Wednesday, 24 September 2008

  • Life as it really is

    If you ever take a black and yellow rickshaw from one of Bandra's many bylanes, look for a man in white, with a broad forehead, and a hint of English lacing his dialect. He'll ferry you alright, and if you're willing to listen, he'll sell you a story or three. Of Mumbai's lusty couples that seek refuge in a rickshaw running in circles. Of young school girls who won't have their equations right, but will have a man on each side. And, of older married women who's illicit romances are known to no one, but the local rickshawwala .

    It's a sorry state, he laments. This is a young, heady generation with too much money, and too much 'oversmartness.' That's the root of all problems, he stresses. And, if the young women could be excused, the married women certainly couldn't be. He wants to write a book, he tells me. If only he was a writer...he would write of Bombay's girls. And, the city's old grown women. And,their tales of debauchery.

    He wishes he had money, he tells me. What a fine example he'd be then, he claims. But, oh what money does to some of us. Ah, what would he know. An Economics Major student from Bihar, his fate is destined to his black and yellow rickshaw and the lives of people who scurry into the backseat. He's had his good times, he tells me. And, he's had his times when he's gone out of his way to help someone out. Like the man who missed his flight, only to come back home and find his wife had packed off for the night. My rickshawwala sat with him for hours, and they wept.

    He's a good man, this rickshawwala. And, truth is, he's happy with his life. He's resigned to his fate...though like me, he's a bit of a dreamer. And, a bit of a writer. But, there's nothing else he'd rather do, he tells me. Nothing else, but ride his rickshaw through Mumbai's rickety streets... with the young and old. It's when you can see life as it really is, he tells me.

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