Tuesday, July 19, 2011

In the rick of time



8.42 pm

This time I was cutting it too fine. For my usual 9.00 pm bus from Pune to Mumbai, I should ideally leave home by 8.20ish. Ideally. No rickshaws in sight. I'm running towards the rickshaw stand, and nothing there either. The situation is dire.

8.43

I wave frantically to a passing rickshaw and - oh thank you god - it slows down. But hey, there's someone sitting inside. Rickshaw-walla asks me where to and I yell "station!". He hesitates for a moment and jerks his head, inviting me in. I hesitate for half a moment and jump in. The figure in the auto quietly slips into the dark corner.

8.53

The guy's doing a great job, darting into empty alleys and swinging around bullock carts and sedans alike. I might just make it, but it's very close. I just hope the dark figure is getting off somewhere after I get off; I have no time! I steal a look at it as the rickshaw-walla is swinging around a car: it's darker this time. I don't even know if it's a woman or a man. BANG! Something just crashed into the rickshaw from behind. It was the scooter which he just cut across. I just hope there's no scene here - no time! Fortunately, our man zooms ahead, leaving the scooter behind. Thank god!

8.56

The rickshaw comes to a halt at a corner: oh no! Murphy, you! I hop out for the dark figure to get off. It's a man alright, but wait, is he - drunk?! Oh no, this doesn't look good. There's argument over the shared fare. The guy's making his way away without paying up, and the rickshaw-walla's jumping out to chase him. God, why? Thankfully the athletic rickshaw-walla catches up and begins negotiating. It's time I mediated and put some pressure on the parties to make it quick. Great, they've settled on something. I'm literally pushing the rickshaw-walla back into his seat, although he's clearly more interested in berating my fellow passenger, his family (apparently all drunk), his caste and all drunks in general. Finally he pulls the lever.

8.59

So here we go. Or do we? The scooter, by this time, has caught up and has begin another argument: I don't think he's insured himself or his vehicle. I'm pulling my hair by this time and very close to pulling the rickshaw-walla's. I'M GETTING LATE! GO, GO! I finally make empty threats to jump out without paying when the rickshaw finally takes off. It's now or never. I've already pulled out all the currency from my wallet.

9.01

I'm beyond comprehending time. I'm just hoping the rickshaw can fly fast enough to overtake light and somehow drop me there at an earlier time. Finally I get off, push all the notes in the ecstatic driver's palm, and make a mad dash to the bus, which is lazily beginning to move. I must have been quite an embarrassing sight, for everybody looked at me before getting down at the mid-way stop.