Run-in with Royalty.

Cab guy calls me.

Madam, please swalpa walk and come forward, if not I’ll have to take 2 U-to pick u up…full traffic…20 minutes…

So I trudge along for 500m, lugging laptop and lunch dabba, and reach the car, parked left near a footpath, ahead of a bustling bus stand, horns honking impatiently behind. Skid to the door and try to open it.

That’s when I meet her.

The Lady.

Clearly descended from royalty, judging from the regal indifference to the disheveled vagabond rattling at the car handle. Lost in her own kindle wonderland. Perhaps taking stock of her heirlooms. Not for her, these common courtesies and car doors. Not for her, these piddly notions of shifting to the other side. No sirree. Peasants may brave the traffic- side door, and if they get flattened by an oncoming BMTC, well, that’s just their peasant-ly luck.

The driver fruitlessly reaches over, and tried to open the door. Horns honk. Buses rumble.

She rummages in her bag, perhaps to throw some change at the crazy person who for some reason just won’t leave, and is now banging at her window! Tch tch.

Seconds tick by. Driver manages to open door. I stand there.

Queen Bengaluru’s posterior is firmly still planted on the seat.

“Madam….swalpa adjust?”

After an appropriately aristocratic pause, H.H. Lady Olashare the Third slides to the other side.

I dive in, bag and all, and just sort of…stare at her divine magnificence, as she utters these words.

Issshh….. Eshtu time waste aayithu anna… Almost 5 mins…


Epilogue: Just 450 meters later, her ride ends.


Bumpy ride.

The pickup right after me was a lady, who asked us to wait in front of Cambridge school.
And we did.
Then she says 21st cross.
Cab guy is clueless, so I map it out, and off we pop.
Then she says school again.
Loop back.
The timer is ticking. The trip has already started since technically, we’re at the location.
I’m using complex Fourier transforms to calculate how the 15 minute delay will exponentially increase my travel time at the major bottlenecks on the way, in order to to arrive at a reasonable estimate as to how pissed my boss will be today.

Tick tick tick.

Cab guy cursing under his breath.

There she is! Red salwar!

Cab guy dials her. She cuts the call with not a flutter, and continues strolling towards us at snail’s pace, enjoying the crisp January air, content with life and its wondrous beauty.

Jaldi aavo madam!!

She slows down even more.

My calculations just shoot up. From the looks of it, so does cab guy’s BP.

She approaches the car, hallelujah, and there it is, the reason for all this nonchalance.

Baby bump.

She kicks me out of the front seat, sets down her lunch dabba, makes herself comfortable, cab starts moving, we’re all good to go…


Cab guy: “arey….jhagda mat karo aap *mumble grumble*”

“CHUP!!! CHUP!!!!!!!


#sorryboss #latetoday #ohwhyyouask? #hormones

Smooth operator

My cab guy gets booking after booking.

He picks up the phone and cheerfully goes,
Gaadi puncture aagidhe, cancel maadkolli.

Next booking:
Tumba Traffic jam ithe sir, 30 mins aaguthe. Okay na? O, not ok??! Cancel maadkolli.

Next booking :
Police problem saar. Gaadi move aagalla. Cancel maadkolli.

Next booking :
Dinner time saar. Cancel maadkolli.
So on and so forth, all in 1 minute.

He turns around with a conspiratorial smile at my horrified expression, as the memories of every cab guy who refused my desperate booking flash through my mind.

Quota ho gaya madam.”

#olashare #thosepoorpeople


Just a few of the things my driver has waxed eloquent about today.

Eh humra Lalu Prajadji bol raha hai… Ee Modi na, bilkul pagla hua hai.
Gaunv me humri maa jo hai, woh doodh nai le paa rahi, sabzi nahi le paa rahi, kuch nai

Kya khayegi woh?
Woh modi aakar khilayega kya?!
Insaaniyat naam ka cheej hi nai hai inka.

All of this delivered in a thunderous voice like a Bihari Big B.

#olashare #bitterpill #aamaadmiproblems


Co-passenger in cab makes polite small talk.

Picks up phone, unlocks screen.

Hardcore porn begins to play, at full volume.

After ten seconds that felt like an eternity, fellow manages to switch it off.

Very human mistake only, but now I’d rather just listen to my music and be silent.

But braveheart that he is, dudebro initiates small talk, the fact that his cab passenger know about his what tickles his innermost fancies in five minutes be damned.

Tries to ask me how to spell my name so he can find me on FB.
Tell him I don’t add strangers, sorry.
Asks me for number so we can “hangout in HSR”.
Told him I’m a nomad who doesn’t believe in homes and I crash on people’s couches and today I just happened to be in HSR.

He looks confused, paavam.