Taxi Drivers

Arriving back in India from a 'normal' place like Cape Town is a bit of a shell shock.
Besides for the weather and the traffic, you realise that there are actually a lot of other people in the world and that the universe does not center around you and the people you love.

1,147,995,904 people can really make you feel small and insignificant and lonely and humble.

In India, I interact with or walk past at least 40 people per day (not including work). In Cape Town this would be about 5 if I'm unlucky. You really get a sense of all these little universes around you. People doing what they do... which, in Delhi, generally means not caring what anyone else thinks about what they're doing.

Example... taxi drivers. I take a taxi to and from work every morning - it takes me 45mins to 1 hour each way and every day I have a different universe driving me.

Driver number 1: Spoke to his friend on loud speaker from the minute he picked me up until the minute I handed him cash. This totaled about 45 minutes. Despite how much this obviously killed me, how does he afford to chat for so long? He spent a fifth of what I paid for the ride on his call.

Driver number 2: Sang Hindi songs. Quite well. Nice.

Driver number 3: Kept me waiting for an hour and then drove in circles looking for a non existent turn off while he was getting directions to do another U turn from the head office.

Driver number 4: Took me through his favourite CD compilation. It sounded like the best of all the NOW THAT'S WHAT I CALL MUSIC albums. You know, all those songs that don't have actual words or just don't make sense:
Da da wee oo da da wee oo here we come.
I'm blue, if I were green I would die???
La da da di da da da da wanna be my lover.
Boom boom boom I want you in my room.
Even a little big of Shaggy and the Pussy cat dolls' version of Jai-Ho.
If I was drunk I would have been dancing!

People doing what they do. Being the best version of themselves they can be.

My best version of myself lands up letting driver 1 speak to his friend even though I'm squirming in my seat with irritation, not huming along to Driver 2's Hindi songs, getting out of Driver 3's taxi and taking an auto home instead and not asking Driver 4 for a copy of his CD.
I sucks, ha ha.

Passport photos

I went back to South Africa last week to apply for a new Indian visa.
For the application I needed 4 passport photos.
So, before I left, I went to a store in the Defence Colony market (New Delhi), had my photos taken and was told to come back in 10 minutes.

When I arrived to fetch the photos, the 'photographer' handed the envelope over together with a very unusual smile. I opened the envelope and inside were, to my horror, 4 beautifully airbrushed photographs of myself. My skin was perfect, I think he even put a twinkle in my eye.

I told him how beautiful he made me look.
He grinned and gave me a thumbs up sign.