Drivers

In 2002, soon after joining Philips in Bangalore, I travelled to Eindhoven, Noord (North) Brabant province, The Netherlands. It was the headquarters of Philips. I was there for three months to undergo training in IP and patent analysis. I stayed in a two-bedroom apartment. My apartment mate was Ajay Nitin.

Through Ajay, I met another colleague, Ramakrishna, and we three often had a good time together after work. One day, Ramakrishna, who lived in an apartment some distance away from mine, invited Ajay and me for dinner. Chicken and beer were on the menu, we were told.

The aroma of puliyogare welcomed us when we entered Rama’s apartment. Though some Tamizh knowing friends of mine tell me that it is actually puliyodharai, for most Kannadigas it will always be puliyogare. Rama apologised as he opened the bottles of beer. “I am sorry. I didn’t have chicken masala. I used puliyogare masala!” I said, “Ah! To hell with Iyengars! We shall enjoy chicken in puliyogare masala!” This seemed to tickle him immensely and he remembered it often, even years later.

The chicken tasted really good. We had a great time – the conversation flowed, lubricated by good Dutch beer, perhaps Grolsch. I choose that name because I just like the sound of it.

While we were at Rama’s, it started raining. When it was time to get back, we abandoned the idea of walking back and rang for a taxi. It was an impressive looking Mercedes with an equally impressive looking driver. He was wearing an expensive looking suit. He was young, tall, (The Dutch are now the tallest people in the world. I am told that the people from Brabant are not very tall) and good looking. He spoke very good English too, like many educated Dutch. I sat in the passenger seat, to take a look at the hi-tech dashboard, after seeking the driver’s permission. I plied him with questions and what I learned surprised me.

He was the owner of a fleet of taxis – all Mercedes. Still, he drove one himself. He wanted to stay close to the customers and experience his business first hand.

On another occasion, years later, I landed at Schiphol and took what is called a Schiphol taxi that was booked for me. I had to go to Den Haag – The Hague – to attend a seminar on patent search (cleverly named, “Search Matters”). Since I wanted to enjoy the flat, green Dutch landscape that I so love, I took the passenger seat again.

It was something like a station wagon and not very fast. It was hence a longish journey and we had enough time to talk. The driver was willing to talk too. I asked him how long he had been driving a taxi. He mentioned some number. I asked him what he did before for a living.

He said he was a brigadier in the Dutch army!

I asked him why drive a taxi. His answer was interesting. Paraphrasing, “I don’t have to really work. With this job, I am the master of my own time. But, it gives me good money. I get to see places and it gives me an opportunity to meet interesting people. Like you.” I don’t know if he really meant the last but I appreciated it.

The Dutch are very proud of their well-earned reputation for being blunt.

The reason for saying all this is that it is almost impossible for anyone in India with their backgrounds (taxi company owner or a retired senior officer of the armed forces) to be driving taxis. I recently came across an auto driver who was studying for his master’s degree in commerce. There used to be an auto driver in Mysore, in the seventies and eighties, who was a graduate. His auto was named “Dignity” or some such word with gravitas. He always wore his shirt with its top button buttoned. I couldn’t help wondering if it was an attempt to advertise his dignity.  He seemed to say that though he was a graduate, he was driving an auto and there was nothing wrong with it.  I had once come across a cycle-rickshaw-wallah (cycle rickshaw pedaller?) who was a graduate. He said he was jobless for a long time and had no choice but to ply a cycle rickshaw. I once listened to a BBC radio quiz that was won by a London taxi driver. (QM: How do you know so much about so many things? LTD: I always browse through a volume of The Encyclopædia Britannica when I am waiting for a fare)

I once told my son that I wanted to drive an auto-rickshaw, after retirement, because I wanted to know how it felt and how the customers would treat me. He was horrified by the very thought of it and was angry with me for even entertaining such a thought. It appeared to me that the Mysore auto-rickshaw driver and the cycle rickshaw pedaller chose their professions because they were somehow forced to. The M. Com. student’s choice was his own and there was no chip on his shoulder.

The reason for any profession being considered high or low is economics. If every job pays one enough to lead a decent life and the ratio of the highest paying jobs and the least paying jobs is not humongous, this perception of a job being below one's dignity will  come down, if not disappear.