Another exception to the Friday night rule: was thinking of writing this yesterday, but ended up doing so today.
Everyone has their share of troubles and joys. Everyone sees life differently, and the joys of one may be the sorrows of another. This story is about the sorrows of one group of people, described as the joy of another. The settings are slightly embroidered due to lack of memory, the underlying events and mindset of the protagonist are simply one set of possibilities among many others.
The protagonist must have his own share of sorrows, besides needing a glass of liquor and dealing with a nagging wife, but here, he only remembers those two for the most part. The kids must have felt swindled, but to my knowledge, they went on with life, not really much affected by the experience in terms of how things went on in their lives, except perhaps for an unpleasant memory or two. The driver of course, did not gain much either, it was a ‘fairly good catch’ perhaps, but it was perhaps all part of a routine of dealing with different customers and making the most out of it when you could.
One of the kids, me, remembered this recently, and felt like writing it down. I wasn’t too sure of what I should write however. I didn’t want to spend much time on it, but still, wanted to give it a go. Needs editing, like most of the stuff I publish on this blog, and was written in a single shot, but here goes anyways.
A Fairly Good Catch
It was a fairly hot day, and as I stood by my rickshaw, waiting for customers, I saw a young group that looked somewhat lost. There were four or five young lads, barely twenty, and definitely new to traveling. Things looked interesting all of a sudden.
I needed some more money for my liqor, and the my wife’s nagging had been more annonying recently, so I wouldn’t mind making a bit of money. If I was lucky, 30 or 40 extra rupees, and that would make me happy for a week.
I pedalled my rickshaw hurriedly towards them. It was a fierce world, lag behind, and the competition got the kill. Luckily, they looked like they were from Kathmandu, and had been leading fairly sheltered lives. I spoke Nepali well, while my competition seemed to be mostly Maithali and Hindi speaking, so I had a better chance of landing the kill. I put on my best smile, and hurried towards them. “Raxaul janey ho dai?” I asked them if they wanted to go to Raxaul, the Indian side of the border. I guessed they wanted to board some train to some city in India, and the ride to the train station was around 15-20 minutes by rickshaw.
They seemed nervous, and not sure of whether they should take a rickshaw or not. One of them, a short man who looked like he was in his mid-twenties, said, lets take a rickshaw, “Pawan dai and the rest always took them”. They seemed to debate a bit, with some arguments as to the tangas (bigger carts with horses pulling them) being possibly better, since everyone could fit on one.
I knew they would take my rickshaw. They argued for a bit, and they did decide on the rickshaw, someone experienced had recommended it, and they seemed to think it was the right choice.
Some other rickshaws had already gathered around, and if they had wanted to, they could have traveled one on a rickshaw each. They did not want to of course.
They broke up into two groups: a group of three sat on another rickshaw: one person taking a half sitting-half standing position between the other two. The group of two chose my rickshaw. “Where do you want to go to?” I asked.
“Laxmipur bus-station” answered the taller of the two. I started pedaling, the effects of the heat slightly diluted by the little alcohol I had had in the morning. I hated my job, but it did give me something to go by, and I did not have much of a choice. I was sizing up the bunch mentally, trying to figure out how much they knew about the area. From what I had seen so far, a spark of excitement was lighting up in my brain. Not only did they seem new, they did not seem to be too used to bargaining: most likely “Mama’s boys” who had just been out of their houses alone for the first time.
“Do you have any electronic equipment with you?” the taller one asked. The other answered “No, but why? Does it make a difference? I’ve got a calculator, but I guess thats fine right?”
The taller one answered “I heard that they like to get money off anyone who is carrying electronics equipment at the border”.
“Customs tax?” the other one asked. He obviously did not know much about the area.
“No, they take bribes, and I’ve heard they make you lay out all your luggage on the street to check sometimes”.
“But we are students, so I think they should understand, right?”
“Idealistically of course” I thought to myself, smiling at the naivete of the two.
The shorter one continued “Do you have any electronic equipment?”
“I’ve just got an emergency light, I guess that will not make much of a difference”.
and their conversation went on for a while, slightly apprehensive, slightly hopeful that nobody would harass them, till they decided to go silent.
I had of course, heard all that I wanted to. We passed the border, where the customs officers behaved nicely to them. I could feel their relief as the officers smiled and wished them luck. My heart of course, was pounding faster. I looked around for a familiar face in the crowd, and as I saw it, I nodded to him slightly. He moved towards the gate of the building that had something with the word “thana”, which is jail in hindi, written in it.
He made the motion of beckoning to me, and I drove my rickshaw to where he was. A well played out dialogue ensued “Open the seats of your rickshaw, I’m going to put you all in jail”.
Two bewildered faces looked at him, then me, then each other. I could imagine that they must be quite frightened at the moment. They did not even try to question why someone not wearing uniform was commanding them, they simply tried to defend themselves.
“But sir, we have nothing with us, we are students going to study engineering”. One of them said.
The good part began. Of course they had nothing. The point was that they did not: they were in a place where they did not know the customs, and they had heard of, but did not know the details of, local rules that superseded government rules: rules that helped feed an ecosystem built out of fear, corruption, and greed. It was all a game, and all that was needed was to hitch on to something that would make them afraid, then cash their fear into money.
The electronic light came out, in words, an admission of the only thing they feared might not be allowed. Then, the cashing began. Give me a hundred bucks, and I’ll let you go on your way.
Bewildered faces looking at each other again: it seems they did not carry that much money on them. The ‘agent’ of course, would not hear of it. Eventually, all the cash they had in their pockets, which amounted to around 60 Indian Rupees, was all emptied out, and we set out again.
After another 10 minutes of riding, we reached the bus station. Their friends of course, had already reached the place, and were waiting. “How much did you pay them?” One of them asked.
10 rupees was standard. I of course, had different plans. “I’m a Nepali too, and you paid those Indian rickshaw drivers that much. I carried so much in the heat, and still, you are giving me just 10?” Emotions can be cashed too, as can nationality. Even if you did something wrong, if you don’t admit it, and claim you helped someone out, that can be cashed too. I played out my cards, making sure to play on the well-sheltered strings of self-righteousness and emotional sensitivity within them.
The protest came, as was natural. I did get 5 rupees extra of course, and as I joined the other rickshaw drivers to wait for arriving customers, I started calculating: 25 rupees from the ‘policeman’, 5 rupees from the boys, and the 10 rupees I was supposed to get anyways. Today perhaps, was going to be a lucky day. I looked forward to drinking today, and when my wife nagged at me, I would have that extra bit of self-respect as the breadwinner of the house. I hoped that it would be a good day indeed.
. I had started writing to illustrate one point, but somewhere at around 60% of the piece, I just went with the flow, and ended up writing it completely differently—I somehow liked the ending, but I’m not sure if anyone else did—hope so though! My original intent can be guessed from the initial part of this entry, just in case you are curious. Hope you enjoyed it, even if it was just a little 
