Unusual Gift

In my entire career spanning two decades as a driver, I have never met anyone stranger than Smith Saab. As a driver, I have come across many types of employers; some good, some bad and most of them indifferent. However good your employer may be, you cannot forget that you are a mere servant doing their bidding and at their beck and call always.

I was born poor and I do not blame the Gods for that. Millions are born poor all over the world, so it is not for me to say that I have been discriminated by the Gods I believe in and worship. I was born in a village near Basti, Uttar Pradesh. My father worked in the fields for a rich landlord and earned little. We lived in a small hut with a thatched roof. None of the children was sent to school.

I came to Mumbai (then Bombay) by sheer chance. A friend of my uncle had migrated to Mumbai and was driving a taxi. He happened to visit our village and was looking for young boys who can learn driving and become taxi drivers. My father picked me and I went with the man to Mumbai. He taught me how to drive a taxi and got me a license. This was more than twenty years ago. I still drive a taxi, but this taxi is mine; I own it, and this story is about how I got to buy a taxi.

I told you that Smith Saab was unusual. My meeting with Smith Saab was a coincidence or maybe arranged by God. I think it was arranged by God or Gods ( since I worship so many of them). I even have my doubts that it was one of my favorite God Himself! Who has seen Gods except on a calendar or in temples? Whatever it may be, whichever God arranged the meeting, I thank Him.

Smith Saab was an American and he was in India in connection with some work he had here. He did a lot of traveling and that too regularly. He needed a car with a driver to take him to places near and far. He could have hired the best car with the best driver, but it was my destiny to become his driver. I do not know how I impressed him. I could not, still cannot speak English and he could not converse in Hindi. Yet we understood each other.

The one advantage of being a driver is that you strike a bond with your employer and sometimes this bond is strong. My employer liked me for whatever reason. I liked Smith Saab because he spoke less and was generous. He understood human beings, particularly poor human beings like us. I never had problems with him about money. He wanted my services full day for as many days as he was in India.

He learned about my miserable life and the pathetic condition of my family in my village. I told him my story not to seek his pity or patronage but because such is the relationship between a driver and his employer. Our employers want to know everything about us for a variety of reasons.

I drove him around for more than a year and then suddenly one day he told me that his work in India was completed and that he would be returning to America soon. From our conversations, I could gather that he was married once and divorced. I think he was disturbed because of this for often I would find him sad and depressed. I did not probe much in his personal life.

When you have had a good time with your employer, you naturally wish for your engagement with him to last forever. It saddened me that he would leave soon and I would have to return to my usual routine. The taxi I drove was not mine; it was owned by one of the lucky men from my village who had made it big in Mumbai. The owner was happy that I could earn handsomely from the foreigner and regularly give him his share.

A few weeks before his scheduled departure, Smith Saab took me to his flat where he stayed. He told me that I have to sign some papers for him and gave me some documents. They looked like legal documents, stamp papers and all. I wanted to ask him why I needed to sign on legal documents, but I could not. I did not know what papers I was signing but yet I put my signatures on them. He kept the papers with himself.

The day he left India, he had asked me to drive him one final time, to the airport. I struggled with my emotions and wondered why I was feeling so. After all, this was another customer for me and I have had many customers. Yes, because I was with him for a year there was a special bonding, a relationship that I had not shared with other customers. But the fact was always there that this arrangement would not last for long.

He got down from the taxi at the airport and hugged me one last time. He gave me money which was due to me and a piece of paper. The paper had my name on it. I put them in my pocket. Before he left, he gave me another piece of paper with a name and telephone number written on it. He told me that I had to meet this man whose name was on the paper. It was important that I meet him and he would give me some instructions which will be of help to me. I thought maybe Smith Saab was arranging for some job for me.

I spoke to the person referred by Smith Saab and reached his office. In a way, I was glad about this meeting for it gave me the opportunity to clarify my doubts about the other piece of paper with my name on it.

The man I was to meet seemed to be some kind of professional, an accountant perhaps. He sat in a big cabin with lots of books surrounding him and with lots of files on his table. As I entered, he got up and shook my hands:

“Ram Murti, I am happy you could come to see me.”

“Sir, Smith Saab told me I should meet you.”

“ Did he say anything else?”

“ No Sir.”

“ You did not ask him why he wanted you to meet me?”

“No Sir.”

“Great. Sit down. Will you have some tea?”

“No Sir, thanks.”

“You don’t drink tea?”

“Yes Sir, I drink tea.”

“Then, we will have tea.”

The man then pulled out a file and took out some papers. He asked me to see the papers. It was the same document that Smith Saab had asked me to sign.

“Ram Murti, did you sign these papers?”

“Yes Sir, Smith Saab asked me to sign them.”

“Did he tell you what these papers are?”

“No Sir.”

“Did you not ask him why he wanted you to sign on these papers?”

“No Sir.”

“You are a strange man Ram Murti. Before signing these legal documents you should have understood what they are. What if these papers mean trouble for you?”

“What trouble Sir?”

“Any kind of trouble. Smith is a foreigner and may not come to India again. You are a driver and he was paying you for your services. Why should you trust a foreigner and sign on documents you don’t even understand?”

I was alarmed. Did Smith Saab make me do something illegal? Did he do something wrong and putting the blame on me? I rued the fact that I was illiterate. I should have at least consulted my friends before signing.

The man was laughing.

“Don’t look so frightened Ram Murti. You have not done anything wrong. I was only joking. You are not in any trouble; in fact, you have just won a very handsome reward!”

“ A reward, Sir? I am afraid I do not understand what you are saying.”

“Ram Murti, Smith had gifted you his flat and these are the legal papers transferring ownership of his flat to you.”

“Flat Sir? A gift?”

“Yes, Ram Murti. The same flat in Colaba where he was staying. The same flat where you picked him up every day and dropped him. The flat is yours now.”

I could not believe the story. Why should Smith Saab gift a flat in Colaba to me? I was only a driver for him and he had paid me sufficient money.

“Can’t believe it, can you? I cannot explain the generosity of Smith, but it seems he took a liking for you, a very special liking. Smith’s job in India is over and he may not come back again. He had bought the flat in Colaba thinking that he would be frequently visiting India. Now, this flat is yours. Do you know how much it will cost to buy the flat?”

“No Sir.”

“You don’t know anything Ram Murti. Sometimes, not needing to know much also helps, does it not? The flat is worth about five million rupees! Yes, fifty lacs.”

This was too much to digest for me. I did not even understand how much fifty lac rupees are! It was then that I remembered the piece of paper Smith Saab had given me along with my money. I took it out of my pocket and showed it to the accountant.

“Sir, can you tell me what this is? Smith Saab gave me this at the airport.”

The man took one look at the paper and laughed.

“Ram Murti, you know, it is nice to be simple but being too simple also makes you an idiot.”

“ Sir, I don’t know what you are saying.”

“ Ram Murti, do you have a bank account?”

“No Sir. Never had money to put in a bank, so never needed a bank account.”

“Haven’t you ever seen a cheque?”

I was bewildered. This was a cheque?

“No Sir, I have never seen a cheque. Never had the occasion to deal with a cheque.”

“Well, you are the most extraordinary man I have met. This is a cheque for five lac rupees Ram Murti. It is Smith Saab’s special gift for you. But you must have a bank account to get this money.”

This was all too stunning. A flat for fifty lacs and a cheque for five lacs. My Gods have suddenly showered their mercy on me. I had suddenly become a very rich man; maybe the richest in my village!

“Look Ram Murti. Smith has been very generous with you. In fact, I am surprised that he has been so generous with you. Well, you need serious advice now. I will help you with your bank account, but as your well-wisher, I will add this also; You have suddenly become rich. Be careful and wise. You are illiterate, simple and people around you will take the advantage, now you have so much money. Do not talk to your friends about these gifts. Consult your parents and family.”

I thought over what the accountant said. I bought my own taxi and am still driving it. With the help of the accountant, I could rent out the Colaba flat for fifty thousand rupees a month. I now own a house in my native village and my family stays them happily.

Smith Saab never returned. But every single day in my life I thank him for being my God.