It was a
surprise visit, and an undesirably short trip to Chennai these past few days.
It is nice here. Not too hot or humid; my shirt soaked through only by 4pm. In
June, you wake up at 7am with sweat-soaked clothes. There was a gentle breeze
blowing everywhere in the city, where you in Velachery or Anna Nagar. My sister’s house in
Anna Nagar is in this nice tree-lined street. Kids still play on the streets here,
stopping when cars came by. The bark of the trees is dyed black from
soot in the vehicle fumes, the resplendent green leaves far above street level bear a stark contrast to the
black tree trunks, reminding me of the pollution in the city. It’s a sight to
watch the branches swing lazily in the breeze.
Every trip I
make to the city, be it long or short, leaves me with a few memorable minutes.
Once, it was a porter with impeccable English, and my daughter’s wonderment
that he wore no shoes. Another time, it was this conversation with an auto
rickshaw driver.
It was midnight. After an enjoyable evening with my buddies, they flagged down an autorickshaw for me. A few minutes after I sat in it, I learned that the driver had agreed to a dirt cheap rate primarily because my friend, with whom he had negotiated, was from the same town as he. I would have loved to have been there when they found this out; it only took 2 minutes of conversation for them to figure it out! The driver was about 65 years old, and showed every year of it. The years had not been kind to him. Even in the darting lights from sodium vapor lamps by the streetside, he was quite striking. The large moustache that swung upward proudly announcing that he was from Virudhunagar, almost covered all the pockmarks on his face. He lacked all but a couple of front row of teeth. He chewed on a wad of tobacco stuck in a corner in his mouth and kept spitting out every now and then. I steered clear of the spit angle and sat in the opposite corner, just in case there was a gust of wind!
It was midnight. After an enjoyable evening with my buddies, they flagged down an autorickshaw for me. A few minutes after I sat in it, I learned that the driver had agreed to a dirt cheap rate primarily because my friend, with whom he had negotiated, was from the same town as he. I would have loved to have been there when they found this out; it only took 2 minutes of conversation for them to figure it out! The driver was about 65 years old, and showed every year of it. The years had not been kind to him. Even in the darting lights from sodium vapor lamps by the streetside, he was quite striking. The large moustache that swung upward proudly announcing that he was from Virudhunagar, almost covered all the pockmarks on his face. He lacked all but a couple of front row of teeth. He chewed on a wad of tobacco stuck in a corner in his mouth and kept spitting out every now and then. I steered clear of the spit angle and sat in the opposite corner, just in case there was a gust of wind!
He moved with his entire family to Chennai,
when he was still a boy of 14. He, with his 4 brothers and 2 sisters all went to work
right away, his mother running the house while also working as a maid in a few houses nearby. The men drove rickshaws, worked construction jobs and cleaned streets to make ends meet. The girls worked as maids. They had no money and they lived
in a small tenement near Parry’s corner. 2 of the brothers did not make it,
dying away from Malaria. He said it so matter of factly that I did a
double take and had to stop him. “2 of my brothers died a few years after we
moved here. I got married after that. My wife was also from the same village…” His
father had died long before and it was his mother’s decision to move to the
city. There was little money to made from agriculture.
He married and had 3 children of his own. He drove autos all day and night to do one thing and one thing only: to put the kids through college. You should have heard the pride with which he told me his 3rd child, a girl, was going to graduate from college soon. I asked him how old he was. He said he was 75!!! 75 years old, and still grinding away. I asked him if he would retire any time soon. Pat came back the answer.; “No. What will I do with myself?” That was one thing I liked about him. He was confident of himself and his decisions. He did not go to school, he was happy working away 18 hours of the day, letting his wife manage the household and the children. He was happy working when many of the other drivers drank away precious earnings. He was proud that he had no vices like alcoholism or political leanings. The latter typically led to the former among his peers. I liked his singular desire of educating his children. It most probably saved him and his family.
I liked that he believed in something more significant than religion or politics. Grinding poverty could have made him put the children to work as well, which happens often. But he refrained, and I felt good for having known the wise man. In the 25 minutes it took him to get me to Velachery, he told me his story with an incredible narrative. When we reached the house, I thanked him for the story and paid him. That was a year ago and I can still recall his voice and the forcefulness in his voice, when I traveled the same road at night. I am sure he is still toiling away with a smile and pride in his heart. I never did ask his name. As far as I was concerned, he was the man from Virudhunagar. Proud and resolute.
He married and had 3 children of his own. He drove autos all day and night to do one thing and one thing only: to put the kids through college. You should have heard the pride with which he told me his 3rd child, a girl, was going to graduate from college soon. I asked him how old he was. He said he was 75!!! 75 years old, and still grinding away. I asked him if he would retire any time soon. Pat came back the answer.; “No. What will I do with myself?” That was one thing I liked about him. He was confident of himself and his decisions. He did not go to school, he was happy working away 18 hours of the day, letting his wife manage the household and the children. He was happy working when many of the other drivers drank away precious earnings. He was proud that he had no vices like alcoholism or political leanings. The latter typically led to the former among his peers. I liked his singular desire of educating his children. It most probably saved him and his family.
I liked that he believed in something more significant than religion or politics. Grinding poverty could have made him put the children to work as well, which happens often. But he refrained, and I felt good for having known the wise man. In the 25 minutes it took him to get me to Velachery, he told me his story with an incredible narrative. When we reached the house, I thanked him for the story and paid him. That was a year ago and I can still recall his voice and the forcefulness in his voice, when I traveled the same road at night. I am sure he is still toiling away with a smile and pride in his heart. I never did ask his name. As far as I was concerned, he was the man from Virudhunagar. Proud and resolute.
