By Savitri Narayanan
‘How I wish Aslam uncle were still around,’ thought Kulwant. ‘He would have been so happy to see the new taxi!’
Once again, he squeezed out the extra water from the cloth and cleaned the glass windows.
At the thought of Aslam uncle, as usual the years rolled back! Uncle was part of his childhood along with his own father.
‘Betey come, have your milk before it grows cold.’
Kulwant could hear his father’s fond voice call out across decades! Papaji knew where exactly to find his young one. Early every morning, Aslam was there with a bucket of water and a cloth beside his car and little Kulwant would be nearby, watching with his eyes full of admiration. Aslam uncle took great pride in his taxi. He kept it meticulously clean, both inside and out. Daily, there were strings of fresh flowers, hanging below the rearview mirror as well as right in the front, on the bonnet.
‘This car is my God! My father, my mother,’ Aslam uncle would often say, partly in jest, partly serious, ‘Gives me work to do, blesses me with food on the table, keeps me happy! What else do I need in life!’
Kulwant the toddler would be at his favourite spot under the neem tree watching Aslam uncle, clad in a lungi, cleaning his taxi. Papaji would walk across with Kulwant’s glass of warm milk.
‘Betey come, have your milk before it grows cold!’
‘Lucky you are, Kulwant betey,’ Aslam uncle would laugh aloud. ‘To fill the tank I’ve to drive all the way to the petrol pump but here you get your petrol delivered at home.’
‘This petrol would last only for an hour,’ Papaji would join the laughter. ‘Kulwant will get a full-tank refill when the paranthas are ready.’
‘I love your paranthas. A refill for me too,’ Aslam uncle would say.
Kulwant had lost his mother at a very young age. Apart from the photograph on the wall and a few vague memories, Mummyji was only a name. Papaji got used to living there with his young son. In the front verandah was the small shop where he sold seasonal vegetables and fruits.
Aslam uncle who lived next door owned a taxi. He lived on his own. Hardly did any family or relatives visit but uncle had a few good friends, other taxi drivers. They often came over, pulled chairs and sat around in the front yard to chat with each other. If there was no customer in the shop, Papaji too would join them.
Kulwant was equally at home hanging around Papaji’s shop or at Aslam uncle’s home. Kulwant was fascinated by the spotlessly clean black and yellow taxi.
One morning, Papaji took Kulwant and enrolled him in the village school. Since then, daily, Kulwant too walked down there with the other children. Unfortunately, nothing that happened there was of any interest to Kulwant. The alphabet, poems, songs, multiplication tables – nothing really made sense. Neither Papaji nor Aslam uncle talked about these, but they seemed to be busy and happy with their work!
The teachers weren’t very excited either.
‘Here in school, you’ve to study, Kulwant. Stop daydreaming, focus on your studies.’
‘Why do you waste your time coming here?’
‘Help your father in his shop.’
‘They’re looking for labourers at the construction site. Join them, do something useful.’
Kulwant had got used to these taunts. He didn’t really mind too as, deep in his heart, he knew what he wanted to do.
Drive a taxi like Aslam uncle!
Wiping the wind-screen clean, checking the air pressure in the wheels, refilling the water tank with the bonnet open, the length of fresh flowers below the God’s photo above the rearview mirror, and the paper packet of vada pao which uncle brought along once in a while in the evenings – many images, many memories in which, both, Aslam uncle and the car were inseparable!
As a child he sat around watching but by the time he was in middle school, Kulwant was the one who washed the car! Aslam uncle and Papaji stood nearby chatting over cups of tea.
Things happened unexpectedly. Late one evening, Papaji closed the shop and was coming home. In the yard, he was bitten by a poisonous snake.
‘Something bit me,’ were his words as he entered the house with the torch.
‘Was it a snake?’ Kulwant had stopped watching the TV and asked.
‘Couldn’t see actually, maybe some insect,’ Papaji had said, wiping the spot with his towel.
‘Let me call Aslam uncle.’
‘Let it be, betey. We’ll see in the morning!’
Next morning, Kulwant was up and about but strangely Papaji was still asleep. Kulwant was shocked to see how Papaji’s body had turned blue. He’d stopped breathing too!
The neighbours had assembled, cremation was done, Kulwant had become an orphan overnight!
It seemed natural for him to pack his things and move in with Aslam uncle. In a way, nothing really changed, life moved on. When he was old enough, Kulwant too learnt to drive. He passed the test, got a license and picked up a job. Driving came naturally to him!
When Kulwant got his first salary, Aslam uncle said, ‘Save the money and buy your own car.’
That was rather easy for Kulwant as he had hardly any expenses and had two part-time jobs too.
One morning over breakfast, Aslam uncle had said, ‘I’m getting too old to drive, betey; you drive this car and get a driver for the new car you bought.’
With Aslam uncle’s blessings, things worked out well. Kulwant saved money, took a bank loan and soon bought another car. Aslam uncle’s health deteriorated with age, and he passed away a few years ago. On his part, Kulwant continued to remember his mentor with gratitude.
‘He would have been so happy today to see the second new car,’ thought Kulwant. ‘He could have been the one at the wheels to take it to the temple and the mosque to offer prayers and seek blessings.’
‘Aslam uncle will bless me from where he is,’ Kulwant thought as he placed the length of fresh flowers on the car.
“Good morning sir!”
The stranger who had walked in with a greeting looked familiar, but Kulwant couldn’t place him.
“Not sure you’ll remember, I’m Aziz,’ said the man. “We were classmates in the primary school.”
“Aziz… You all stayed beyond the stream and your father owned a truck, right?”
It took only a short time for them to catch up on each other’s journey of the past few decades since they left school.
“….thus I lost everything,” concluded Aziz. “All that I saved during my years in Dubai is gone! I’ve to start from scratch, make a new beginning. If I could borrow some funds, I could set up a shop…”
Kulwant politely cut him short with the words, “From Aslam uncle I learnt the value of hard work and with his blessings today I’ve these three cars; I won’t lend you money but have a job offer. This car has come just today and I need a driver.”
“Thanks for your timely help, I’ll be your new driver.”
There was absolutely no hesitation but only gratitude in Aziz’ voice.
As he handed over the keys of the car, in Kulwant’s mind, Aslam uncle and Papaji were smiling happily.
(Savitri Narayanan is a retired educationist at present in Goa. A mother and grandmother, loves reading, writing and travelling.)
