Indian Samurai इंडियन सामुराई

On a hot Sunday, I hop up in a taxi. All beat-up.

Seeing the driver, old and wizened, hardly able to stretch his stiffened fingers out to hold the wheel, I feel a wave of emotion/compassion/pity overwhelming me. What kind of bitch of a life makes a grandpa older than India drive such a piece of garbage??

I take a photo to share this later – it has become a weird habit to take a picture of people I meet… 

When we arrive, the meter says 7.2 km. From what I remember, it should be around 120 rupees.  Just to be sure, I ask him for the fare. And here, grandpa, with no innhibition, tells me 180 rupees. Whaaaat ?? But no, it’s 120!! Ok, he agrees on 175 rupees. He is definitely playing me… If he takes it like this, I want to see the meter card. He doesn’t have one. But to get rid of me, he now agrees on 155 rupees. I’m now on my way out to ask the next cab for the card. Grandpa is ok for 125 rupees. So can he explain where the 180 rupees come from?? Oh grandpa!!

I get out of the taxi pretty much upset.

But maybe grandpa needs this extra money to feed his 50 grand-grand children??? Pffff…