Phir chalo police station (Then let's go to the police station)!" "Kyon? Yahan tak le ke aiye hain, ab paise do... (Why? I have brought you till here. Now pay me!)" Why? Why? Why? Why does this always have to happen? Why do I always have to get into this argument? I try and remain calm as I politely reason with the autorickshaw driver in Hindi, a language that is definitely not my strong point. "Why do people hire an autorickshaw? Do we hire it because we want to go where you, the driver, wants to take us? Or do we hire it because we want to reach our destination? Please take the auto inside the gate. There's hardly any water, nor is the compound filled with potholes." "Why are you doing this?" an unexpectedly shrill female voice screeches into the conversation. "I have to go home to my children and cook dinner!! Why don't you just get off here?" This is just what I need at the end of a long, lousy day, with the monsoons whipping up even more misery. Add to that a bully for an autorickshaw driver and kick in the butt for being a good Samaritan (I had, very kindly, agreed to share the auto with a fellow Christian, a woman who lived down the road from me, ON HER REQUEST)!!! But then, why should one expect a Christian to be better than anyone else? This time, though, I was not going to give in. Much grumbling and a torrent of abuses later, I got my way. The auto entered my building and my shoes stayed dry. Just writing about it makes me see red all over again. And reminds me to have my brain checked: Why am I still living in this city? Especially since the tales I can tell you about commuting in Bombay are just not funny!!! Why do these bullies who drive public transport vehicles have to come my way at all? Does my physical stature -- I have to tell you here that I'm not too tall and border on the thinner side of slim and normally lug a heavy, professional camera bag -- beg to be bullied and knocked about? Sometimes, I wonder. Thankfully, this does not happen every day. But it's not as if such run-ins are rare -- almost everyone in the city has their own tale of being told 'I-don't-want-to-go-there-get-down-here-itself' by a taxi or auto driver. So you put your tail between your legs and quietly do as you are told. Or, you stand and fight for your rights. If the latter is what you decided to do (Bully for you!!!) -- that's when the arguments commence. "Fine, if you don't want to drop me where I want to go, you don't get paid!" "What do you mean I don't get paid?" "If you want to get paid, then take me to where I want to go. And if you are going to get loud and aggressive, we can go to the cops and sort it out..." "GO TO THE COPS? I'll show you. You college kids (Can't help it if I still look like one. Nor can I help that inward smile, which, if witnessed, would surely get me clobbered) think you're so smart. Okay, you little (choice abuse in Hindi), hope you (more vicious thoughts)... Blah blah blah blah blah... " Christ!! I get off with my ears ringing, but can't resist a last remark. I point out to the cab driver that all he needs to do is follow the law, which requires drivers of public transport vehicles to drop their passengers to their destinations. That's it. Then, everyone's happy. He, obviously, has never heard of such a law! But I'm not about to be short-changed and made to walk a half a mile through sewage water (and have no shoes for the morrow) to oblige them. A favourite excuse is: "No petrol. Can I leave you here?" Or that it is time for a shift change so, "I have to return the vehicle now." "If I had to get down here," is my favourite answer, "I would have taken the bus." Sometimes, this works. I escape the malice and argument, reach my destination and even leave a tip to ease my conscience if his plea was genuine... There are, of course, other infuriating circumstances. On days when you are in a tearing hurry and plead the driver to go faster, he will turn to you and coolly say, "What do you want me to do? Skip the red light? Run over those people? Or get caught by the cop for speeding?" On such days, you will notice you always get a middle-aged, jaded person who only interest is to curb-crawl and make sure the speedometer does not cross 20 kilometres an hour! It's enough to drive you to murder. But then, I guess everyone is out to make a buck in a big city like Bombay. So I thank God for those rare days when I don't have to put up with their nefarious ways. I even thank the driver for not being obnoxious. Take the time the prime minister was in the city for his knee surgery. It was, as you can guess, media mayhem. If you looked at the hype it generated, you'd think the man was having a lobotomy or something!! Never mind that, though, I had to get my pictures. Which involved dashing to Dr Chitranjan S Ranawat's (the New York-based surgeon who operated on Vajpayee) press conference from Breach Candy (where the operation took place) to the lab (to develop the photographs). So I had this cab wait for me and, boy, did he understand the urgency of the situation!!! He did have a nice little tally for me at the end of the day, but I was eternally grateful and let him know that. Monetarily! Other than these minor skirmishes, peppered with the occasional heartwarming incident, I have never had the misfortune of being harmed in any way. Touch wood!!! This, despite the fact that I am female and have to sometimes travel to varied corners of this city at odd hours. Besides, in sab jhagadon se mein kuch to Hindi seekh leti hoon (Thanks to these arguments, my Hindi has improved)!!! Jewella C Miranda has recently invested in a two-wheeler. Illustration: Dominic Xavier Do tell us what you think of this diary
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