"What is he doing?" I had asked my friend in alarm as I watched a young man trying to flag down our rickshaw. This happened 6-7 years back in the city of the Nizams, Hyderabad.
"Oh, he is asking for a lift" my friend had replied nonchalantly.
"But where is he going to sit?" there was exasperation in my voice now.
"They usually sit next to the driver" she was still matter-of-fact and a little bit amused, from what I could tell. "Sometimes two of them sit on either side of the driver" I suspect she took special pleasure in shocking me with this nugget of information.
"What?" It was impossible for me to hide my surprise at this piece of information. "I miss our Mumbai Taxis" I groaned.
"Mumbaikars!" she rolled her eyes heavenwards.
My friend wasn't totally off the mark. We Mumbaikars - at least those of us who don't travel by their own cars or (heaven forbid!) local trains - have a special love-hate relationship with the taxis. More so with the old Premier Padmini ones. They weren't much to look at. But they did drop you wherever you wanted to go, well, most of the times.
Entire books can be written about their garish, sometimes downright tacky, interiors, loud music, uncomfortable upholstery, broken door handles, leaking ceilings and talkative drivers. I can recount an instance when I was taken aback after getting inside a cab because the ceiling had multiple colorful strobe lights, giving it an appearance of cheap discotheque at best (I don't want to think of the worst!). On another occasion thick smoke had started coming out of the floor of a cab I was riding right in the middle of the traffic on Mahim Causeway. I was scared and scarred for a day. It was back to the cabs the next day! :-)
And, don't forget, these books need to have a special section devoted to the drivers. I remember one elderly driver who, on hearing me coughing incessantly, had advised me to get into the habit of waking up at the crack of dawn and taking a bath with cold water. 'You will not have any health problems for the rest of your life. Take it from me.' he had said confidently. 'Yeah right! I will surely die of pneumonia. In which case, I will have a pretty short life' I had quipped.
Then, I had once had the misfortune of sitting in a cab which was being driven by a guy who had landed in the city a few days back. To make matters worse, we were caught up in a bad traffic jam and he had driven me insane with his constant complaining. 'I should go back to my village' he kept on saying it over and over and over. "You know what? I think you should and soon" I had shot back before getting down.
Before you start wondering what has started me on this topic of the taxis, it's this article in the Mint -
Bye, Bye, Premier Padmini Taxi. You might also want to check a blog -
Meter Down -which chronicles conversations with Mumbai's taxi drivers.
The irony of the human life is that we don't miss anything till it is yanked out of our lives. And so, here's to the mode of transport that was named after the legendary beautiful queen of Chittor:
We Will Miss You Premier Padmini!
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