For A Few Hundreds….

A relative passed away while I was in Thailand; my parents attended the last rites. I offered to attend the 11th-day ceremony, hoping to save my parents another trip to Kolar. Since my regular driver was unavailable, I used the Namma Yatri app to book a ride.

The cab driver called: "Sir, would you be booking the return journey too?" I answered in the affirmative. "You'll have to wait a couple of hours, and then I'll return to the same starting point." The app didn't allow booking round trips for outstation travel, but that's what I needed.

"Sir, pay me ₹XXX." The quoted price was about ₹500 more than the estimated cost for two separate one-way trips. I tried to haggle. "Why the extra ₹500? I’ll only pay the cost of two trips." The driver relented. "Okay, Sir. But at least pay me the toll charges additionally." I agreed. The cab soon arrived, and my journey began.

As I sat in the cab, I was immediately racked by guilt. Why did I haggle over a few hundred rupees? I would have paid extra for the driver's meal anyway. I drew him into conversation and told him I would pay the amount he had originally asked for. Relieved, I then settled down with my newspapers.

We reached Kolar, and I quickly completed the formalities—attending the ceremony and speaking with relatives. I also visited my grandmother. At over 100, my mom's mom is still alive and kicking. She has become frail but can still walk with support. She's become a little "cookie," constantly asking which place she is currently living in.

It was time to return. With no books or papers to read, I decided to converse with the driver instead of sleeping.

"Where are you from, C...u?"

"I’m from Hassan, Sir."

"Oh, I thought you were from nearby, going by your name."

"No, Sir. My village is near Shravanabelagola."

"Okay! Where do you live here in Bengaluru?"

"I stay in my car only, Sir."

I was taken aback. The car was clean, with no tell-tale signs of it being a living space. "Don’t you find it difficult?"

"Cannot afford the rentals, Sir. I have a cousin in Kengeri; I visit his house every couple of days to shower and clean myself up."

"You could also live at your cousin’s place?"

"Small place, Sir”. He can’t afford to have me also over”. 

As I drifted into silence, he continued. “We invested all our savings and bought a couple of cars just before COVID. The pandemic played havoc. No rentals, and the EMIs were ₹20,000 a month for each car. I couldn't pay them, and I finally had to sell one of the cars. Now, I’m in Bengaluru, trying to ensure I pay off all the loans."

I felt even more miserable that I had tried to bargain earlier. As I got off near home, I paid some more than his asking price and wished him the best in overcoming his hurdles. I also offered some unsolicited advice about staying away from quick fixes for health and happiness (like astrologers, special poojas, and quacks).

*******

This is one of the many stories of those eking out a living in the big city. People like us—the privileged, unburdened, and comfortable—possibly make up only about 5% of the population. The rest are struggling to make ends meet.

Yet, we bristle when freebies are offered by the government. We want the same struggling people to vote for governmental change while they feel indebted to those who offered them cash and inducements during elections (even as we, the privileged, often stay away from the ballot box).

Next time you haggle with a vegetable vendor, a cabbie, or your house help, remember that you are trying to undermine the earnings of the lowest economic strata. Those few rupees may not make a difference to you, but to then, they do! You want to contribute to the nation’s progress? Then offer a little more. You may not solve everyone’s poverty, but you’ll possibly help one person get out of the drudgery.