Rickshaw Days

(December 2007)

The rumble of the auto-rickshaw would sound first as it entered the compound, and as it circled the large elevator chute that rose to where a series of corridors intersected in mid-air four floors up, the dry, crunchy sound of its horn would pierce the stillness of the morning. He would rush down the stairs, socks in hand, hunt for his shoes, slip them on, and run to the dining table, where his mother stood next to a bowl of cereal and hot milk, insisting that every last flake and every last drop be consumed. He wolfed down his breakfast, sticky and porridge-like now, his heart beating, praying that Rickshaw Uncle would not honk another time before he was ready to rush out. When he finally flopped out, school bag hanging from one shoulder, water bottle dangling by its strap from the opposite hand, his heels jutting out of as yet unlaced shoes, he was glad that he was the first to be picked up on this route, so that the other boys were not around to see his invariably clumsy start to the day.

Like an embroiderer’s needle, the rickshaw traced out an intricate route, stopping at five or six different houses and housing societies, at some of which two or three boys got in at a time, making the journey all of a sudden noisier and much more crowded. The smaller or thinner boys invariably sat on the little wooden plank that was attached to the iron bars that separated Rickshaw Uncle’s section of the rickshaw from the boys’, facing the main seat. On cold, windy winter mornings, one of the boys would bring a blanket that everyone would share, if not entirely equally. On such days the most prized position was ‘up’: one of the boys would climb up to the horizontal board just behind the backrest of the main seat, knees drawn up towards the chest, savouring the warmth until the rickshaw hit a pothole and one or two strands of hair got caught, for an instant, between the rickshaw’s synthetic hood and one of the iron bars over which it was drawn. Rainy days were equally challenging; on days when the water came lashing in at a wind-driven angle, Rickshaw Uncle would unfurl the tarpaulin screens that were suspended at either side of the rickshaw, and the boys would hold their noses theatrically as the screens, damp, began to emit a gradual stink.

The conversation, naturally, depended on the time of day. In the mornings, the boys were often subdued. Hair combed, ties neatly in place and shoes polished, most of them were preoccupied with the day ahead. Those who had games or swimming in their timetable for the day would be in sports uniform. To one boy, however, the youngest of the lot, the day of the week meant nothing whatsoever. He would climb in, hang his waterbottle on the rickshaw metre along with everyone else’s, and begin to narrate his latest joke: ‘There be’s a man…’ The mood was considerably lighter in the afternoons. The day having started early (if not bright), school gave over by early afternoon. Ties were now loosened and swung all over the place; shoes were scuffed up; bags were lighter by the contents of a snack box. Some of the boys ate sliced guavas leavened with a mixture of chilli powder and salt. Others ate samosas, bought at the canteen, or ‘bullseyes’, black and white striped peppermints.

One by one, the boys were dropped off at home, some of them running off with a war whoop and some trudging tiredly towards home and a meal that could not hold a candle to salted guavas and bullseye candies. Just as he was the first to get on, he was the last to get off. ‘Be early tomorrow,’ Uncle would say to him sometimes, kindly. ‘Always aim to be ready ten minutes before I arrive. That way it won’t be difficult.’ On other days he would go off on little monologues, as if he sensed that now was the time he could talk without every remark becoming fodder for a joke. He threw out the odd reminiscence, and sometimes made general philosophical comments. Then it was time for the last stop. Inside, a hot lunch of rotis, dal, rice and vegetables: outside, the sound of the rickshaw, and another school day, fading away.