Getting late on a Monday morning is a no-no for me. As I reached the auto stand, there was no auto in sight and then I saw one coming slowly. Frantically, I waved my hand and I flagged it down.
I haggled with the driver, an old man with long curly salt and pepper bread, and kindly eyes. After fixing the price, I plonked on the auto seat, took out my newspaper, began munching on dry fruits and started reading.
But the old man had other ideas!
He was a talkative person who told me how the situation was in 1980s and 1990s and how much the fare was, where people liked to travel and how South Delhi was just till Hauz Khas and Green Park.
He constantly kept talking somehow reminding me of old people who keep muttering to themselves. I politely nodded a few times, which I hoped would give him some hint that I wasn’t interested in make a conversation.
But he wasn’t the kind to take hints. On top of it he was driving at a speed of 35 km/hr, jumping out of his seat every time a bus came too close by.
I looked at my watch almost getting resigned to the fact that I could be late today.
Meanwhile Shamshauddin (he looked like his name would be this) kept going down the memory lane.
Half way though my journey, I realized that – 1. I would definitely be late 2. Shamshauddin would not stop talking.
We people living in the metros rush though our life so much, in a hurry to get from one place to another that we don’t even stop to greet our neighbour or have a conversation with people.
I folded my newspaper, proceeded to talk with him and had a pleasant morning till I reached my destination. Not because I had no other option but his tales were quite interesting too.
The old man reminded me something which I and my young counterparts have forgotten - virtues of an unhurried life!
Originally posted on Monday, November 27, 2006 5:44 PM
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