We (me and my father) stepped out of Jaslok Hospital compound at posh Peddar road area in Mumbai. Jaded enough, we were in no mood to board a local, so we hired a taxi to Andheri, where we had a hotel reservation.
My dad, who desperately needed a nap, inquired taxi driver about time to reach our destination. The black-yellow taxi driver, who looked in his early fifties with his grayish hair and lightly wrinkled face, told us that it will take around an hour, but the probability depends on the nature of traffic. Unfortunately, traffic was at its peak and the traffic lights were making us halt every other minute. So, to kill time, my dad started a conversation with that fellow.
Below, I am trying to frame some parts the conservation coherently. (I am using Hindi to seize the essence of the conversation correctly. Please bear with me in case I make any mistakes.)
Around 15 minutes of boarding the taxi, a half a dozen of traffic lights, uncountable honking, and some random amount of talks later:
“हिंदी अच्छी बोलते हो। यहाँ हे तो नही लगते, कहाँ के रहने वाले हैं आप?” my dad asked casually.
“अब तो यहीं के हैं साहब. वैसे तो UP के हैं, लेकिन पंद्रह साल से यहीं रह रहे हैं…” replied the taxi driver in a plain voice.
“तो क्या आप पंद्रह साल से टैक्सी चला रहे हैं?!” dad framed curiously.
Taxi driver: “नही साहब, पहले एक फैक्ट्री में काम किये चार साल. फिर फैक्ट्री बंद हो गई तो दिहाड़ी किये रहे, अभी लग-भाग आठ साल हो गए टैक्सी चलाते.”
After a long pause, my dad asked again “परेशानी नही होती यहाँ? सुना है लोकल politics बहुत होती है यहाँ. थोडा time पहले UP-बिहार वालो को तंग किये थे न यहाँ?”
To which, the taxi driver replied in a weary way “वो सब तो होता रहता है, साहब. सब नेतागिरी है. परेशानी तो होता है…लेकिन क्या करेगा, पेट भी तो भरना है. काम तो करना ही पड़ेगा न.”
(After a short pause, he continued…) लेकिन यहाँ के लोकल लोग अच्छे हैं, गलत बात नही करते. बाकि ये सब फालतू का शोर तो नेता लोग करते रहते हैं. नही करेंगे तो उनकी दुकान कैसे चलेगी?
Dad fired again “लेकिन UP से इतनी दूर क्यों आ गए? वहीँ कोई काम कर लेते.”
“वहाँ कोई ढंग का काम मिला ही नही साहब, नही तो यहाँ दौड़-भाग वाली जिंदगी कौन जीना चाहता है. और अब बच्चों को भी यहीं रहना पसंद है…” he replied casually.
“कितने बच्चे हैं आपके?”
“जी, तीन हैं, दो बेटे और एक बेटी.”
“पढ़ते हैं?” now my dad sounded concerned.
“बेटी अभी दसवी में है, दोनों बेटे बारव्ही पास हैं. एक फैक्ट्री में काम करता है, और दूसरा मैकेनिक है.” He informed us.
“चलो, अच्छी बात है की स्कूल तो पूरा पढ़ें हैं, लेकिन अगर कोई डिग्री करवा देते दोनों को तो शायद कोई अच्छी नौकरी…” (Before my dad can complete his sentence, the taxi driver started narrating his distress…)
“साहब, कौन नही चाहेगा की उसके बच्चे आगे बढ़ें, कामयाब बनें… सरकार कहती है बच्चों को पढाओ, देश का भविष्य हैं ये… लेकिन स्कूल से पढ़ लिख कर, मेहनत कर के फर्स्ट डिवीज़न में पास होते हैं, लेकिन कॉलेज में दाखिला नही मिलता. सरकारी कॉलेज में कोटा चलता है, और निजी में पैसा. और हमारे पास तो दोनों ही नही है”
(after a short pause, he continued…) “अगर हम सोचे की अपने बच्चों को डॉक्टर या इंजिनियर बनाये, तो भी कम से कम सात-आठ लाख रुपये तो चाहिए होगा. बैंक भी लोन तब देगा जब खुद का मकान होगा, और हम तो छोटी सी चौली में रहते हैं साहब… आधा मुंबई वहीँ बस्ता है, साहब”
(He paused for a turn, and then forged ahead…) “मेरा छोटा बेटा पढाई में बहुत अच्छा था साहब, इंजिनियर बन्ने का था उसको… लेकिन उसकी जगह किसी कोटे वाले को मिल गई. और निजी कॉलेज में पढ़ने की अपनी हैसियत नही.”
“घर में अगर कोई बीमार हो जाये तो खाना खाने को भी पैसे नही बचते, सरकारी हॉस्पिटल में भी जेब ढीली किये बिना डॉक्टर दर्शन नही देते. डर लगा रहता है की कोई बीमार न हो जाये.”
We were passing by a Church, where some musicians were playing orchestra, and a lady, clad in white from head to toe was advancing towards the door. She was followed by some young girls. It seemed like she was a bride and the musicians were playing to cherish the D-day.
Watching this, it seemed like he gasped, frowned and voiced again…
“फिर कल को बेटी की शादी का दहेज़ भी देना है… सरकार कहती है की दहेज़ लेना और देना गलत है, लेकिन आज कल बिना दहेज़ कोई शादी नही करता… कम से कम एक मोटरसाइकिल और दीवार पे टांगने वाला TV चाहीये लड़के को… और में तो टैक्सी भी भाड़े की चलता हूँ, इतना पैसा कहाँ से लाऊंगा?”
…and his agonies continued till we reached our desired destination.
Here I am not trying to pose taxi driver as a wailing one or a frustrated blabbermouth. But it’s a reality check – of the society we live in, of the notions we follow, and of the system ladened upon us.
This episode laid some questions:
Why some politicians have to play the game of regional politics? And that too on the migrants pursuing ordinary jobs to make a living.
When in Mumbai, a majority of people I met belonged to some other states, including doctors and technicians. Then why are migrants only from lower strata considered as a threat to the local culture?
I guess, the taxi driver correctly framed the answer to this. If they won’t, who will buy them?
So, spreading hatred is important for local political groups to thrive. In a nutshell, to hell with unity and brotherhood, DIVIDE & RULE.
According to the constitution of India, if caste based reservation system is meant to empower the suppressed, isn’t it oppressing the able and ability?
Well, of course, this debate is in pursuit since decades, and facts are stale now, neither have I had any new argument. But one thing is sure, the reservation system is nothing more than a play-card for politicians, who go overseas on taxpayer’s money for their treatments, but want taxpayers to deal with mediocre reservation-backed doctors. (engineers, IAS, IPS, and MBA’s too) Let’s say, caste certificate is the free-ride to the zenith.
If the debate about reservations is stale, then dowry is stinking. People take it because the other side grants it. People demand it, because well, you consider your daughter a liability, so you are obliged to give. We live in the times when daughters are proving themselves no less, or better say, a step ahead of sons. But still, the great Indian mentality just refuses to amend.
You, as a reader, you have two options:
- Read this conversation just as a fiction, and get back to your routine, or
- Think, understand and try to be the change.
Also, If you are reading this blog, then your parents indeed have brought you up wisely and if you are working, you might doing something good in your life. You spend a better quality of life than millions. This conversation was started to avoid boredom, but it highlighted daily problems and issues faced by a common man, who is trying to raise his family against all social and economic odds.
It forced me to think that how lucky I am to be educated enough to be able to write this blog and that too through a gadget, to which millions do not even, have access.
There is even a populace who don’t have reach to even basic blocks of life – clothes, food, and shelter!!
Thank god and your parents that you are socially and economically sound…and try to change your point of view towards life.
Life is beautiful…
