Letter to Cabbie

Dear Cabbie,

I own a car today, and drive it too. Around, and often. But I want to write to you because I have been put off driving for about a week, and in the process availing a lot of cabs, especially in the mornings. This letter can't find you. It will be lost in the many mazes of yellow you could possibly queue up in. It is a tiny thing, this letter, compared to how large you made me feel that day of a rainy summer. Not many years ago.

Do you remember? I assume not. Let me try. I was a non-descript and non-striking, neither attractive or attractively dressed, rather fat young woman. In plain clothes which speak of procrastination over interest. It was raining, heavily, that afternoon. Suddenly. I had to reach somewhere for some work and all other modes of transport would have delayed me. So I flagged you to stop. From your point of view I must have appeared as a sound bait. I had a touristy look declared on my face and told you at the very moment I shut the door that I could not reach the place without your sense of direction.

When I think of that day now, I realize how foolish I must have looked. But you did not take advantage or extra smart lanes to reach the destination fast. You were patient to my unending, unnecessary, out of nervousness questions and brought me home to where I should be, dry and safe. And as you explained how the meter worked, and how calculations were done, you did not have the smirk on you. You made me feel as rich as I saved to ensure a cab ride in distress that day. You made me feel special and proud. That I could afford you. I felt majestic.

And all this came back to me last evening when I was in one cab and thought of how you must be feeling about the hundreds of passengers, and their hundred kinds, who avail your service. If I were you, each would be my raw material for a story. Or would they? Are you not?

Do you feel sad when people discuss food, and food joints and clothes and big problems of not getting desired discounts? Do you remember any particular conversation? Do you understand the need of malls, and surprise birthday parties? Do you care for the veiled kisses? Do you indulge in eyeing an attractive passenger? Do you plan who to fool and who not to by their faces? Do you remember me?

Accompanying your loneliness,

K.