A kick to the Rickshaw

                  A   Kick to the Rickshaw

                  It was Shrawan Purnamashi.I had worn two rakhis already, one from my sister Asha and the other from Brahma Kumari Asha, the head of the Brahma Kumari chapter of Delhi who has been sending me a rakhi for almost two decades now. I was waiting for Usha, my sister from Gurgaon, who had promised to come on D-Day to tie the rakhi in person.

          Suddenly, the phone rang. It was Usha.

          “Bhai Sahib! I am sorry. I will probably be too late for lunch. You people carry on.”

          “What happened? Where are you? It is not too late as yet. We can wait.”

          She said, “You know how I travel. I took the metro to Hauz Khas. Now, for the last half an hour, I have been trying to persuade some scooterwallah to take me to Pamposh. They all say that there have been heavy showers in Greater Kailash. The roads are blocked. So they cannot come.”

          “Keep on trying, Usha. I am sure the water must have receded by now and the scooter rickshaws will resume their services. There is no hurry. We shall wait for you,” I replied.

          I had just finished reporting on Usha’s conversation to my wife Raj, when the doorbell rang.

          “That must be Usha,” said my optimistic wife. Although this appeared improbable, it did turn out to be Usha.

          The next one hour flew on the wings of joy and happiness. We partook of the special Barfi from Rewari that Usha had brought from Gurgaon. She put the tilak on my forehead and tied the rakhi. Raj had prepared special dishes and we tasted these with relish.

          When we sat down to a post-prandial gossip session, Usha raised the issue of how the rickshaw-wallahs could be tamed into submission. She suggested that there should be a law so that the rickshaw drivers were prohibited from refusing to offer their services on certain routes.

          I told her that such a law already existed. All we needed was a Modi who would enforce the law.

          I recalled that I had encountered a similar situation a few months ago, when my cousin Rup Krishen Baqaya came to pay me a visit. He is an expert on astrology and I am interested in his predictions. So the time flew on with terrific speed. We did not realise that it was already six p.m. and he had to go all the way to Nirman Vihar.

          Rupji was a pampered bureaucrat who retired as a Chief Commissioner of Income Tax. Every time he came to Delhi, one of his numerous chamchas would send a car with a chauffeur. He was always mobile. This was the first time he was on his own.

          I decided to see him off in a scooter rickshaw. We walked down to Gate No. 1 of Pamposh Enclave. A vacant rickshaw slowed to a halt near us. We told him about Nirman Vihar. His face fell.

          “I would have been happy to take you to Nirman Vihar. But there is a problem. I just received a call on my mobile. My wife has suddenly been taken ill.  Have got to get home. Sorry.”  And he whirred off.

          When the same scene was repeated four-five times with minor variations, Rupji lost his cool. “What is all this? One fellow‘s son has not yet returned from school, another has exhausted the CNG gas and is unable to get a refill from any of the petrol pumps. We have a fellow whose time-span is over and he has to report back at the owner’s house. And so on and so forth.”

          “You must have noticed,” I pointed out, “that no one has as yet refused to go to Nirman Vihar. You see, under the rules, they cannot refuse. And they are very particular that they do not.”

          “I am sick and tired of them. Can we take a taxi?” Rupji said. “Why not”, I replied, “Although it will cost a pretty penny.”

          “How much?” he asked. “Around 400 rupees,” I hazarded.

          We walked down to the Haryana Taxi Service. Rupji asked him about the fare.  “500 rupees,” the driver said. Rupji looked at me. “How about 400 rupees?” I asked. The driver shook his head with an air of finality. “It is very far…across the Jamuna.”

          I told Usha, “At last, we crossed the road and Rupji took a rickshaw up to ITO. ‘Beyond ITO, I shall see ’Rupji said. ‘Either I shall persuade this chap to cross the Jamuna or take another rickshaw’. He boarded the rickshaw and that was the last I saw of him.”

          Raj looked at a portion of the sky visible from our bedroom. “I think, Usha, you better start on your return journey. This sky is threatening to bring about a heavy shower. Get a rickshaw before Greater Kailash gets flooded.”

          Within minutes, Usha was on her way!

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