Ek Auto story

Aaja meri gaadi me baith ja!

People from Bombay, come gather around, for I am about to teach you a lesson about the auto driver. Even if you're not from Bombay, pay attention. This information might come in handy some day.

The Bombay rickshaw driver comes in a variety of race, religions and species. I have divided these rickshaw drivers in several categories. They are as follows:

1. The Angry One: This specie of rickshaw drivers is a frustrated soul. He has had several anger management issues; one that tops the list is being called 'bhaiyya'. So this bhaiyya ji...err...rickshaw driver takes his anger out on the road. They will drive at breakneck speeds (passengers can literally break their necks sitting in this rickshaw), honk endlessly, spew countless swear words, and remove their misery on the other travelers. This specie is very likely to get into physical fights with other drivers who they crash into, mainly BEST bus drivers (who are a different specie all together!)
2. The Drunkard: The name is self-explanatory, isn't it? This is a sub-specie of 'The Angry One', and they prefer to drown their misery in a bottle of 'desi tharra' and then rule the road. It's easy to spot this specie, since you can smell the alcohol all the way from China. Their speech is slurred, they drive loopily, and are once again, very likely to get into accidents. They might even start talking to you, crying or laughing. If you value your life, don't travel by this auto.
3. The Yapper: If this specie gets a chance at an alternate career, he would love to host a talk show. Where only he talks. Yappers open their mouth the moment you sit in the auto, and shut up the moment you get off. They don't need you to initiate the conversation; they can pretty much begin on their own, starting with their favorite dialogue: "Aaj traffic bahut zyada hai!" They then move on to topics ranging from Himes bhai's new moojic, to discussing the nuances of Marxist theories. They are so apt at speaking; they will continue talking even if your ears are plugged to your music player. It is very hard to notice a Yapper from afar, so if you wish to avoid this situation, best keep your mouth shut in all your future rickshaw rides.
4. The Dhinchak: This specie loves his ride. They love it so much; they take it on their onus to decorate it with every loud and garish item possible. Both sides of the passenger seat will have images of Bollywood beauties, looking at you lustily. Their stereos will be complete with surround sound, sub woofers, and what not. They are Himes bhai's biggest patrons, and they will play his music extremely loud, till the point where blood seeps out through your ears. They will have the customary "Tum kab wapas aaoge" sticker on their rear-view mirror (which is, of course, only a decorative commodity!) There will also be a porn movie blue light which will shine throughout the ride. Fresh flowers, plastic flowers, agarbattis, pepsi bottles filled with black shiny liquid, you will find them all in a Dhinchak's ride. If you appreciate Indian kitsch, hitch a ride.
5. The Asshole: This is the worst of the specie. They take personal pleasure in making the ride a hellish experience for the passenger. They tamper with the meters, making them run at a speed of Rs. 5 per second. They letch at the female passengers, stop in the middle of the road to talk on their cellphones, spit all over Bombay, deliberately drive over pot holes to make the ride extra bumpy, fake a tyre puncture if they don't want to ply beyond a certain point...I can go on and on! These leeches think they can get away with anything, and 90% of the time, they do. If you get the slightest indication that the auto driver belongs to the Asshole category, leave immediately or get ready for a back breaking ride, where you will be cheated off of your hard earned money.
6. The Millionaire: This parasitic specie makes its presence felt in all the auto drivers categories. These are a super rich specie...they are even richer than the Tatas and the Ambanis! They feel like they people of Bombay rely completely on their services. But they are so rich, they don't even bother. Auto driving is a hobby for them, a mere sport. That's why they blatantly refuse passengers who ask them to go to a certain location. Even if they fall on their feet and beg the specie to allow them a ride, they will just raise their noses high and speed off. On a good day, if they feel like it, they tauntingly agree to ply the passenger. You should consider yourself super lucky if the Millionaire allows you a ride.
7. The Honest One: Rarest of the rare! The chances of getting into an auto driven by the Honest one are one in a billion. They don't tamper with the meters, so you don't end up paying exorbitant rates. They drive at a normal pace, follow traffic rules, don't talk much, and help you with loading luggage, if need be. The chances of finding the Honest One are rare, since it's an endangered specie. Slowly, the other six species of auto drivers are luring the Honest One to join the dark side. In the rare occasion you do land up in an Honest One's ride, please thank your lucky stars you got to see one before they disappear completely.

So there you go kids. Today you learnt about the seven species of auto drivers.

Tomorrow, how to eat daal-chawal at your office desk without making a mess.

Cheers!

Badla!

Gah! Why the heck did I come here?

Have you ever been on a trip where you ended up thinking "Damn, I wish I hadn't gone?" Have you ever had a most pathetic trip experience? If you're one of the lucky ones whose trips have always been successes, I applaud you, and also beg you to take me along in your future trips. For the unfortunate ones like myself, read on, and empathize!

[Don't worry, I'm not talking about my Dandeli trip here. Dandeli was a blast. I want to write at length about it, that's why I have been stalling for so long!]

This particular horrid trip experience I would like to share with you happened during a 3-day visit to, hold your breath people, Badlapur. For those who don't know, Badlapur is in the Thane district of Maharashtra. In the balmy Bombay winters of 2001, our school decided to torture the 10th grade kids further by taking them to this place, by making it a compulsory attendance activity.

My parents had never allowed me to go to any school trips. And I was so excited for Badlapur, since it would be the first time I would be on my own, and my very first class trip. I happily packed all my stuff, put the film in my Kodak camera, and I was set to go! Boy, was I in store of a heck of an experience.

The journey began where we traveled to Badlapur via our school buses (!). Our principal warned us beforehand: "You must address the guides as sir, and not by their first names. Even if they tell you too. You must not give them your phone numbers. You must not be alone with them." She could have just made it short and said "We are not liable if one of you gets raped in this trip."

So there we were, all excited and stuff. I was up to my usual ass-licking the so-called popular kids, so that maybe they would give me some company during the trip. I whipped out my Kodak cam and shot a photo of the popular peeps (Maybe now they'll like me!) But it wouldn't click. Maybe it was jammed. Like the genius photographer I was then, I opened up the panel, exposing the film to sunlight. I wound it back again. But this time, the film just would not come out of the roll. Great. So I practically have no Badlapur memories to store (Thank God for that!)

We reached Badlapur in a matter of 3 hours. The girls with the trolley bags were ragged severely by the teachers (?) "Oh you're some model or what, carrying luggage like that". While I dragged my humble suitcase through the rocky terrain, I could see lines and lines of camp sites with huge tents pitched. So I guess this is where we'll be staying. It should be fun, roughing it!

All of us excitedly put our luggage near our cots. I was given the very last cot, furthest from the girls, closest to the bathroom. Oh well. I continued my ass-licking by actually offering to mist the girl's faces with this amazing mist my dad had given to me as a present. But of course, they refused. We don't use stuff like that for our grade-A skin. Oh la-di-dah! Of course, we were all in puberty, and most girls had severe acne. But, who was I to argue!

It was smooth sailing so far, when all of a sudden, we heard loud shrills coming from outside the tent. The camp instructor stood there, saying "Ok kids, time for Karate practice!" WTF? Karate? I had the most bemused look on my face as I trotted behind my classmates to the common area, where a gentleman stood, waiting to give us Karate practice. We stood in neat rows, and I was, as usual, the last person on the row. I am thankful for that, since I was wearing the tightest pants in the history of the world. As we attempted controlling our laughter over the gentleman's "Hoos and Haas", the Karate session continued. Air kicks, punches, jabs, we did it all. It was quite a grueling session.

In the evening, we were given orders to wake up at 6, as we will be going on trek. Sounded fine, I guess. We'd get to see some nature, fresh air, and the like! And we were given the warning to be there at 6 am sharp, or get punishment. Well, nice holiday, indeed! I was out of my tent at 6 am sharp, waiting for the others to show up. Slowly, everyone assembled. And the ones who were late had to do push ups. On their knuckles. Did I hear someone say military camp?

As you would have guessed by now, I used to be a very smart person. I decided to wear the tight pants again for the trek. Which, by the way, turned out not to be a trek at all. The guides made us run on an uphill climb. If life wasn't humiliating for us already, the fatties like me who were lagging behind were hit on their asses by a stick. Lovely. And then their was the run back down, which was fairly easy.

Post shower, I felt some uneasiness. I checked out my thighs - they were full of painful red bumps. I hollered, and cried, and screamed in pain. And since I was sooo popular, everyone attended to my beck and calls. In my dreams, of course! Then happened a 'river crossing' activity, which had no river. The students had to climb a ladder, hang upside down and cross to the other ladder. Fun. I didn't partake in this activity, since I didn't want the kids to have another reason to laugh at me.

To conclude this exciting trip, on the last day we were taken to a water purification plant so we could see how water is purified. Wow. Just what a 15 year old gets excited over. The happiest part of the trip for me was the ride back home. Mummy, I missed you!

Now, I am not dissing Badlapur. It's a nice place to visit. I'm dissing my stupid trip, with stupid memories!

Do you have any such stories to share?! Post a comment, I would love to know!

Photo courtesy: Gettyimages

She held my hand

She held my hand
Squeezed it tight.
Am I dying?
It hurts.

Shh. It will be ok.
Just close your eyes.
It will be ok.
Just close your eyes.

My body throbbed in pain.
I squeezed my eyes shut.
I can't take this.
My stomach squeezed into a ball

I opened my eyes
As tears streamed down
The pressure rising
Higher and higher

And higher
and higher
and

BURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP!

Ahh. So much better.


I'm back people! And I'm all ready with post-writers block posts! Thanks for bearing with me! :D

Photus

Hi everyone!

Sorry for my long absence from blogdom. I am currently on a dry spell when it comes to writing! I am taking a short little break, going for a chutti to Dandeli tomorrow! Exciting! :)

Anyway, I have started a photoblog, Sup Can Click! I hope you visit the blog and leave comments. It would really mean a lot to me!

I hope you guys had a supaaaaaar Diwali! See you all shortly! I hope this dry spell ends too! :)