have taken a train, but Srinivas was not going to have his neatly pressed formals get the rub-a-dub treatment in a jam-packed compartment. No point in reaching the office looking shabby. A bus would suit him fine. But, the monsoons had arrived, and had taken their toll with flooded roads, and craters across many tarred surfaces. The buses, as expected, were running late. And they would be crowded too.  3

That’s when he rummaged through his front pocket. Inside, lay a holy thread his mother had got blessed from the temple in the morning, and a crisp hundred-rupee note she had handed him. “For an emergency, beta”, she had said. His mind was made. He would take a rickshaw right up to Aarey Colony. The mini-vehicle could easily cut its way through traffic, and he could get some time to glance through the Economic Times. It was worth spending a large sum on. Decision made, he walked across to a rickshaw stand next to the bus stop. A quick look at the options, and he zoomed in on a new-looking vehicle. A young, paan-chewing driver manned it. Obviously, he had been waiting for some time for a bhaada, and was looking restless. A smile escaped his face when Srinivas told him “Goregaon, Aarey Colony.” 4

The rickshaw puttered along the road adjoining Pawan Hans. Another ten minutes, and it would arrive at the Andheri flyover. From here, it would take the highway, and it would be at its destination latest by a quarter to ten. Srinivas was quite relaxed now. The rickshaw, thankfully, did not have a stereo system. He hated these jhataak contraptions, blaring the latest Hindi songs he had no inclination for. Why didn’t rickshaws ever play some soft western tracks? Or soothing instrumental music? His mind came back on track. He opened his leather briefcase, checked once again whether his certificates were in order, and took out a folded copy of the Economic Times. He made a random scan through its pages, and saw two articles on the latest software news. “Must keep myself abreast”, he thought, “might come in handy for the GD or interview.”      5

The rickshaw had reached Irla now. Srinivas was in the middle of an article on the lay-offs for Indians in USA. He shuddered, wondering whether he had made a right career decision. Two years ago, software was booming, and every Raju, Raja, and Ram was making his way to the numerous software institutes that had mushroomed at street corners. Now, companies were becoming more selective. Today’s interview would be much tougher than the one B&J Software had undertaken a year ago. 6

Srinivas couldn’t concentrate anymore. He folded the paper, and was about to put it back into his briefcase, when the driver spoke for the first time. 7

“You going for interview, saab?” 8

Srinivas had anticipated his question. Even with his limited exposure to rickshaws, he knew that most drivers would strike up a conversation with the passenger, to kill time on a long drive. It was almost as if the driver had been waiting for the right opportunity to pop in the query. 9

“Yes”, he replied, a bit curtly. 10

“I knew, I thought, new clothes, newspaper, briefcase…I have people interviewing in my rickshaw. Actually, my rickshaw lucky rickshaw…you will also pass today, saab.”11

Srinivas was pleasantly surprised to note the driver speaking his own brand of broken English. 12

“My name Rustom, saab. For 1 hour I waiting for bhaada. Today morning I came to Santacruz from Marol, where I staying. Totally bored after waiting…eh, sorry, I’m not disturbing, no?” 13

Before Srinivas could utter a word, Rustom was at it again. “You know saab, something bad happen today…man who came to Santacruz told me to stop before building. Bola, coming in five minutes. I waited twenty minutes. Then, I went inside. He sitting on fourth floor. Bloody, forgotten about me! I told him, fifty rupees, he said no. Said, I come daily, in thirty rupees. I told him, dekho saab, metre running, with waiting charge. He got angry, caught collar, aur one slap he gave me. What to do saab, we rickshawallahs always risky life. I left without paisa.”14

Srinivas didn’t want the conversation to go any further, but there was something very earnest about Rustom’s tone. So, he sat back in his seat, and listened. They had passed the Andheri flyover, and had got onto the highway. It would be just twenty minutes more to Goregaon, and he wanted to hear a few more of Rustom’s experiences.      15

“I get all types of passengers, saab. Some like you. Very quiet. No noise. Bas reaching place, giving payment, and they go out of rickshaw. Lekin, some idiots come. They don’t want to pay. I left one man from Bandra to Borivali. He want change from paanwallah, so he can escape. I caught him, gave two thapad, and removed his shoes. Took him to mochi, and asked the mochi to buy shoes. Rs 450 shoes, I sold in Rs 150. Then, I told the man, come later and take shoes back from mochi.” 16

The stories were many, and Rustom didn’t seem to let up. At Jogeshwari, he told Srinivas about a couple of high-class girls who had almost fooled him once. They had been smoking and potting all the way from JVPD to Bandra to Lokhandwalla and back. And when they came again to Juhu, they refused to pay in their doped-out state. Rustom had caught one girl by her collar, and in doing so, had felt a large portion of her breast. He said that feeling was worth much more than a double bhaada. Srinivas heard him patiently, aware that he still needed to concentrate on the interview ahead. 17

It was drizzling lightly as the rickshaw turned right from the highway to get into Aarey Colony. Rustom paid the toll charge to enter the Colony, and told Srinivas that it would be added to the metre fare. But Srinivas’ mind was occupied. He was bothered about the rain, which was getting steadier by the minute. It was now forty minutes past nine, and he still had to search for the B&J office in the vast expanse that lay ahead of them. There were a number of vehicles on the road, but since the road itself was wide and unhindered with potholes, the rickshaw was still moving at a rapid clip. 18

Rustom’s voice boomed again. “Saab, interesting thing happened here with one friend…he rickshaw driver too. One lady made him chutiya. She took rickshaw from Dahisar, and felt thirsty. She stopped rickshaw at stall, bought two cold drinks. Par, she mix something in one and gave him. He felt dizzy. She told him to take rickshaw to side lane. There, she hit him, took paisa from his pocket, removed rickshaw ke parts. Five thousand rupees loss. When my dost found later, he couldn’t speak, so much nasha he had. Now, we call him ‘Coke’!” 19

Rustom laughed raucously. Srinivas didn’t join in. His mind was fixed on reaching B&J. They came to a crossroad, and Srinivas asked a few people for directions. They advised him to take the narrower road. Rustom was now humming a familiar Hindi tune. “Thank God, he’s stopped his stories”, thought Srinivas. “Thank God.” 20

Surprisingly, this road was pretty deserted. Just a few Indicas and Santros whizzed past. Rustom continued with his humming. Srinivas peered out of the rickshaw door. In the distance, he could see a few large buildings, constructed with plenty of glass windows. “One of them must be B&J”, he silently prayed. There was no one on the road now. Just one anxious man, one man at peace with himself, and one rickshaw puttering along. 21

It was time. 22

Rustom felt a solid thwack of an umbrella on the nape of his neck. He slumped at once, but instinctively put the brakes on the rickshaw. As he staggered out of the rickshaw, two more painful blows rained on his head. 23

Srinivas surveyed the scene. It was raining heavily now, and he opened the umbrella to save his formals from getting wet. Rustom was lying on the ground, slightly bloodied. Srinivas knelt down, made his way through Rustom’s pocket, and fished out a wallet. It contained three hundred rupees. “Driver number 11…not bad”, he purred. Then, he took his briefcase out of the rickshaw, and began walking at a brisk pace towards the buildings. 24

At 6 pm, Srinivas had landed his dream job. A great pay packet, an opportunity to work in the USA, and a secure future. He thought of buying sweets for his mother. Delicious boondi laddoos from MM Mithaiwala at Malad. 25

Malad? That called for a rickshaw. 26

“More money”, thought Srinivas as he made his way to a new rickshaw standing outside the B&J office. It contained an old, weak-looking driver. And the rickshaw didn’t have a stereo too. 27

“Perfect.”28