They see so many lives

(c) Durba Gupta

They see so many lives. Enacted. Every day. In front of their eyes.


Since I was 10 or 12, I always wanted to marry someone whose profession is driving. Just the idea of distance wheezing past you was intoxicating. Travelling for miles...to new places, to new lives, to new thoughts and new smiles. The idea always fascinated me. I remember we used to take long distance trips twice or thrice every year. We would hire couple of cars and the whole family would travel. It's not that we would go to new places every time. Mostly these were much frequented places, but every time that I sat next to the man behind the wheel, his eyes glued to the road, his hands firm on the steering and air on his hair, I would see the same roads bring out surprises on every turn. And when it rained, I would pull down the window, prop myself out and let the rain peirce through. People at the back shouted. He would just smile. When the family squabbles broke out, he would hide his smile. He saw our lives.


Over the years, being a scary chicken behind the wheels myself, I have mostly resorted to the guys who see lives enacted, everyday. Although I never got to settle down with one, as my dream at 12 would go, but I had my share of many stories of those who see stories everyday.


My flight to Richmond touched ground at 11 in the night. Although it was my second trip to the place, I was a bit worried for travelling this late. But I had to be in office the next day. As I picked up my luggage and walked out, sure enough there stood a man in his late 30s with a white board that read 'Duerbar Gapita'. I knew it was me. I said, you've got the name wrong. He smiled and blamed his boss. As I settled down on the front seat, he apologised for the smell in the car. He said, his friend had an unfortunate projectile incident in the car, last night. I said it's alright. He drove down the Chippenham parkway and narrated his story of hating late night driving, hating being stuck in Virginia and that I was in safe hands, made me wonder how easily I relaxed as he wheezed past those unknown roads, took a left turn from Red Lobsters and parked right in front of my hotel. He apologised again, and wished me a good stay.


Every now and then I would board a cab where the cabbie would be busy giving me advise. Around the safe route to take, how the petrol price is increasing, that his meter is not spiked or how he hates the traffic. But once in a while, I do get in a cab, where the cabbie discusses politics. In one of my rides back to my hotel, I once had the pleasure of riding with a Singaporean cabbie who discussed in details what the Congress government can do for India, that Sonia Gandhi is very capable and that with their second election victory Congress is going to stay in power for long. It is amazing how well informed he was, unlike many of my fellow countrymen and women.

Over the years the smartest cabbies I have come across hail from the big bad charming city of Bombay where they swindle a 500 bill for a 100 bill, their cabs decorated with all kinds of felt and velvette complete with chandeliers that bump on your head in their attempts at making a home in their little fiats, to the ones who would pass on their mobile numbers back in 1999 (long before Meru culture) to be an 'on call' cabbie! They are the smartest!

But the most entertained ones, 'am sure are from our old city Calcutta, where very animated parents, lovers, siblings and friends get in the cabs and vent out their emotions through words, actions and silence that the cabbies witness everyday. I still remember, in my late school days, me and a friend got in a cab. We were discussing some book and it led to his expressing those familiar emotions for me, and I started playing the familiar game of how he deserves so much better! By the time we got off the cabbie, my friend was still not convinced; the cabbie handed us the change, smiled at my friend and said, "Dada chhere din. Oshob to rojkar byapar. Ek cup cha khan matha thanda hoe jabe." (Bro, drop it. This happens everyday. Drink a cup of tea and chill!) My friend didn't take too kindly to him :).

So if I were to interview cabbies from various cities to share their experiences, 'am sure I will come up with an extraordinary novel. May be I should try that, couldn't marry one, but at least can finish my novel (I've written the first chapter and the last chapter.) with their stories.