Emulating the legendary beast of burden in every way carrying in the backpack my life’s earnings, certificates and clothes mostly, I decided to wait for exactly three minutes before deciding on a rick-ride. Three minutes and two buses pass by; the minutes as empty as my college library and the buses as crowded as a mismanaged poultry.
The auto-guy sees his chance, approaches me with an all-too-overt sadistic smile all over his face and asks me again. “Sollunga sar, Yenga?” I summon up all the rudeness that has been allotted to me in this birth and tell him, “T. Nagar KPN Travels. How Much?” “Sixty kuddunga sar,” he says with the falsest modesty I’ve ever seen. “Fifty,” I announce with a finality in my tone. He agrees with a nod. “If he goes by the meter it’ll come to at least 55 bucks,” I tell myself with a secret glee.
As soon as I get into the auto he tells me that I should give him five bucks more, ‘as it is night already’. I fail to see his logic, as I always do with anyone else’s. “See, if I take a bus I’ll reach there at 10 and my bus to Banglore is at 10.30. Now, thanks to you I’ll reach there at 9.30. To idle away the time, I’ll buy a magazine and also a coffee. At the least, it will cost me 20 bucks. I’ll rather take a bus. So, you choose.” My cold logic works wonders once again, and he gives in. I’m proud of myself. I know these guys like I know the inside of my left nostril.
***
For no reason, I recall my conversation with my mom just before I started, even as the auto-guy maneuvers the three-wheeler with magnificent ease on the Velachery main road. (The number of potholes on this road would easily beat those on the information highway, I think.)
***
It's almost 9. Appa says it’s time for me to leave. I retort with my usual ‘there’s-ample-time-still’ and continue watching the BBC’s latest report on Mugabe’s prospects in the forthcoming (?) elections. And when I finally decide to start, mom tells me “Do a Namaskaram to Appa before you start, will you?” “That, you should have told me before I put on my shoes”, I say, and add “But I can do a north Indian Namaskaram, a la Abhivadhaye, if you don’t mind.” And, I demonstrate it a few times in succession. At least this exercise might give me a stomach like that of Peter Andre. “Who’s he?” mom asks. Lack of curiosity has never been one of her flaws. “For the moment let’s just think of him as a mysterious man,” I say with my characteristic conceit. Then I slap her cheeks lightly with both my hands, as I always do to show my intimacy. “When will you ever grow up, come June you’ll be 27”, she reminds me. Jesus Christ! (Apparently, He was making bread out of nothing when he was 27) why does she have to remind me this! And next comes the usual question. “Have you taken enough money?” “Come June, I’ll be 27,” I answer.
***
We have reached KPN Travels. The auto-guy makes a U-turn across the heavy traffic on Venkatnarayana road with the consummate ease of Lord Narayana on His Garuda, and stops. I’m happy with him. After all, he understood my logic and didn’t argue further like his colleagues always do. So, I pay him the extra five bucks that he asked. And then thank him. He leaves in a jiff. Suddenly, I realize that he had taken a one-way to avoid a long stretch between Velachery and Saidapet. My instinct tells me it wouldn’t have come to more than 40 bucks, if he had gone by the meter. And by bus, it would have cost me four Indian rupees. For the umpteenth time I realize what a loser I am. “Ever talk about logic again?” I kick myself.
