Hate Ok Please

I was running late for work. As usual. Fortunately I got a cab real quick. The cab driver seemed the usual, North Indian with close cropped hair with a bit of grey showing, red threads on wrist, wearing a white uniform.

The journey began. I whipped out my book to read. I always get this real nice, rich person feeling when I sit in the back seat reading my favourite book. It’s no fun driving around in city like Mumbai.

Moving on, the cab stopped at the Cuffe Parade signal and a Bharat Gas cylinder delivery boy pushing one of those carriers-in-front bicycles came up next to the cab. The boy was merely 16-17 years old, wearing a very dirty uniform that was two sizes too big for him. His carrier was full of delivery cylinders and a few more were hanging off the outside railing as well.

As the boy struggled to keep the bicycle from rolling backwards on slight incline, my cab’s driver yelled, “Gaon kaunsa hai? Bihar?”

The boy seemed to ignore him.

The cab driver repeated his question. He shook his head and said, “Nagpur. Nagpur ka hun.”

Cab driver said “Kya baat kar raha hai? Raj Thackeray kaisa kaam karwa raha hai tumse. Ye kaam to Bihariyon ka hai. Pata nahi hai kya? Bolo Raj Thakeray ko tum ko accha kaam dene ko.”

The boy didn’t reply. Maybe he didn’t care.

The signal turned green.

Hatred festered.