Mubarak

I sat in an especially rickety auto rickshaw recently. My first step into it, the metal floor seemed to give in and I see the ground whizzing past for the remainder of the ride. I enquired how vintage the auto was. Its good for 5 more years came the reply. I was given a mini discourse on the mrp of an autorickshaw and how they come with a 15 year road permit. The driver told me the auto had been to every square kilometer of mumbai and I concurred, stating I had no doubts about his claim, still mesmerised by the ground whizzing past below my feet. 

Ofcourse, I had to ask him how long he had been running this decade old autorickshaw. He recounted his journey as I recount to you. 

His first job was at a hospital doing bed pan duties amongst other assistance to the infirm. Doing good work here, he got promoted to the morgue. 6 years of witnessing and assisting post mortems, making something extra for clean chits on post mortems, all done solely on gutkha, no liquor, no smoking. That was commendable I told him. He said a little girl's death was what finally did him in and he threw in his surgical gloves the next day.

There's only so unaffected he could go through life. He is quite content running the auto rickshaw now, he says, grinning back at me through his two lopsided mirrors. I didnt doubt him for a second. 

I thank him for his candour and enquire his name. Mubarak, he says, with gutkha stained teeth. Phir mulakaat hogi, Mubarak. We part and but this stays with me.