15 minutes of fame

He was tired and hungry… or hungry and tired… or maybe tired because he was hungry… the 4 cups of thin cutting-chai he had at various roadside shops didn’t help. He had not had a single passenger since morning. And he was not lazing around. He had woken up at 5am and left the house, if he could call it that, at 5:30. He lived in Gandhinagar, which is what is normally called the outskirts of the city, but at least it had a good sounding name. The house was a small brick enclosure, actually very cheap brick just held together by plain cement and white paint and a tin roof. It cost him 1000 rupees per month just for rent. Apart from that the landlord would take 200 rupees for things like water and electricity that were supposed to be available at the turn of a tap and the flick of a switch; things that happened only in the landlord’s words.

He thought about the golden days when he as a kid lived in the now congested area in the center of the city. His father was not a great businessman and did not earn a handsome income. But he was at least not in poverty, getting a decent earning by selling vegetables on the handcart in the nearby residential areas. They had rented a good house, unlike the one in which he lived now. It even had the red cement flooring. And once in 3-4 years they did whitewash the house. It was in his early 20s when he could no longer find a job for his eighth-class-school-dropout qualification, that he decided to take up driving the auto rickshaw. He had used up all his homes savings to give the deposit to the rickshaw owner, and he had not gotten it without a fight. Luckily he had no sisters.

Then he got married and the wife seemed lucky. Business started booming for him as there were more and more passengers in the city of Bangalore. The government, his dad told him having heard from his customers on his regular rounds, was letting a lot of foreign companies come into Bangalore. And also there was some Bangalore guy who had even started his own company and was competing with them. All of a sudden the neighborhood had a lot of new faces and new kinds of people came in, all in their costumes of crispy full-sleeve cotton shirts and crazy colored ties, typing away in front of big black screens of what was called the computer. His over-worn khakhi shirt seemed real bad in front of those passengers and he started wearing a t-shirt and a shirt on top of it if the cold became unbearable.

And then it happened. The landlord hiked up his rents. What was once a house for 300-400 rupees was now hot property going at 3000-4000 rupees per month in rent. And his dad was no longer healthy enough to work harder to satisfy the gap, and anyways it was too big a gap. And slowly they moved into the outskirts, and as the city started gobbling up the outskirts, they were pushed farther and farther away. Finally it now took him at least 10km of travel to get to his earlier business area. And that distance was hell in the peak hour traffic.

Jolted back to reality at the sound of a blaring horn, he slowed down. He wanted money that day, if not for anything else at least to feed himself a decent meal. And it was late in the night, and he wanted to get home. It was at the beginning of airport road that he saw him waving down an autorickshaw ahead in vain. He was well dressed and wore a tie, carried a leather like black bag which contained a thin computer; technology had improved so much. In the slow pace that he reached he studied the guy’s face as it showed a temporary relief on seeing another autorickshaw. As he neared him, he heard “Marthahalli”… and he did not stop… he was not keen on it. Marthahalli was just 4-5 kms from that place and would hardly fetch him 20-30 bucks… hardly enough for the trouble he had been through the entire morning. Why do people want to travel just short distances? Don’t they realize that he has to travel from very far away to come to the business area? Moreover he had to travel further on after dropping him off to his home… what is the guarantee he would get another passenger at the place he drops of this guy? He felt it was not value for the effort, even though the guy wanted to get off en-route to where he was actually headed… How many people did he have to say no to for short distances? The government should pass a rule that short distance travelers should not hail autorickshaws and waste time and pay a fine if they did. This money should then be shared amongst the auto drivers in the city.

But he stopped hardly 5 meters away from the executive for a small drink of tea. At least something to satiate his growling stomach. The executive thought he had stopped for him… naïve guy… a sarcastic smile spread across his unshaven face. He shook his head vigorously at the harried executive and made his way towards the petty shop. He shook his head again as the executive pleaded with him arguing that he wanted to travel in the same direction as he was headed and he would even pay some 10 bucks above the metered amount. Hmmph… what did these guys think? Just because they earn a lot they can buy off anyone? Of course, there are some extra charges that are charged by rickshaw drivers, but justified by the hardships faced by the drivers depending on the time of the day and the area they had to travel to…

He cribbed to the chaiwala about the condition of Bangalore, those good old days and even the thin watery chai he was being given. The harried executive looked at him with another pleading look which made him look away. This time he chuckled to himself looking in the other direction. Those few minutes that he had over the high earning high flying executives; money can’t buy you everything guys. Probably he would be able to negotiate a three times fare, it is already late, and he could see no other autorickshaw in any direction.

He saw the executive pull out his mobile phone and flip it open with an irate expression on his face. Another display of opulence; where else can these guys spend their wealth? Why can’t they take a simple reliance phone like him? They don’t need that much money. The government should actually tax these people more and give the excess funds to the needy like himself. He heard him chatter away something on the phone in English. The executive must have been a call center guy for he could speak English so well. He himself could have been a call center guy, employed and being ordered around. Instead he had chosen like many of his heroes to drop out of school and be an entrepreneur. He was his own master, and a proud one at that. So what if he were hungry for some time; he had his pride.

The chai was almost over and he thought, he would give the executive a slow hint that he would not mind dropping him off for a fare that is nominal at this time of the night, around three times the metered fare. Then he would watch him hungrily lap up the offer, though it might hit his budget. But then these executives are paid in thousands; so why don’t they pay money which is luxury for them anyways. And he would enjoy the discomfort of his passenger as he would reluctantly agree to his savior, even if he proves to be a bit costly. At that point he would be like god to the executive, who would realize that money cannot buy everything, and the auto-driver, a poorer man, wields the actual power.

He dropped the cup near the card board box provided for it and turned around loudly cursing the guy who had placed the box at the wrong distance. A bike screeched to a halt in front of the executive and another similarly dressed guy takes off the helmet. They exchanged pleasantries and spoke a language that he did not know and hence could not hear them cursing him. Then the two of them looked at their watches and the waiting executive gets on the back of the bike and before zooming away makes a close fisted hand and shakes it at him. He realized it was not actually close fisted and there was one long finger pointing upwards.

The government should fine people for making rude signs at innocent people, he thought.