So for a number of circumstances uninfluenced at all during my short (so far) tenure in the organization, I found myself in Chandigarh over the last couple of days. Apparently, Citi has decided to move to new systems and I was supposed to man the front end for any emergencies. Of course I am just eight months into the business - what would a lowly geek know about a 2 year project, after all?
Anyway, that is beside the point. Here I was, done with two nights and two mornings at a call center (and you all thought CB was cool for doing a conversation with God and screwing with great average American minds in the space of One Night at a Call Center) and thanking my stars that one screwed weekend was all it took away from my life. The office is quite some distance from my hotel and I did not have the luxury of a cab at my disposal.
No, that doesn't mean that my employers were parsimonious. In fact, with the accomodation I was given, I should say it was quite the opposite. The simple reason why there was no cab, was because the Shatabdi from Delhi was delayed, and the cab company had all its taxis deployed there. Which is why I approached a bunch of green autos, with the drivers squatting on the ground on an unclean, chequered tablecloth, with cards and a few glasses in front of them.
Sector 17 jaaNa hai jee. Le chaloge? I ask.
Chalo jee, bas do minute de do. Wahee gaddi mein baith jaao. He dunks the alcohol down his throat.
Inke paas chutta nahin hoga. Mere sou rupaye tod ke do be. He yells at one of his cronies.
I sit tensely in the auto. Was it worth taking this risk? For just a saving of about 80 INR? I could go into the mall next to the office and bide my time till the train from Delhi chugged in. My heartbeat rises as I see this guy throw the bottle of what's-its-name across the pavement. It hits a bike tyre and shatters into pieces.
Finally our hero rises, and yells out. Matka chowk mein jaake aata hoo. Daaru ready rakhiyo. How much more daaru, I wonder. As he opened up the engine under his seat, cigarette in hand, I half conjured images of spark hitting gas cylinder and me dying an unsung hero who tried to take too much risk. Anyway, with his oil soaked rag wound around the engine starter, he pulled something (in normal auto rickshaws this is a lever that boots up the engine - this was a dilaidated blue auto which did not have the said lever) and the engine roared to a loud and noisy life. As the vehicle swayed left to right on the empty road - it was 10 pm in the night - I somehow convinced myself that this couldn't be the worst risk I had taken.
About five to ten minutes later, when I had proudly smsed a few concerned friends about the state of affairs, our man burst into the latest Punjabi hit songs. Full volume on, he was hell bent on entertaining most of Chandigarh. My face must have resembled Madhavan's in that scene in 3 idiots, where Kareena talks about Bush dropping Dhoklas on Iraq. We were going on the road housing the governors of Haryana and Punjab, heavily manned with men of the law, and our man had scant regard for them. As he stopped at the signal at Matka chowk (my hotel was very close to this place), I said a few prayers seeing him thump his head multiple times. He was getting more and more hammered and I suspected a part of him (the part that did not think Bhangra at 10 pm in a running auto was cool) was realizing this as well.
As he revved up outside the Taj Chandigarh, I got down and messaged my worried friends as the guy gave me my change. He was struggling to even put his purse back where it was. Thoda khyaal rakhiyo, paaji, I said in genuine Punjabi concern. Funny how a place can get to your tongue. He nodded his head, shook my hand and said - My name (sic) Baljit Singh....wise person. Aapko theek se le aaya - apne aap ko dekh loonga.
I only wish I had taken photographs of the dude or his auto. It was the ride of a lifetime.