Backseat Reality

So this weekend I had some good friends over for a holiday dinner. You know the kind where you cook incredible unhealthy foods.Think fried Calamari, homemade pasta with a beurre blanc sauce, Brie and bread and a goodish amount of red wine while lounging around up on our terrace listening to good music. It was a lovely evening where we solved the problems of the world and figured out the meaning of life in India. Apparently we were quite brilliant and introspective but I can't quite remember what our solutions were due to the 'goodish amount of red wine.' Ah the bliss of ignorance which beams in with the early morning sun. However I digress. As it was Christmas we exchanged gifts and my good friend bought me a book written by the Indian author Aditya Kripalani called Backseat. It is a contemporary novel set in the clutter of Mumbai about a young girl tempted by the romance of life in a big city with a boy she believed was her future. As the story plays out she soon discovers the harsh realities of the streets as she is forced into the sex trade of Bombay and must find a way to survive the desperate struggles of daily life. Much of her life is told from the back seat of a car being driven by the driver of her paying customer. Kripalani paints a very violent and unstable picture of  human interactions in Bombay and this is where I reflect.

If I were to pick this book up in a Chapters store in suburban Canada and begin to read, I would feel shock and awe at the events as they occurred but feel safe in my knowledge that this story was fictional. A time and place far removed from my own and never the twain shall meet. However as I sat in my Bombay apartment watching the hawks fly outside of my window and heard the horns honking from the stalled traffic passing Powai lake, I realized I know this world...I have seen this world. Violence in Bombay is not unknown to me and much closer than I ever thought it would be.
Not long ago, while driving by the Hyatt Regency hotel, a large petrol tank passed too close by the side of our van scraping the passenger side back door. I heard the sound of metal against metal and cringed. Javed, my driver, immediately stopped our car and ordered the truck to the side of the road so that he could get the insurance information. Now It would be nice to picture this event as a Canadian but this process is so far removed from my experience that really, I can only watch on in complete amazement. The truck pulled to the side ahead of our car and out of my sight. Javed walked towards the truck and he too was beyond my line of sight. After a few minutes I saw a young Indian boy, who was maybe 17 if a day and he was holding his right cheek, tears streaming down his face. He quickly approached my side of the van and knocked at the window pleading with hands together that I help him. Now here is the sad part. As I viewed this scene from the back seat of my vehicle, I was not sympathetic nor compassionate to this person and immediately knew that Javed had punched him in the face. Javed, stormed back to the car and pushed him away telling him not to bother his madame and walked the scared young boy back to the truck. Javed climbed into the cab, took the binder of papers from the front seat and brought it back to the van. He jumped into the driver's seat  and we drove off. As he shifted the clutch I saw him rub his knuckles. I asked him if he had hit the boy. He paused for the slightest moment and then with a steady voice replied, "No madame."
Now I know he was lying to protect himself but the scary thing is I was not horrified or offended but felt this odd sense of relief that my driver is a tough son of a bitch who will never back down from a fight. This made me feel safe and and confident that he would protect me in any situation. However this scene is not unique to Javed. I have on many occasions seen drivers battling it out to the bloody end because of a car accident. In Bombay, this is how justice is served. The police are corrupt and ineffective and Mumbaikers have to find other means  to get what they need.  On an earlier occasion,  a motorcyclist rammed into the back of our car. Javed had tried to deal with a situation the proper way by calling over a police officer. Unfortunately the guilty party bribed the officer with 100 rupees, approximately $2.50 and off he rode leaving Javed with nothing. Javed knows how this game is played and I feel comforted by that fact.

My driver is a very proud and private Muslim man who is  devout to his beliefs and a good family man. He goes to prayer every Friday between 1pm and 2pm and takes care of his wife, 3 young children, his mother and brother and sister in law in their small chawl in the slums of Sakinaka. He used to have another brother living with him but not 6 months ago Javed received a call that his brother's murdered body had been found under the Sea link bridge which joins Bandra to Worli across the bay. On this day, JavedJaved if he wanted time off or if he needed money but he immediately refused and said he was fine. I was unsure of how to deal with this situation staying sensitive to the ways of Muslim and Indian culture. You do not show condolence by giving flowers because flowers are used so extensively in times of celebration. After speaking to an Indian friend of mine, I discovered that it is proper to offer money to the family to help them with the expense of the funeral as well as to help compensate for any lost wages earned by the murdered victim. I again offered Javed money but he refused because he cannot take money from a woman. Eventually after much persuasion from my husband he took the money and some time off and took his brother back to his village to be buried as is custom in the Muslim faith.

I no longer judge the violence I see on the streets of Bombay. Surviving day to day in a city with over 20 million people will never be something I will experience. I do, however, focus on the individuals who are an integral part of my life in India and admire them for their resiliency and pride.