Saathi Name - Malaya Das Feeling weird this morning . Out of habit I grab my lid, jacket and riding boots. My mother taps on my shoulder in utter disbelief and reminds me about the hired ride waiting downstairs. Its been a while I have taken one. This time am flying to the land of high passes to which my preferred mode of transport has been a motorcycle always. Am already feeling restless. I need to be first dropped off to the closest airport about 30kms away. Hardly any distance in the wee hours especially with the elevated shortcuts . I load my bag in the boot and am greeted by a fair skinned uniformed man. For a change I take the front seat that is devoid of the steering wheel and pedals. Obviously I am not driving . which is why. I hate the last minute rush and allowed the driver the luxury to coast along the near empty roads. . I keep off my smart phone. I instead prefer to talk to my co-passenger who in this case is the driver himself. He smiles and says , I am pretty early for my flight. I smile back and request him to keep it slow. No hurry. He acknowledges and logs into the automated fare. The counter ticks in with a mighty minimum fare picking pace. I look elsewhere. After our initial pleasantries, I engage him with my topic of interest. His Life. He stares at my curiosity and chuckles. He tells me about his journey in sleepless Mumbai so far. Hailing from a village in Assam, recently married to his dear wife. She is back there taking care of his paralyzed mother. He came to Mumbai 6 years ago and started working as a driver for a call center. The fleet cab world enticed him with better perks and flexibility. He joined one and has been driving 12 hours/day ever since. I then ask him about life in his native. To which he cries in agony and shouts , all government servants are corrupt. Nobody wants to do a thing and there is a constant tussle to obtain basic facilities. Most of the area is submerged under water and every house has a raft to cross over. Even school kids have to go through this excruciating journey each day. There are no proper roads , no water or electricity. The only means of livelihood being fishing and some farming , barely enough to make ends meet. Most of the population speak Hindi besides Assamese and Bengali. Every year men in their mid 20s leave their native in search of jobs as drivers or watchmen in plush metros. They make just about enough after staying in multi sharing dinky apartments. Every time they visit family all that is saved here gets sucked up there. But thats life. At least they all have some job and some happiness. I ask about his gratification with his current job. He seems elated and exclaims could not ask for more. I ask him if he is being treated fair by his employer? To which , he draws my mixed attention to his id board boldly displayed right in front of me. I take a close look at it and read the first line repeatedly. Saathi Name - Malaya Das. Saathi ( means companion in Hindi language ). He proudly adds, nobody is called a driver. Everybody is considered a companion and a trusted partner in his company. Do I need to ask him more ? A single word making a huge difference to someones morale. Mr. Das you have taught me to find joy even in the smallest things. Kudos to you. A Bengali by roots. An Assamese by birth. Waah Re India.
Posted on: Sat, 09 Aug 2014 04:03:26 +0000