Of Sweaty Cycle Rickshaw Drivers

Some things in life just bring out the emotion in you - hard as you may think you are. This was my experience these past few days.

We "westernised" souls are much drawn to the romance of exotic experiences. Eating ducks feet in interior china or bungee jumping in New Zealand - whatever. These things make for exciting coffee-table conversations and impress one and all. The ability to say "I did that" - that I am one of the few in this entire world that has had a certain experience. Boast on. But in the romance and thrill and cuteness of a life that one would normally only find in the movies, sometimes reality's harsh truth is far, far... well... harsher.

We've seen them once or another, these Indiana Jones-like characters having a thrill of a chase through some exotic street in China or Calcutta or wherever in Bicycle rickshaw, pedal bikes attached to a little cart that take you around town for a nominal fee. Colorfully decked up, umbrellas adorning a sparkling canopy of eastern excess. Among that a skinny but strong lad or maybe even an older man takes you for the ride of your life. Cute. Cultural. Fun. Exotic, of course it is, it's different from anything we've seen.

I thought so. In Guwahati, Assam where I am at the moment, these are one of the more common means of cheap transport. Me being the lover of most things new and exciting, I decided to have a go. I don't think I will be rid of the memory for a long time. Why such a big deal? Read on. (random note - ha ha - two elephants just passed by on the main highway out my window - end of random note)

This is the picture I have in my mind: Looking ahead into the streets of Guwahati while sitting in the back of a Rickshaw. Looking at the quite sweaty back of a man dressed in an...oily? vest and wraparound called a lungi, no slippers and who toils struggling to push his way to my desired location half an hour away. Sweaty for a reason - he is pedalling his heart out and this is no easy task - some times he just has to stop, get down and manually pull the vehicle along; this is his life. Refuse this, and he does not eat. Of all the transportation options available, this is the cheapest. Naturally, I paid him more than his asking rate.

Interestingly I have found a subculture - almost a sub species if I may say so: The Assam Rickshaw Driver. Quiet, docile, obedient (except when money is concerned, obviously), meek. A good word, meek. Everyone from police (one female cop hit my driver with a stick for wanting to drive down a busy street) down to cyclists (one made it a point to stop my driver to curse his brains out just for getting a little in his way, and my driver just sat there, silent, waiting till it was over so he could leave - reminded me of a dog) consider it their right to mistreat this subspecies. Another observation I made was that most rickshaw men automatically consider themselves your servant. I have no memory in my short life of such a thing. Just for me using his rickshaw, a driver has carried my boxes (two heavy ones), stopped and asked for directions and made sure I arrived where I would be able to make my way sufficiently - without me asking a word or him me for an extra rupee. I cannot understand how anyone can get used to this - no human being owes me that much to be my pet. I have seen servants who do such things but because it is their job, but not this, never before. We criticize the colonialists for their lack of basic humaneness, and then live the very legacy they left behind - without the clutter of needing to explain our actions: after all these people are "us" - no stark melanin distinctions here.

In these past few days I have ridden in many rickshaws and paid many more-than-asked-for rupees since my first ride - I think they make me feel alive. I feel a tug at my heart for this sweaty man in front of me, Lord knows his life story (I have thought up stories while at the back of a rickshaw, but that road is not very cheering). Years will pass, such things will become obsolete - but maybe there is both a lesson to learn even if there is at the surface mostly grief to be borne.

I grieve that the sin and pain and suffering of man can lead to such extremes of need that a man must become an animal in order to survive. I grieve that man can become used to such a sight - that it becomes normal (See previous post). I grieve that there is nothing I can do except give a few extra rupees - pointless in the long run. But through all of it one lesson I learn from a sentence that echoes in my mind - which when juxtaposed against these ruminations, is a hard thought: The Meek shall inherit the Earth.

Christian, find yourself.