I hired him against my better judgement. I have become very adept at the art of figuring out which cabs are ok and which aren't, I always thought. Ok here means clean interiors, body parts that don't rattle, dark film on the windows, while an ability to accelerate past auto-rickshaws and trucks would be a bonus. For a working transistor, well you can have my kingdom. So I usually approach the taxi slowly, faking a cell phone conversation as I scope the vehicle and driver. I act desultory as if I am engrossed in the phone talk, all the while hoping the instrument doesn't go off during my act, and look at the array of vehicles and choose what I think is the best among the sorry lot.
Despite all this once in a while I do go wrong.
As happened the other night. Actually everything warned me not to get into the vehicle, but since this driver was the only one who showed any enthusiasm to reach me to my destination I had no choice. My instincts were proved right when I realised that the lever to lower the window a little, so the fetid city air could replace the fetid air inside, wasn't working.
And I really should have got off when the engine died at the first traffic signal. As the driver wrestled with his ignition, and the vehicles lined up began honking in unison as if that will spark the engine into life, I knew I had made a mistake. As the car finally came to life, seconds before the signal turned red, I asked the driver if it will go the distance or if I should take another vehicle.
No, no, he assured me, this won't happen again, don't worry.
But barely five kilometres later, he suddenly veered the car to the kerb and switched off the engine and sat there like the family dunce. I removed my earphones and asked him what was wrong, even as the traffic behind me kept up a cacophony. Nahi, the engine has heated up, this won't go further, he explained without remorse. But I asked you early on if I should take another taxi, you said no, now where will I find another cab in this mess? Sorry, but these things happen, he shrugged.
Cursing my luck I paid him off and waddled into the traffic, deftly avoiding Tata Sumos and Bajaj autorickshaws hurtling towards their destiny and made my way to a rickshaw. As I got into the maniacal three-wheeler, my last sight of my previous driver was as he zoomed of in his rickety cab, 'heated engine' and all, into a side lane.
The bastard, I realised, all he wanted was to head home, and now he got paid for it too
aah, these taxi drivers are damn smart man! They know when and whom to fleece! Good post!