The Human Condition

There is this thing that I've seen the people in my city do - a thing that I believe I am uniquely placed to observe (at least more so than many of those in my circle of friends and acquaintances). This is because my primary mode of transportation in Maximum City is the minimalist auto-rickshaw. Why? Because I don't drive, because it is always there, and because the convenience is worth the trauma to the spinal column.

I observe this thing that people do from my little auto-rickshaw window (door?) on the left, sometimes sticking my neck out and a little low so that I don't miss even a nuance of the show I am about to be treated to. It is a delicate game that usually begins with the players forlornly standing on the sidewalk, waiting for the dealer, our dapper auto-rickshaw driver, to bestow his kind favour on them. This, in Mumbai, can involve any of the following or more:

- Trying to bewitch the driver by staring unblinkingly into his eyes and chanting powerful spells

- Pouting and making mournful, puppy eyes at the (possibly startled) driver

- Making as if one might collapse and fall to the ground any minute with exhaustion

- Giving the objectionable contraption that is the auto-rickshaw one's best glare and scowl and hoping that it gets intimidated into submission

Only those who show immense commitment to their craft emerge victorious and secure the throne that is the hard, uncomfortable and usually tattered seat of the all-powerful auto-rickshaw. So when I am one of the lucky few, I take great joy in reveling in it. The icing on the cake? That thing that the said person forlornly standing on the roadside does. Since, in my experience, such a person is usually female (just a statistic, no judgment), I will henceforth use the pronoun 'she'.

She does this - as her prospective knight in chipped yellow-and-black armour emerges onto the road from a morass of vehicular confusion, still a few kilometers away from her longing gaze, she starts waving her hand, frantic and a not a little wild-eyed.  One assumes that she is fervently praying that it is empty, but soon will realize that there is someone sitting triumphantly on her hard-won (and hard-bottomed) seat, and move the direction of her prayers elsewhere. But wait! She continues to wave the frantic hand and do the unblinking-stare thing almost with unbroken concentration, right up to the moment when the auto-rickshaw with its rightful passenger in it is practically on her foot. The waving does not stop even then - in fact, her face relaxes and a light of propriety glints in her eyes that lock the rickshaw driver's bored ones with an imperious look that says 'Step aside, coachman, so I may step aboard my carriage.' Then, slowly, the stare turns into a confused and increasingly horrified squint into the little window of my little auto-rickshaw world. Still waving and peering, the look of slow realization creeps into those now world-weary eyes that not only is the heedless driver showing no signs of stopping, but there is actually someone sitting on that coveted seat! For those last remaining milliseconds, hand still waving away, she reluctantly lets her eyes meet mine, almost as if to persuade herself that I am just an apparition, that there is still hope. She might even tear her eyes away to make one last herculean effort, on one last beat of a broken heart, to miraculously compel the driver to stop all of a sudden, shake me off onto the kerb, and let her have what is rightfully hers. Most times, she continues to hold my gaze wistfully, and with a now stationary hand still held in the air like a Nazi salute, restrained by disbelief and denial, I see resignation finally conquer those eyes. The hand falls to her side, and the face turns back to the unforgiving road. 

In those last milliseconds, my amusement melts away and I can almost feel her dejection. I always wonder what the expression on her face at that moment is likely to be - Anxious? Cynical? Hopeful? Optimistic? Confident? I know what mine usually looks like, but that is my story, not hers.

Yet, there's one in a thousand journeys when, as my trusty charioteer and I are racing away to once again join the sea of  motorized chaos, I am forced to acknowledge life's whimsy - such as when the driver glances back briefly and then startles me with a magnificently phlegmatic "Bas... maine socha ki dekhoon meri gaadi mein koi hai bhi ki nahin... ". In loose translation (with a dash of irony and a wry nod to metaphysical subtext) - "Just that I was beginning to wonder if there was anybody back there at all... "