Uber-ing His Way Out — Bravery, and then some!
I have this uncontrollable urge to speak to public transport drivers. I can’t obviously get through to drivers of buses and trains but when I’m in an auto / cab, I can’t help but ask questions and get all chatty. I’m sure I’ve put off a few guys with this behavior of mine but the few stories I’ve heard from guys who did respond from the heart makes me want to try it again.
This one was a man is his late forties perhaps, dark and slim. Suddenly, I had an epiphany… that this is how I’d look when I’d reach that age. I wanted to gaze at him after that but all I had was the side view. Let’s make do with this for now, I thought.
I knew this was going to be an hour long journey at the very least and we’d pass roads with almost zero traffic. I didn’t need an invitation any more to get on with it.
The question that works best in India, and particularly in Bombay, is: Where are you from? Bombay is a city of immigrants. If you haven’t, go listen to this absolutely gut wrenching song called Seene Mein Jalan from the film Gaman. The first connections that people build in this city often have to do with some shared sense of identity, and what better than a shared hometown. You feel that these are your own folks… folks who’ll get your quirks and your foibles, folks who’ll have the same jokes as you, folks who know the same age-old rumors and gossip as you, folks who have been through the same seasons (of life, even) as you. This doesn’t mean that they are the best connections but in a city (in)famous for its tough love, you latch onto any connection at all with both hands. That explains it then — these connections are perhaps the easiest to make.
He’s from Sultanpur in Uttar Pradesh, he says. “Ah, fits the bill perfectly!”, I thought to myself. I’d realize later how utterly pointless these stereotypes are.
He moved to Bombay in 1981, he says. He pauses for a moment and then looks at me as if gauging if I was trustworthy or not, and then tells me that he actually ran away from home. His parents died the next year within a space of two days, without any warning signs of illness at all. They just went away like the light does when you flick the switch, he said. My eyes watered at the description and his did too. It started drizzling again.
He went and performed their last rites as the only son. I wanted to ask him how he was the only child in times when population control wasn’t really a cool thing to do at an individual level. But I let that one pass. My question would get answered later, of course.
He worked his way up and while he was going up through an escalator, he found a good mentor who took him under his wings. The mentor didn’t come with him on the escalator but he was always in the “Here’s looking at you, kid!” mode. Our man felt that this was a sign of great things to come.
He then got married to a girl from his own village. Proper arranged marriage, no surprises there at all. Had a son, and then one more, and then one more, and then one daughter when all he wanted was another son. I wanted to ask him if he thought he was on some lucky streak or something which broke against his dearest wishes. But I didn’t. I am glad I didn’t. I didn’t want to be the prescribing kind to 40+x year old me.
He established himself as a major foodgrain trader in the city and made Goregaon as his base (Ah, the similarities continue pouring, I thought). He purchased a house for his family on 100% down payment and later, when times were even better, an Innova for the large family to move around. He loved driving his family around. Little did he imagine the skill would come in handy later.
We took a turn into a dark area now, as did the conversation. In December 2012 as per his estimates, someone got downright jealous of his success and his happiness. They invoked evil supernatural powers and set them behind him and his family through the one thing he cherished most — his ancestral home at his village. We stopped at a traffic signal. The light took forever to go green.
By the time the calendar reached Jan 2015, it was all over for him. The business bled money even as he and his two elder sons tried to plug themselves in the leaks. A congenital heart disorder held the youngest son back and he needed an operation, a majorly expensive one at that. The daughter ran away to marry someone who was a chargesheeter in the area. The relationship went downhill as soon as it began and she returned to her parents’ home in two months flat, asking if some dowry could be given so that her marriage could be saved. There wasn’t much left by then. The mortgaged house was sold and one lender just took away the Innova. I was shrinking in my seat by then. He put a number to it — INR 3.5 crores… the total loss that he suffered in just over two years. We were stuck in traffic at a point where generally there’s none.
He returned back to his village and found himself and his family at the mercy of his relatives. These were the same folks who had placed him on a pedestal earlier and had never stopped asking for favors, to the extent that his home in Bombay felt like a guest house on many days… such was the frequency of visitors from the village who just stayed on for days. And now he found himself unwelcome everywhere he went. That is when he realized what Bombay is — home for those who have no homes.
He returned and stayed in another area this time, away from the prying eyes of the clan he had come to belong to earlier. He asked me if I had ever played Snakes & Ladders. I said I had and asked him if he felt like the player who reaches the number featuring the snake bite in the 90s and is brought all the way down to single digits. He smiled at me and I smiled back. Empathy (and childhood board games) connects people like nothing else. We got out of the traffic jam and moved on to another road which was as smooth as they come.
He now lives in a humble 1 BHK with his entire family — from each child having a room to himself to one room for everything, it was a sea change. The two eldest sons didn’t know anything else apart from foodgrain trading. The younger one had no interest in it because he had stayed away throughout his illness. The daughter was still in shock about how her life had turned out to be able to fathom the unfolding fate of her family.
They realized the only other skill they had was driving. He got back to the well wisher who had retired himself by then. A generous loan allowed him to purchase a car and register it on Uber. The two elder sons got similar gigs with other vehicle owners. The youngest one was fascinated with smartphones and did a random mobile repair course and was now looking for a gig himself. The daughter was still only whiling her days away with her mother, hoping against hope.
I was nearing my destination and I could have done anything to get a happy ending. But none came. He just stopped speaking… until he looked at me and smiled again. He then said that he’ll be fine and that he still has his health going for him.
I alighted soon after with the flow of tears clogged at the back of my eyes. I shook hands with him. I wanted to say something but words failed me.
He took a u — turn and left… left me with many more questions, none of which will ever get answered. He was going to fight on, that much I was sure of.
I am writing this 24 hours later and the smile has stayed with me.
