The drivers gave their version of the story to him. Uncle spoke to them in
fluent Tamil. It is fascinating to see a Sardar-ji speak in Tamil. Like Sun TV’s
merger with Alpha TV.
‘Where are you coming from?’ he said.
‘Airport.’
‘Airport cannot be five hundred rupees. Hundred maximum,’ he said.
The four drivers started speaking simultaneously with lots of ‘illas’. However,
they had softened a little due to uncle’s Tamil. After five minutes, we settled for a
hundred bucks and disgusted glances from the drivers. My driver took out my
luggage and dumped it on the street as he sped off.
‘Thanks, uncle,’ I said. ‘You’ve lived in Chennai long?’
‘Too long. Please don’t stay as long as me,’ Uncle said as he helped me with
my luggage to the lift. ‘Punjabi?’
I nodded.
‘Come home if you need a drink or chicken. Be careful, your building is
vegetarian. No alcohol also.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes, people here are like that. For them, anything fun comes with guilt,’ he
said as the lift doors shut.
I rang the chummery doorbell. It was ten o’clock. A sleepy guy opened the
door. The apartment was completely dark.
‘Hi,’ I said. Krish from Delhi. I am in consumer finance.’
‘Huh?’ the guy said. ‘Oh, you are that guy. The only North Indian trainee in
Citibank Chennai. Come in, you are so late.’
‘Flight delay,’ I said as I came into the room.
He switched on the drawing-room light. ‘I am Ramanujan, from IIMB,’ he said. I
looked at him. Even just out of the bed, his hair was oily and combed. He looked
like someone who would do well at a bank. With my harried look after the scuffle
with the auto drivers, I looked like someone who couldn’t even open a bank
account.
nora
(Nora)
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