A conversation with a cab driver

By Shevlin Sebastian

Driver Mulik Nilesh Dadaso is driving the cab which I hired at 100 kms/hour. Abroad, this may be fine. But on the Pune-Mumbai Expressway, it is risky. There is no lane discipline. Drivers in cars, buses or trucks cut in and out of lanes at high speed. One tiny error of judgement might cause an accident.

Mulik said that two days ago, a large container truck, whose brakes had failed, had hit a bus from behind. Four men fell off the bus on the road. Another bus, coming from behind, ran over them. They died immediately.

Mulik said that he sees an accident almost every other day. But he admitted it no longer affected him. “If I get disturbed mentally, I will get scared and it will affect my driving,” he said.

He has been doing this route almost every day for the past several years. It is his most lucrative assignment. He earns Rs 2000 as profit travelling to Mumbai and back. “That’s enough  for the day,” he said. “I don’t drive after one to-and-fro trip.”

Of course, the time taken varies. If it is in the morning rush hour, then it could take four hours. That is the case in the evening when he is returning from Mumbai. But in the pre-noon and in the afternoon, he can do it in one and a half hours. However, in the monsoon season all these journeys become longer. 

These long hours have taken a physical toll. Mulik has recurring back pain. But when he stops driving and walks around a bit, the pain recedes. Since he is in his late thirties, his recovery is quick. But I am apprehensive things will no longer be the same after a decade or so.

This is because I had done a story, in May, 2020, about auto rickshaw drivers in Kochi. Many have shoulder and back problems because of the constant use of the gear and leg pedals. A 46-year-old, after two decades behind the wheel, had to stop driving because of severe back pain. 

As for Mulik, he lives in Bhugaon, 14 km from Pune. His wife is a homemaker, while his six-year-old son studies at a private school. The second son is two years old. “Private schools are more expensive, but it is imperative that my children get an excellent education,” he said. “But now, I have heard that government schools are getting better. Later, I may shift my son to a government school.”

Mulik is from Satara, 112 km from Bhugaon. The family grows sugarcane on land they own. But in the past three years, the yield has not been high. There is also a lack of water because of a lack of rain. Mulik bemoaned the impact of climate change. 

Last month, he received another blow. His 60-year-old father died of a sudden heart attack. Now his elder brother, a cab driver, has shifted his family from Mumbai to his ancestral home. The aim is to ensure their mother is not alone. Once a month, Mulik drives in his car to meet his mother and to survey the fields.

The subject changes to the topic of development. He lauds the Bandra-Worli Sea link. User charges begin at Rs 80. “The average person cannot afford to use it every day,” he said. “But for rich people and Bollywood stars, time is money. What is 80 rupees for them? It is nothing. For them, this link is an enormous benefit.”

It is unnerving that messages keep popping up on Mulik’s mobile phone. He reads them and drives at the same time. Through the rear-view mirror, I can see his eyes darting from the screen to the road and back again. ‘So risky,’ I thought. 

I enquire about the legislator Eknath Shinde. He precipitated a division in the Shiv Sena and formed his own government with the BJP in June 2022. Mulik said, “The people have sympathy for Uddhav [founder Bal Thackeray’s son]. The Shiv Sena belongs to him. The Sena Bhawan in Dadar belongs to him.”

Shinde and Uddhav had approached the Supreme Court for control of the Sena Bhawan. “That was not right on Shinde’s part,” said Mulik. 

Mulik said that in the next Assembly elections in October, 2024, Uddhav will come back to power. Mulik has shown where his sympathies lie.

Mulik said that the public also seemed to have sympathy and affection for Uddhav. A major reason for this was that unlike previous Sena leaders, when he was unseated, Uddhav did not order cadres to unleash violence in the city.

Right on cue, Mulik points out ‘Matoshree’, the house of Bal Thackeray, behind a high wall in Bandra East. Uddhav stays there with his family, said Mulik. 

I asked about Jaidev, Uddhav’s elder brother.

Mulik said, “He appeared in a photo with Eknath Shinde and Fadnavis [the former Chief Minister, belonging to the BJP].” This was during the Dussehra rally at the Bandra Kurla Complex on October 5, 2022. 

In the thick of Mumbai traffic, we were now moving at a snail’s pace. At Santa Cruz, I paid the fare through Paytm. That’s how I came to know Mulik’s three-word name. We wished each other goodbye. Both of us were certain we would never see one another again. 

That’s life but we enjoyed our time together, no matter how brief it was. 

Permanent regrets

By Shevlin Sebastian

For several years, Thomas Sir and I were regulars at a swimming pool in Kochi, be it summer, monsoon or winter. Many people would come, do it for a few days or a week, and then vanish for months together.

A friend explained to me the primary reason they come. The doctor would warn them their health problems will become worse unless they do some exercise. But the motivation declined after a few days.

Thomas Sir, who was in his seventies, when I first met him, would first go to the gym overlooking the pool. He would do quite a few exercises. The one I remember the most was the way he swung his hips in a half-circular motion while standing on a base that moved in a circle. After that, he would ask me if the water was cold. If I said it was too cold, he would go home.

If not, he would step into the pool after the mandatory shower. He did laps in a slow and relaxed manner. Thomas Sir enjoyed swimming. Sometimes, between laps, as we stood at the shallow end, to regain our breath, we would chat. He asked about my family and my work. I did not ask him about his family. Instead, I asked about his career as a land surveyor.

Once he told me, “Being fit is no guarantee for a long life. My brother, who was a good badminton player and played often, died of a sudden heart attack. He was only 71.”

Both of us pondered over what he said before we resumed our laps.

All was going fine, till the corona pandemic struck. Everything went into lockdown. The club closed. Many employees went home. The pool lay untended. The chlorine coagulated, and the water became spoiled.

Thomas Sir had a problem. He missed the adrenal rush he got from doing regular exercise and having a swim in the pool. His muscles became stiff. Thomas Sir’s body lost its rhythm. His mood fell. 

Finally, his health declined.

I offset this loss of access to the pool by going for daily evening runs. That kept me going. I got my daily release of dopamine. And it kept my spirits up. But I was younger than Thomas Sir, so I could do that.

After the epidemic, when the pool opened, I did not see Thomas Sir. I asked the pool in charge, who said that Thomas Sir stopped coming. Unfortunately, I did not have the sensitivity or the grace to get in touch with him. I had neither his number nor did I know where Thomas Sir lived. But the pool in-charge told me he stayed near the club. I assumed that because of his advanced age, Thomas Sir stopped coming.

On the evening of March 15, I went for my usual swim. When I returned home, I saw a message on the club WhatsApp group. ‘Senior member Thomas has passed away. You can view his body at his home.’

In fact, as I swam that evening, my regular companion lay unmoving on a bed in his home.

The next morning, an hour before the burial, I went to his house for the first time. It was less than half a kilometre from the club.

The family had placed his body outside on the porch. Thomas Sir lay on a bier under a white sheet, surrounded by white flowers. They put up a golden crucifix behind his head. His face looked peaceful. A priest, in a white cassock, intoned prayers. Several mourners stood nearby.

I saw his wife sitting next to the body.

I remembered Thomas Sir telling me that his wife suffered from knee and back pain. When he said that, I assumed she was overnight. But she looked slim and frail.

A pony-tailed photographer took a group photo of the family, next to the body.

I heard a man standing next to me tell another man, “He is the son.”

By coincidence, the son, in his fifties, came and stood next to me. His eyes were red from crying. I introduced myself and explained how I knew Thomas Sir. He said his name is Austin.

Then I said, “Did Thomas Sir’s health decline because he stopped exercising?”

“Yes,” said Austin. “That was the main reason. He had no health issues before that. But problems began when he could no longer do any exercise. In the end, his heart became too weak, and he passed away.”

It opened my eyes to the possibility of what could happen to me if I could no longer exercise in old age.

Thomas Sir was 86 when he passed away. So, he exercised till he was 83 years of age. That was remarkable.

That evening, I met a senior swimmer at the pool. He told me he had countless conversations with Thomas Sir over the years. “I have a regret that I did not go visit Thomas in his home,” he said. “I could have easily done so after a swim.”

I realised I was not the only person to feel regret.

This is the second time this has happened to me.

I am a member of a public speaking club. The senior-most member was an eloquent speaker and author. But when he grew old, he could no longer come for the meetings. But none of us went to meet him. It was a case of ‘out of sight, out of mind.’ Then, one day, we heard he had passed away. Members went and offered condolences to the wife and children and placed a bouquet near the body.

Later, at another meeting, I mentioned there was a lapse on our part that we did not pay a visit to our senior-most member when he stopped coming. Everybody agreed. But I had clearly not learnt from the regret I felt. Because I behaved in the same manner with Thomas Sir.

These will be regrets I will carry until the end of my life. That’s what death can do to you. You end up with permanent regrets.

I hope and wish I don’t make more lapses like this in the future.

A childhood photo triggers thoughts

By Shevlin Sebastian

Photos: From left: Shevlin Sebastian, Sony Kurian and Tony Mathew; View Master; Alexander Solzhenitsyn

The other day, my uncle Siby Sebastian put up a photo of a trio of three boys in our family WhatsApp group. It’s not that clear.

That’s me on the left, along with my cousins, Sony (middle) and Tony. It was strange to look at this younger self. I do not know why I am smiling. When and where was this photo taken? Who was the photographer? Was it my dad or an uncle? What is Tony eating? Is it a biscuit?

During childhood, I was one of the shortest in class. In school, for several years, I was called Mini. It was another word for a pocket version. Very few classmates remember that nickname now. Thank God for that. This is a rare photo of me smiling. Most of the time, I have shown an unsmiling face to the camera.

In childhood, I was shy. No words came out of my mouth. That was why later, I got attracted to writing. I only had to interact with a typewriter and, later, computer and laptop screens to deal with words. It is also why I loved reading. Through the words, I could hear the voices of the authors. I did not have to meet and interact with them. That seemed enough for me.

Sometimes, people give a picture of yourself which differs from your inner image.

Last year, when my aunt came down from the USA, she told me, “When you were a child, you were afraid of your father.” My aunt and her husband stayed in Jamshedpur (284 kms from Kolkata). They would come on the weekends and spend time with us in Kolkata.

It surprised me when she said that. I didn’t think I was afraid. I felt intimidated by my father, who had a serious demeanour. He only mellowed in his later years. But this was what my aunt felt, looking at me from the outside. So, maybe she was right.

I remember when a couple came to our house in Kochi a few years ago. The woman said, “We had come to Calcutta when you were a child and stayed at your home,” she said. “Once when I was leaving the room, you told me, ‘You must always switch off the light and fan when you leave the room.’ I never forgot that.”

Yes, I could have said it. I do not know who ingrained this habit in me. Was it my father or mother? It is true even now, decades later, when I leave a room, I ensure I switch off the light and fan. I have tried to pass this habit to my family. But they are a lot more casual about it.

And here is what my Kochi-based cousin Joseph G. Vadakel wrote about meeting me in an essay he wrote for a family booklet:

‘It was my first encounter with our young cousin, Shevlin. He was five years old. I found him to be a quiet, pleasant, and well-mannered boy. I still remember the red and sleek-looking ‘View Master’ he had. It was a gift from his uncle in the USA. He generously allowed me to look through it. There were spectacular 3D colour images of the Niagara Falls, the Grand Canyon, the Pyramids, the Empire State Building, and the Hanging Gardens. It was beautiful.’

What we think of ourselves and what people think of us can be the opposite. 

This is what my mentor George Abraham, former Deputy Resident Editor of the New Indian Express, wrote in a pamphlet he brought out on his 75th birthday, on February 22, 2023, for his extended family.

‘There are people who can make us feel good and there are those who can make us feel bad with their mere presence. Shevlin belongs to the first category. That is an ability so valuable in these days of growing uncertainties, unrest, distress, frustrations and loneliness. Shevlin made me feel important enough to be written about.’

I was taken aback when George Sir pointed this out. Nobody has told me this before. 

So, is there anything about the child in the photo in the adult me?

For one, I enjoy being alone. In life, we have to play several roles: husband, father, son, sibling, cousin, professional, and a relative. It is nice not to do these roles once in a while.

What else? I have had a sweet tooth since childhood. That remains.

I have lost my temper on quite a few occasions. That has become much less, because age has mellowed me.

I remain slim, like my childhood, thanks to daily exercise and a careful diet.

Of course, the substantial change is mental. Nowadays, the inner journey interests me a lot. Who am I? What is my destiny? What happens after we die? Where are all the relatives who passed away? 

Do I have any original thoughts? This question has preoccupied me a lot.

Is my thinking based on my childhood indoctrination by school, parents, religion and the society that I lived in?

Are there any original thoughts in me?

The answer to this seems to be: nothing we say is original. Everything is a mix of our brainwashing, the reading we have done, the mentors who have influenced us and our interactions with people. We repeat what we have learnt. That’s the case with most people. 

The other aspect is the fear of inner darkness. Many people reject this concept of evil living in us. They don’t believe they have a dark side.

But this is what Nobel Prize-winning legendary writer Alexander Solzhenitsyn wrote in The Gulag Archipelago (1918-56): ‘If only it were all so simple! If only there were evil people somewhere committing evil deeds, and it was necessary only to separate them from the rest of us and destroy them. But the line dividing good and evil cuts through the heart of every human being. And who will destroy a piece of his own heart?’

Indeed, how true that is!

These were some of the thoughts that arose when I saw this childhood photo.