Since time immemorial, as individual entities
(and as symbiotic groups) we humans have strived to exercise power over others.
This power has polar flavours - where on one hand it is produced and
exercised using fear, oppression, limiting freedom, on the other hand
there is the mystical power of unconditional love, authenticity and
truth.
This incident is of 6th February 2016 is a manifestation of the latter flavour.
My analytical brain (can't be more wrong about it!) calculated the most cost efficient way of travelling to Nizamuddin station from where we had to catch a train to Amritsar. The time was 6.40AM
for departure. Due to congested traffic and parking challenges at the station, I
decided to take a cab instead. Leveraging prior knowledge that most cab
drivers are not comfortable with OlaShare concept, I cherished at the idea of journeying at 60% of the cost of taking an ordinary private cab. To hedge the
risk of finding an on-the-spot cab, I pre-booked another one before
falling asleep that night. Tickets were carefully printed and we
woke up pretty early so packing could be done on time. The OlaShare driver
called me up early morning while packing was on at full velocity. I immediately noticed responsibility in his voice. He reached our society and I called him upstairs because I knew at the back of my mind that we were nowhere close to completing our packing job. He
reminded me that the trip would automatically cancel shortly. But I
already knew that, so I asked him not to worry as we could take our trip
offline. While he sat in the drawing room, Papa prepared one of this
his usual morning teas and gave it to Mohd Bhai, our to-be driver. Talks
began and it was then when he took a small trip into Papa’s world. Meanwhile in 'my world'
I was receiving SMS one after another informing me of cancellations by
drivers of my advance booking. And here a driver who was not supposed to
wait for more than 3 minutes, who finally waited for more than an hour, while we closed
our packing and moved towards the station.
On the way he talked about
his various journeys and played a special Kavwaali for Papa on the cab’s
music system. We paid him offline, about 200% of my ‘cost-efficient’
charges. But in return I saved his number in my phone - for whenever
we'd need an urgent cab, he was there. And he found a new family, with a
father who would love him like his own. And we found a responsible family-oriented young man who would be there for help at a phone call.
With a subtle sense of satisfaction
we three entered the station. The time was 6.15, about 25 minutes to
train arrival. I stood close to the electronic schedule board waiting to note the platform details. To my dismay, they were nowhere on the
board.
This is when it hit me hard.
Frantically I opened my bag, pulled the tickets out and checked the
station. And to my utmost horror I was right this time.
The source station was New Delhi (NDLS) and not Nizamuddin (NZM).
6.18am
and suddenly like a house of cards the whole plan got weak in its limbs, starting to topple.
What now? The answer came running to me in the form of my father. The moment I let him know, I knew what was on his mind - either spend a few
more moments thinking and miss the train for sure or give it our best
shot. How, I still didn’t know. I did call up Mohd Bhai in the hope that by any
magical way he could make us reach on time, but someone else had booked
his cab right then. This was when I saw Papa turning on his military mode - We rushed out of the station,
where Papa got hold of an auto-rickshaw driver and we immediately boarded it.
Now at this moment - the logical side of my brain had an extreme temptation to freak the hell out, and to eventually give up. Especially without a clue of how far New Delhi station was, and with Mum and Papa together, and a few minutes for departure. But this is where a miracle awaited us. The unfailing power of human connection. While Papa talked to the Auto-rickshaw driver, I saw him skipping traffic lights more than a few times. In Delhi, this is rare. For he connected with us, I could see how much he too wanted us to reach and catch the train. He told us the platform number where this train usually departs from, and rushed through unknown lanes in the dark of the night, manoeuvring his auto like a proud elephant marching through the battlefield, the world insignificantly minuscule below.
When I saw the first sign of New Delhi Railway station, I didn't want to have a look at my watch. But this is where my analytical brain kicked in and I noted 3 minutes to departure. I rushed out with the bags and asked Mum to follow me while Papa paid the driver and joined us. Noted the platform, which matched with what the driver earlier told us, and somehow we got on a moving train where Mum was the last one to jump and Papa pulled her up. Panting, exhausted and almost on the verge of going crazy I laughed, and Papa almost kicked me hard. After a pause that felt like eternity, we started moving towards our compartment, which was very inconveniently about 10 compartments away. All seated and set, I closed my eyes and reflected on these set of events.
What was it which led the cab driver mark himself offline, and spend more than an hour off duty sipping tea with a random family. What was it which made him play his favourite Kavwaali and tell Papa how much he missed his father. What was it which made him sound extremely regretful to know that we were at the wrong station, pushing him to the verge of cancelling his booked ride. What was it that made the perfect law abiding auto-rickshaw driver skip (stupid) red lights in a city like Delhi. What was it which made him repeat again and again - 'Sab bas aap station pahunch jao'.
The answer is simple - Love.
Such unconditional love is rare. When Papa enveloped them into his world, they were awestruck with an emotion they almost believed existed only in our own childhood. And this was real power. No amount of money can buy this power. No amount of fear can instil this effortless effort. No amount of domination can make the impossible, possible.
But something so subtle as love, can. A beautiful lesson indeed. Thanks Dad.
