A Drive And Some Conversations!

 

I am Singh, and I am trying my best to get the surly passenger sitting next to me to start talking.

I have tried just about everything – introducing myself, giving him a little bit of information about my nativity and asking him subtly and not-so-subtly about himself. Apart from monosyllabic answers, the guy has been the same since the last twenty minutes of our drive.

Everything about him seems tensed – his posture, the way he has clasped his bag across his chest, his stubborn jaw-set where at times, I can see a muscle twitch. His hair is graying around his temples, but I cannot assume his age simply on that basis. Premature graying is common now-a-days.

There is only one option left. I do not like it much, but it has always worked without fail.

“Your age must be around 45 – 46, I take it.” I say.

“44”. Comes the surly reply.

“Huh.” I say, adding a little bit of haughtiness in the word. It gets his attention. (Of all the things I have done till now, my arrogant ‘Huh’ gets him to look at me properly. Oh, the irony!)

“What was that?” He asks in a tense tone.

“Nothing. You youngsters have luxurious lives compared to my generation and yet look like your world is coming to an end.” I say with a slight laugh.

He shakes his head and lets out a mirthless laugh. “Here it comes. You people always feel like you guys only did the hard work and we are simply having a party every day, isn’t it?”

I shrug dismissively. That gets him riled even more.

“You have no idea what we go through.” He says, a quiver in his voice. “What I go through every day. I work and work and work only to get a very small amount as bonus, apart from the salary that makes me cry every month. There is the dreaded office-politics that I am subject to every day. There is the boss who takes complete advantage of me and keeps heaping on work after work with no mention of any increment or promotion. I leave at around 7 in the morning, travel in the heavy traffic and reach office after almost two hours, only to hear taunts from my colleagues in another department about how I am the last one to arrive in office. They do not mention that I am also the last one to leave! After all these, I have to come home looking happy and contented so that my family doesn’t catch my negative vibes. Now tell me it was the same for your generation!”

The last sentence comes out as almost a shout.

Several minutes pass in silence. I do not feel compelled to say anything. My purpose has been achieved to an extent. I wanted to give him an outlet to release his tension.

He takes a deep breath. I hand him a bottle of water.

“It feels good to let it all out, doesn’t it?” I ask, smiling at him. He looks at me for a few seconds and resumes drinking water.

“I am 66 years old.” I say. “I don’t really have to work. Driving in a car the whole day and transporting people from one end of the city to another can get taxing after a while. But I do it because I have found a purpose to this job. I make it a point to talk to people and to make them feel better for the little amount of time they spend with me.”

He handles the bottle to me, looking very sheepish and subdued. But I note, with much satisfaction, that he no longer looks tense. There is a deflated air around him, as if he has let out all the feelings and emotions simmering inside him.

“Sometimes, the only way to help people is to get them talking, to give them an outlet for their thoughts.” I say.

He nods but doesn’t say anything.

A few minutes later, we reach his destination.

“Thanks.” He says in a gentle voice while making the payment.

“Remember, there is kindness around and it will always find its way to you.” I tell him. “Today is done. Let it go. Have faith that tomorrow will be better. Sometimes that is the only thing we can do.”

His eyes well up. He shakes hands with me and leaves, wiping his face and marching into the gate of the apartment. I look out at his slightly bent frame. As he goes further inside, he straightens himself, as if trying to project his strength both to himself and to his family. I send out a silent prayer for him and move on, ready for my next passenger.