Romancing a prejudice

"Bawa, don't you drive on the roads alone now. Can't you see what damage you have done to the car and yourself!"

Sardarji admonished Bahman Lakdawala. The septuagenariun stood quivering like a wet cat while his good old friend, the garage mechanic gave him an earful. Half his body trembled from Parkinson's while the other half rattled in anger.

"Gandi chokri...If they can't drive why do they prowl on the road as if it was their father's Persian jahangir? I tell you Sardarji, girls these with their new found freedom feel they have rocketed the sky. Cars are one thing and space travel another. These girls drive as if they are about to take off."

Vrommmm...a girl zoom passed them on her bullet and Bawa's trembling now resembled a convulsion.

"Oye Papaji, calm down. Whatever you say, you need a driver. You can no more handle this car and the driving. Come let's have lassi till my boys mend your gaddi's broken teeth. Look how she is complaining!"

The vehicle, an old model of fiat padmini was the apple of Bawa's cataract laden eyes. It was a gift from his father in-law. It was in this car that his shy, young bride was brought home. Farah and Bahman made a lovely couple and the dadar Parsi coloney boosted of their romance. The then young and dashing Bahman ran a bakery near kabutar khana. Being an ancestral bakery, there was not much that he had to do here apart from making bills and watching yet another flock of pigeons soar to the blue skies.

In the afternoon, Bahman drove his pride padmini to come home to dip his bread into a steaming hot dhansak nu shaak diligently prepared by his Farah. Farah in her knee length floral dress would stand by the second floor balcony as the padmini purposely honked to mark its arrival. Bahman in the Rajesh Khanna style would then wink at his sapno ki rani before taking to the stairs.

Over the delicious meal, Farah would talk about her day from the milkman to the neighbor's cat and Bahman would listen attentively. There would be no spice or excitement in the stories. The same dull thing everyday. But the sparkle in Farah's big, round eyes made Bahman's heart flutter. Her lips which turned a full circle when she exclaimed, "Oh Bahmy you know.." created dents in Bahman's over flooded heart. The way she slapped her forehead when she said, "Arey Bahmy, I forgot to serve you the rice," melted Bahman's heart like the chocolate on the special cupcakes, his bakery served.

The lovebirds cocconed in their padmini would traverse the Bombay roads singing, whistling and enjoying this ride called life. Bahman loved his four wheeler as much as he loved his wife. He loved to watch the breeze shuffle her short tresses as the car sped past barren lands where skyscrapers were yet to crop up. His desires did backward somersaults marveling at the contended smile that added an extra tinge of pink to her blush. Bahman had all that he wanted. 

Nothing changed in this routine for 2yrs till Farah made him jump with excitement, telling him, "Bahmy tu baap banvana cho."

The premium car now paraded the couple to hospitals, agyaris and markets more frequently. Bahman cared for Farah like the lamp in the agyari. He made several failed attempts to cook dhansak for Farah and with every failed attempt Farah came to love her Bahmy a little more.

Finally, the day to welcome little Bahman or little Farah arrived. Farah's waters broke as she was eagerly waiting the honking of her Rajesh Khanna. And her macho man did arrive. Helping her into the warm nest of padmini, Bahman hit the road to reach Breach Candy hospital. It was a thirty minute drive which he would cover in 20mins or less. Bombay roads were the most hospitable elements that had witnessed their romance. Today they were silken robes making a carpet to welcome the angel.

"Bahmy, please make it soon. I can't bear this any longer." Farah's turmoil was something Bahmam could never handle. Blind in love, now he was blind on road. He sped past signals and carts and cars alike. People cursed him for being irrationally mad on the traffic laden road. But he gave a least to them.

Screeeechhh...

A girl on a two wheeler suddenly crossed their path amidst no where. Bahman applied the brakes to come to a screeching halt. Farah on the back seat...

Till this day, after a not so good thirty years too Bahman could never forgive women drivers. Many tried to pacify him that the short lived romance was all a destiny's game. But Bahman Lakdawala was inconsolable. He carried this disgust, this hatred, this terrible prejudice that a woman driver had ruined his life.

"Bawa, I will send few drivers to your place. Hire one of them if you value this old Sardarji's friendship."

Bahman couldn't turn this down. Sardarji had taken care of his padmini like he had once cared for Farah. Padmini his second love aged gracefully under Sardarji's utmost care and affection. Thus, Bahman started interviewing new drivers. Not one fit his bill. Some were too rash, some too slow. Some banged the car doors like this was padmini's last drive while some fiddled miserably to ignite her pampered engine. None absolutely, none loved her the way Bahman had.

"I will let her pass away peacefully in your garage than have her strangulated on the roads by these rascals!"

A frustrated Bahman had announced. Sardarji was left with little options. He had something in his mind for a long time. But he feared the outcome. Yet, he took a chance- a heavy one, a disguised one for sure.

"Bawa, there is a Sardarji who I think is perfect for you. One last time please give this a chance. I'm sure he will care for your car like a baby. But you will not ask him much questions and make a decision on his test drive."

Bahman reluctantly gave in.

The next morning a lean yet fit Sardarji with red turban adorning his head arrived. His bushy beard occupied majority of his oval face. His eyebrows thin and arched in sharp contrast with his fiesty mustache. His gaze lowered, searching for some trivia to park it on.

"What is your name?" Bahman tried probing him.

"Lakhan Singh," the voice trembled.

"Bawa, what's in the name and like? Hahaha...Let's get to the test drive." Sardarji forced a chuckle and immediately escorted the flummoxed Parsi to the car.

Lakhan positioned himself behind the steering. Very carefully he reversed the car out of the garage and amicably brought it to the main road. His grip on the wheel was firm. The feet on the escalator paddled it gently. Not slow not very fast, he drove at an average of 40kmph. Just what the old Parsi desired. There was not a single folly that the old man could grumble on and he had to appoint Lakhan Singh as his new driver.

Everyday Lakhan arrived sharp at 9am to pick Bahman and drive him to the bakery. He waited their for two hours till Bahman checked old bills and accounts. Sharp at 11am the old Parsi was taken to an agyari and then back home.

Bahman from the back seat could see the way Lakhan handled his padmini. Like a mother cradling her baby, like a lover cuddling his love, Lakhan actually romanced her. But without  a word. Never did the driver attempt to strike a conversation. Yet, his driving skills offered the grumpy Parsi the much needed comfort.

Bahman couldn't stop visiting his good old memories on numerous occasions when the young driver seamlessly glided over the Bombay streets. The breeze that blew would have shuffled Farah's tresses just the same way as when he drove. How he wished Farah was now, right here with him in the backseat so that he could gently push aside a stray strand behind her delicate ears. How he wished he could simply hold her hand without having to hold the steering. 

Years of pent up remorse, formed a little brooke that started flowing down his ragged cheeks. Lakhan could see the distraught man. For a while he chose to ignore but when the sobs turned a little louder, he was perplexed. Trapped between whether to intervene or not, Lakhan for the first time bumped into a lady driving a two wheeler. 

Bahman jumped to his feet and started accusing the woman.

"You good for nothing girls! Just take my life and you will be happy! As it is there is nothing I have to look forward after you killed my Farah!"

The girl on the road stood aghast not able to figure out who was murdered in this little mishap.

"What are you staring at me like that! Don't behave as you don't know anything. If not you then it must be your fore-mothers who killed my Farah! Look at that poor Lakhan how devastated he is!"

Bahman turned to find Lakhan adjusting his turban. A long black mane had escaped from it. The bushy beard was hanging loose from his face. His face? The 'his' ness had betrayed the face. Behind it stood a naive girl in her early twenties.

"Forgive me Bawa uncle. Please forgive me. I was in extreme need of money and hence had requested Sardarji for a job. He gave me this job on two conditions- one, not to reveal my identity and two, drive smoothly. Please don't take away my job. I will never disappoint you."

Bahman was blank. His tongue felt paralyzed. His thoughts frozen. But his prejudice had thwart from thinking sense. All these years, he had romanced a prejudice. His prejudice that a woman driver had killed his happiness, his Farah. He romanced his prejudice more than he ever did that to Farah or padmini.