On a recent airport transfer, as I debated between reading my book or getting some work done on the laptop, I couldn’t help overhear stray bits of my Uber driver’s phone conversation. Things didn’t seem alright and I organically proceeded to ask him if something was the matter.
Neither did I read a word of my book, nor did any work; like most of us I had assumed that in either activity, would be a judicious use of the time the longish drive would take – instead I ended up talking to the Uber driver for the entire hour and a quarter my intra-city journey lasted.
The minutes hardly called attention to themselves. Though that wasn’t the reward, that I’d been able to traverse a most unpleasant commute without glancing at my watch. Far from it. What this interaction did gift me, as I quickly realized settling into my seat aboard the flight, was the kind of insight, and knowledge, that years of academic study couldn’t have; compressed, authentic, from the horse’s mouth, in a fraction of the time!
This bounty of newly gathered wisdom around small-town Uttar Pradesh and migrant workforce in the national capital, their lives, struggles and modest triumphs, their hopes, fears, dreams and aspirations, their forsaken native lives, sacrificed family members, this gentleman’s wages and survival-mode existence, his ‘education’ that had falsified the promise of prosperity – each word out of his mouth encapsulated an India that I wasn’t ever a part of, and was unlikely to be – more significantly, his was a microcosm of a dismal epic-sized reality, one, astonishingly kept veiled, secret, a closely hidden & protected recipe that served and serviced only a waver-thin minority.
I digress, since this isn’t intended as a socio-political rant. That I’d gained so much, from such little time, and zero effort, got me to thinking. What I’d always known, practiced half my life then forgotten somewhere along my bigger journey, hit me like a ton of bricks.
