Zari-Ram, the Driver

Zari-Ram, Rahul Malhotra's driver, had perfected the art of knowing Madam-ji's moods by the music she heard in their black Skoda.

Mostly, though, she had a preference for English music- 'God knows what they wail or mumble!' was all he could offer by way of explanation to his wife at home, when he ate steaming hot rice and sweet-sour daal with tiny bits of crispy ginger, in their tiny one room home, after a hard day's driving around in the Mumbai madness. He could understand very little of what they wailed, his knowledge of English being restricted to that of a fifth grader in his native village near Patna.

Sometimes she would listen to FM Radio also- a rarity- when she was on her way to work- a combination of the latest hits and the women's hour on a popular channel- the RJ of which was her friend- he had recognised her through her voice when Madam-ji had asked him to drive her to the new sea-food restaurant, and she had picked up a fat woman with a shock of purple hair and lots of rings everywhere.

Madam-ji loved her Skoda. It was a Skoda Superb- the best and most expensive model. Shiny black, with all the accessories custom made to her taste. The interiors were a tad lighter than the normal beige- and with the sun roof and additional woofers he loved the car too. He loved showing it off to the other drivers- though he was careful never to let them take it even on a test spin. He knew how angry Madam-ji would get- she had appointed a special cleaner to wash the Skoda- and she loved keeping it new, and boasting about it to her friends.

Madam-ji worked in a tall glass building with lots of lifts- beautiful mirrored ones, with plush carpeting- in a colourful office- the security head of which belonged to his neighbouring village- and she was a ‘Manager’. Once he had confided to Zari Ram that Madam-ji was a senior manager, the most respected of the lot- having risen through the ranks, who knew her work inside out. Though why she needed to work, was also quite beyond him- Sir-ji worked in an office double that of Madam-ji’s and he was sure earned more than double of what she did- for he reported to a hotshot corporate man, whose face Zari Ram had seen often in the newspapers- and with whom he had seen Sir-ji once, when his own driver was unwell.

Sukhi was Sir-ji’s driver of the Honda SUV. Zari Ram stayed away from Sukhi. Sukhi belonged to a village in the Himachal and though he was easy-going, Zari Ram knew he was too easy going at times.

It was a fit life- reporting to the high rise of the Malhotras residence by half past eight in the morning and if he was lucky, he would get a cup of tea from the vendor on bicycle, else he would drive Madam-ji to her office by nine, and then do nothing in the Parking till one, which was his self-designated lunch time. Sometimes he would read a Hindi newspaper borrowed from one of the other drivers, after lunch, and then blissfully drift off to sleep by five- which was his tea time. Madam-ji normally left work by eight thirty, or sometimes nine, and he passed his time chatting with the other drivers or the security guards discussing Politics or film stars or cricket. There was a lot to occupy their talks- even though there was sordid talk about the others in Madam-ji’s office, not once did Zari Ram hear anything wrong about his Madam-ji. She worked harder than the men, and had proved herself over two years to be counted as one of the serious workers.

Madam-ji was good to Zari Ram- often giving him little bags of onions and potatoes which he would bring gleefully to his wife- and his latest acquisition- an old TV set which wasn't required in the Malhotra household anymore, was also a gesture of pure selflessness on Madam-ji’s part when she learnt of the homesickness of his wife.

This was his small world- he loved to return to the arms of his wife- his recent acquisition of almost five months- and who always smelled like roses and jasmine- not the sharp citrusy smell that Madam-ji so liberally spritzed on herself before stepping off. Phuloo- for that was his wife’s name, was a docile wife with large kohl-lined eyes and thin golden bangles. She had been his mother’s second choice after the beautiful Rani with the incandescent skin - who got married off to a clerk in the city- but who also had a mind of her own. But he was proud of Phuloo- never once did she complain of the lack of running water in their tiny room, or the fact that she had to put up with the giggles, smirks and cheap talk of the neighbouring women- so different from the spacious village existence.

Phuloo was a great wife- she made delicious parathas for him at breakfast with elaichi tea- and packed him his lunch- three fat chapattis with a sliver of onion or green chilli pickle, and cooked aromatic daal rice for dinner. Once a month, he would take her to the nearest cinema to watch the latest flick- the actors seeming magnified like giants as they sat in the first row- and later they would treat themselves to malai kulfi. Once in two months he also bought her a cotton saree, so that she would not have to keep washing and wearing her old ones. He liked to see Phuloo happy- especially at night when they would lie on their lumpy mattress and she would tell him of the day’s incidents in their chawl. Unknown to her, he was actually saving part of the seven thousand rupees salary that he got monthly, to buy her a pair of gold earrings. Three thousand five hundred went towards the rent of their home, and he gave her two thousand rupees to run the house. The rest went into a little clay pot filled with rice that he had gotten from his village- it was decorated with a kalash, and Pandit-ji had told him that his wealth would grow manifold if it was always full of money. His life ran smoothly according to Madam-ji’s timetable, and he was glad to have a set routine. Then one day, he noticed something strange in Madam-ji’s behavior. She didn’t once change the FM station to the English one, and neither did she ask him to drive fast. It seemed as if she was preoccupied with something- which he could not quite put a finger on. By now he was used to her routine in the car- sit in, change the channel, ask for the air conditioning to be turned on high, snap at him once to drive fast, and then dial her mother to chat with her for the forty five minutes it took to reach her office. Sometimes she would call her office and shout instructions- it was clear that she had a very tension-filled job- ‘You wouldn’t believe that so many abuses can stem out of her mouth when she’s on the phone with her office’, he said once, to Phuloo, when he was applying oil in his hair in the morning to slick it back, the way he’d seen in a Salman Khan poster. Her moods and the kind of troubles she was facing with her mother, or her office, or Sir-ji, was evident by the way she handled the music system remote and him. Though he had to give it to her- she worked as hard as the rest of the men in her office- sometimes more than them- and once he was envious of the top boss, who leisurely left at five, while Madam-ji left at eleven. The end of the month was when she would normally take longer to leave. That day, when she was silently brooding at the back, he was almost tempted to ask her if everything was ok- but it was a golden rule for a driver- never speak unless spoken to- and he followed that perfectly. That day, she left office early- and on the way back, behaved perfectly well, even when he accidently took the Skoda through a pothole. Zari Ram wondered if everything was alright between Madam-and Sir-ji. But wonder of wonders- next day, Sir-ji accompanied her to a famous hospital- the one he had seen Amitabh Bachchan stepping out of, and he began to get worried. Was she fine? Why didn’t she snap at him anymore? Was everything ok with Sir-ji? Why the hospital?

He conveyed this to Phuloo the night he went to the hospital. ‘She’s probably not feeling too well…it happens…’, she said- and he agreed. True- she was looking a little paler than usual.

The next day, Madam-ji didn’t go to work. In the past year of his service, she had taken an off only once- the day her parents had arrived to spend a week with her- and she had been super snappy with him when he was driving her to the airport.

Now he was a bit more worried. What happened to her? Why wasn’t she going to work? She never missed a day at work- she was in love with her job! In fact, he secretly admired her- for her tough-as-nails exterior and ability to command so much respect at the workplace. He spent the entire day chatting with the security guard in the hope that she would come down and his familiar routine would re-start. Though once Phuloo had asked him if Madam-ji had any children, he had shrugged it off- she seemed too important for normal trivial tasks like child-bearing.

Next day, when Madam-ji appeared, she asked him to drive to the hospital. Again, she seemed worried. He glanced at her once in the rear view mirror and she seemed far away. He didn’t think it fit to disturb her.

While parking at the hospital, he glimpsed a famous dimpled actress. She had skin like his Rani’s- glowing like a bulb and lustrous tresses that were falling to her shoulders. Dressed in a pink track suit, she looked the vision of cherubic seduction. He was still thinking of her, when Madam-ji appeared and asked him to drive home.

Somehow he couldn’t bear to break Madam-ji’s reverie as she looked out of the window, unmindful of the news on the FM- he had tuned it to AIR- as he manouevred through the mid-morning traffic jam. Surprisingly, she didn’t call her mother or her office even once. She spent the whole day at home.

Next day, Sukhi didn’t turn up, and Zari Ram was asked to drive the SUV. Madam-ji was obviously resting at home, for she didn’t appear at all.

The day after that Sukhi conveyed that he was going home for a few days, and Zari Ram was asked to be Sir-ji’s driver for the time-being. Madam-ji was at home- though once Zari Ram had to go to the office to get her laptop and some files.

So Zari Ram started driving Rahul Malhotra around.

The fast paced sequence of events and the subsequent changes in his life made him forget Madam-ji temporarily. While Madam-ji’s life was staid and routine, Sir-ji’s life was just the opposite. A posse of lunch and dinner meetings at the city’s top hotels where he saw the best Bollywood beauties made for enough gossip with Phuloo at night. His life had become exciting, and he was superlatively star-struck, as he pointed out star after star on their TV set to Phuloo- describing their cars, their drivers and the way they looked in reality.

Sir-ji was liberal with over-time also, and Zari Ram earned almost half his salary in a few days for over-time. Surprisingly, Sir-ji was not brooding or busy like Madam-ji- he was completely fine- in fact, he seemed to be laughing and joking more than usual!

Then one day, exactly fifteen days after Sukhi had gone away, he saw Madam-ji. He was to drive her and Sir-ji to the hospital again. This time, Zari Ram made up his mind he would definitely ask what the problem was.

So when a jubilant Sir-ji and Madam-ji stepped back into the Skoda again, he turned around, unable to contain himself any longer. He saw Madam-ji’s face- and she looked beautiful. There were no worry lines creasing her beauty, her skin looked as though a thousand bulbs had been lit from within.

‘Congratulate us, Zari Ram’, beamed Sir-ji- ‘we are about to become proud parents!’ and in that one moment, Zari Ram thanked all the seventy two gods of his village, eager and happy in the knowledge that his Madam-ji was safe, and a normal woman.

(June 24,2009)