Main sirf dus saal ka tha! I was only ten years old when I was sent to Kolkata to work in a petrol pump. My father was a lowly farmer laden with ever increasing debt. With many mouths to feed and the crops being ruined for want of rain, it was time for my father to call the shots. My unhurried childhood abruptly took a sharp bend to a punishing pace. A distant cousin was the supervisor and I was hired on his recommendations. I ran dodgy errands of the pump workers and even cooked for them. From being cajoled by my mother to eat I was now feeding myself on leftovers after facing a back-breaking day. My wages albeit poor had bound me to this miserable life but even bad life can become worse. My cousin’s brother-in-law was given my job, after all brothers-in-law are dearer then brothers. I was disgracefully sent back to my village.
Back in the village things had become even more worse, more debt after my sister’s marriage. My father was now an angry and tired man who spanked me often. The teachers in the school caned me and my mother had to take the blame for all my mischief. My heart was not in studies and felt unloved and unwanted. One day I ran away after stealing 50 rupees, climbed on the dumper bed of a truck from the nearby highway and reached Varanasi in the night. Hungry and tired, I walked to the railway station and boarded a Bombay bound train.
I arrived at Bombay with sparkle in eyes and dream at heart. No more fearful as I was now around 15 years old and knew how a city treated a small fly. A filling meal was available for 2 rupees in a road side eatery, which means I could survive for 20 days with a meal a day even without earning anything. I had already spent 10 rupees in my ticket less journey and was left with 40 rupees. The days were spent loitering around staring at the tall buildings and nights spent on the lawns and footpaths. Some menial work kept me engaged until I landed with the job as a lift man in an office building. The salary of 80 rupees a month and another 50 rupees by working as a night watchman were well enough for two square meals a day. Saluting the sahibs, closing and opening the lift gate and pressing the appropriate floor button were my key job responsibilities during the day time and the nights were spent fighting the pesky mosquitoes with wakeful eyes. Most of the sahibs gave grim expression to my salutes but one Patil sahib use to flash a winning smile and asked my haal-chaal. Drivers of the sahibs were my friends and guide. I helped them in dusting the cars and listened to their gossips. I was learning the nuances of the city.
Few years went by and I had learnt the art of driving, my driver friends trained me at my insistence but I had no money to get a license. In the meanwhile Patil sahib brought a new car home and hired me as his wife’s driver, he even paid for my license. Good heavens! Life was taking a happy turn but Patil sahib’s wife soon learned driving and I again became redundant.
Patil sahib had the nous to understand my disappointment, he recommended me to an hotelier friend of his. I was hired as a waiter. Kismet ne ghumaya, hotel mein pohanchaya…. This was my favorite song those days from a recently released film.
With a heavy heart I began this job for a monthly salary of 100 rupees with free food and uniform as perks. Lo and behold! The very first day I earned 140 rupees from the lavish tips. It was time for me to spread my wings and make a decent earning; I drowned myself to rigorous schedule. I was up and working from 4 AM till wee hours, prompt and delightful service was good for my pocket.
I sent 1000 rupees to my father with a note saying “I always wanted to be your good son, forgive me Baoji”.
In the next six months I bought a chawl for twenty thousand rupees in an auction, I had bid the highest; the previous bid was of five thousand rupees. In no time I owned yet another chawl. I had the time of my life for next five years. My dream like life came crumbling down when the ownership of the hotel changed hands. Only good thing now was that I had shelter and some savings. I became a full time taxi driver. My marriage filled my life with belonging and sale of one of my chawls with plenty of money and a flat on the newly built apartment where the humble chawl once stood. I lived in the chawl and put the flat on rent.
So many years have gone by; my elder son is doing his MBA and the younger one engineering. I have three taxis and one car for my family. I worry when my sons go to college by bike and insist that they instead go by car, that’s safer for I see so many accidents on Mumbai roads. Recently, under a redevelopment plan I have been promised over a crore rupees and a flat, I think we will have get the rented flat vacated soon. I am still a taxi driver but not beyond 9 PM, my wife gets worried after that. Look she is calling on my mobile phone.
Mumbai is good place!
As told by Bacha Tiwari, en route to Mulund.
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