It’s the summer of 2007, mid of
June, mid day and the sun shining with all its might and bright in the middle
of sky making it impossible for people to even catch a glimpse of it . A typical
day in the summer of Delhi. Monsoon hasn’t arrived and the Delhi ites are
expecting it anytime soon.
All I know was that Delhi and
heat mean the same and it sure did. I landed in New Delhi at around 5 PM in the
evening. But as I was informed, it was surely the hottest day of my life,
unforgettable indeed! From the time I started walking out of the airport, hugging
my sisters (well, one of the two has arrived just a couple of days ago) until
the car and getting in, I realize that I am drenched in sweat! Yes, welcome to
India. My first time in New Delhi.
Having Indian parents, you always
have this vague idea of what our country is like, though you never have been
here but you are quite aware of the way people would be.
It is exactly the way Papa had
told me about Delhi. The car moves, windows go down (Yes! Air Conditioner of
the car has given up just a day before), no I can’t pull it down, the driver helped
me putting it forcefully with his rough hands saying ‘This is jammed sir, would
be fine soon, don’t worry’ (How does it matter, I wouldn’t travel again with
you my friend is all what I said to myself) and I am relieved a little as the
car moves. The breeze, hot though crosses my face and dries the sweat which
seemed to be there since ages.
…and suddenly the car slows down,
huh? Well, nothing, the ‘usual’ jammed roads and the beggars around. I try to
make sure I pull up my window before these kids in tattered clothes cross the
other cars and reach our’s and ‘touch’ me. But alas! I can’t, well obviously!
The ‘window’!
I reach the house, feeling all
yucky, messy, sweaty and what not! Humid it is…with no sign of rain! ‘Weird
weather, weird city’ I say to myself. My sister helps me unpack and guides me
to the washroom, obviously, it is understood, the first thing I need when am
home. I take a shower and relax. Away from home, but hey, at home.
I don’t really feel hungry but my
sister asks me to come over for dinner with her…somewhere ‘nearby’…Community
Center, that’s what they call it…I think people here have this liking for
walking, my sister has become one of them. She told me it is just right the
corner, but am walking since 10 minutes, new place, new environment and
obviously, the same old sister whom I met after 6 months. Well, to many, 6
months might not be a long time. But people who share ‘the bond’ with their
siblings would understand this. I write ‘the bond’ because I don’t think there
can be a word which would describe the kind of relation you have with your
siblings. The serious talks, the jokes, the eye gestures, the unspoken words,
the humor, the thinking, the suggestion you want and so on. I come back and we
start chatting and laughing about every possible thing. The night passes
(probably talking and talking and talking). The sun rises and an ‘irritating’
morning. I don’t know when and how did this lady(maid) come in my room with a
broom! Khik khik khik…the very voice of her broom doesn’t let me be on the bed
for long. Soon I am awake, with eyes wide open. But hey, I have to get up, it is
8 am.
Soon I realize that my sister is
in the kitchen, making tea and breakfast and ready already. Probably this is
the time when I realize that my eldest sister is no less than mumma.
Bareera Apa asks the 2 of us (me and Maria Apa) to get ready as soon as we
can, hands us the keys of the house and says ‘Go to Jamia and fill the form by
11’.
Apa is working with this
Architectural firm and left us all by our selves to go out there and explore.
Yes, I would say explore as I have
no idea as to how this place, the things, the people work, at all.
But we move on. Me and my sister,
all set to leave by 10 itself. Walk down the apartment and there we are on the
street.
Apa had told us to take a cycle
rickshaw to the University located 10 minutes away.
All we knew was that they charge 15
rupees for two (well, this was the first thing I had asked Apa. I mean I had
to, obviously, had heard a lot about people coming to this city for the first time
and being cheated on by these rickshaw pullers, auto drivers and so on).
I turn to one of the rickshaws,
ask him to take us to Jamia but he refuses. I turn to another (well, all look
the same with the cloth over their heads and the similar pattern of the lungis)
and he agrees. Me and my sister are on our first ‘rickshaw ride’. The man pulls
it on. His hands are so rigid and stiff as he holds the handle of the cycle as
though he can bring down 10 men at a time, it can surely be compared to a piece
of iron. His legs are moving like that of a machine, to and fro. His calves are
such that he would have always wanted it. The cuts so perfect. The sweat all
over his body has dried leaving behind the white patches. The rickshaw soon
slows down. Well the road isn’t plain, it has ‘the curves’ one might have never
ever imagined of staying miles away from the country. Yes, I am talking of the
roads, the main roads, forget the lanes. The rickshaw going down and the man
pulling it up and back on the track with all his strength. All I know is that
my feet are right in front, erect under the guys seat making sure I don’t fall
off and I hold the side of the rickshaw so hard that I get down, my palm would
surely have a print of the blue color of the rod.
We reach our destination. I get
down, take out a 20 rupee note and hand him over. To my amazement, he keeps it
all. Didn’t bother returning me the ‘5 rupees’.
I ask him, he says its 20 rupees
for the distance. Well, there cannot be a worse situation when you have your
first ride and are cheated upon by the rickshaw puller.
Me and my sister ask him politely
for the second time and again, he says ‘No’. He is stern on 20.
I really don’t know what to say,
we just move on.
While I just take a couple of
steps, I turn to my sister and she is already looking at me, we both have this
unspoken conversation of whether we have given him ‘more’ or that it is ‘too
less’ of the hard work he did. Literally pulling 2 people in this scorching heat
is one task which I can surely never do. Never! I don’t seem to forget that.
7 years on and here I am now,
taking a rickshaw ride. But everytime I go for it, that very first memory does
pass by. It was the first time ever in my life that I had seen a man pulling 2
(sometimes even 3) people at a time. We sit there so stiff with our asses stuck
to the seat as if we were to never get down.
We don’t really bother on the
effort these men put in to pull it. We just don’t ever. Forget empathizing!
That’s something we are alien to when it comes to these people.
Sometimes I wonder on the way our
system works. Like we have these auto mated rickshaws charging triple the
amount of the rickshaw puller, where in reality it should be the vice versa.
I hope we get rid of this ‘man pulling man’
thing in the near future. Only then would we be proudly calling ourselves
‘free’!
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