OF HEROES AND HEROINES

                                 I

Every story has a protagonist, a hero or a heroine. Here too we have our hero. Tall and lean, with a healthy crop of hair; eyes that sparkle with intelligence set in an almost beautiful face.

Our hero is not much educated, and neither does his speech reflect much of that quality reserved for the upper strata of the society. His accent is heavily distorted by his native village tongue, all broken and jumbled, with the occasional flamboyance of derogatory words that further the cause for arrogance and impetuosity; that is youth. Flouting it in his every move and mannerism, never failing for any reason, whatsoever. Everything in place and time, no matter how ill advised or ill judged; all in rhyme and rhythm, whether obeying the rules of propriety or not.

If youth and reason went hand in hand, then nothing could be more desirable. Since time immemorial it has only been desired, in the thousands and thousands of years over the history of human civilization. But Alas! It has only remained a desire, a dream; a mirage that is only to be seen and dreamt of but never to be felt its sublimity and bliss.

Ah! How else could it be? How else could the ‘sweet bird of youth’ fly in its full freedom, if it had to be caged behind the iron bars of reason? Is not youth meant for the unfretted fulfillment of desires, and recklessness and frivolity? Never to be tied down, but always to fly hither and thither; never to be covered in the mundane shades of gray, but always to play among colours and the colourful; never to be utilized but always to be wasted. What use is such youth if not wasted?

And so is the case with our hero, the taxi driver from some remote village of India. Lost in the vastness of the gray sky of the city, flying and flapping listlessly with wings of youth and freedom.

However, let us proceed with the story without further digression, and take a closer look at a day in the life of our hero

                                II

He drives his taxi all around the city. Not many roads are there that is unknown to him. He has driven to every nook and corner of the city in the course of his duty, which spans over long and irregular hours of both nights and days. Whether it is to the farthest end of the city or to the most interiors, whether it is to the avenues and parks where the richest of the rich dwell or to the slums and squalor where the poor and the destitute roam, he has been. Whether it is to the cleanest of temples or churches in the city or to where city brothels thrive, no place is unknown to him, and he takes pride in it.

There is yet another thing that requires a mention. He is not a mere taxi driver, rather he can be called a highly adept taxi driver. The clever maneouvers with the steering, the nonchalant manner in which he handles every move of his taxi; the spirit, which knows no limit, with which he presses his accelerator and the sporadic sudden brakes is something that he enjoys beyond comprehension.

Nevertheless our hero sets out in his usual round in search for passengers, at near about ten ‘o’clock in the morning. His eyes are swollen and red, tired and haggard from lack of sleep the night before.  Not all nights are long and tedious, depending upon the kind of passengers who hire his taxi. Generally most of such late night passengers are those who visit discos, or bars or in some cases brothels, and a few who have some emergency requirement for conveyance.

The day is unbearably hot, with the sun unveiling its mercilessness with every passing minute. The pungent smoke of toxic gas emitted profusely by the innumerable vehicles of the city, mixed with the city dust forms a queer greasy feeling of stickiness on the sweating human skin on such a humid day, making life all the more difficult. Even the crows, which are the only remaining species of birds in the city, have fled to places unknown, hiding from the heat and sun. They somehow seem to have a strange sense of premonition of the impending heat that will soon engulf the whole city. But the taxi driver is still on duty, taking the best of routes from whence he is most likely to find people who may hire him. He drives slowly, with the speedometer barely touching the twenties; never in any hurry, searching for passengers in the waiting. But the day is not an auspicious one, and more so for taxi drivers, since not many people are on the streets looking for conveyance. So he makes his rounds in vain. His car moving at a snail’s pace, now and then stopping here and there in some busy corner of the city which is incredibly empty for a weekday.

When all hopes were seemingly lost, and our hero was just about quit the day out of sheer frustration and failure, something in a distance caught his eyes.

In the far corner of the road, where the footpath bent to the left beyond vision, beneath the cool and tranquil shade of a tall and ancient tree it seemed to our hero, that there stood two prospective passengers. Just as the trained eyes of a vulture seldom make mistakes in detecting the dead, so does the practiced eyes of taxi driver seldom make mistakes in recognizing a passenger in waiting. And indeed on having a closer look he knew he was not wrong.

                               III

This is where we come to a critical juncture in our story. Like in all other stories here too we have those moments when the hero meets the heroine. But unlike most, here we have more than one heroine. In fact we have two of them. Further, since this remains a short story, I choose not to delve into what happens to them and between them –things such as those are better left to novels and novelettes, and hence it is beyond our present context and need not be nurtured in thoughts or in words.

The heroines in our story are young as well. One is a petite young girl of medium height with long hair tied into a bun. She is dressed in a dark western outfit, unlike the other who is in a traditional ‘salwar kameez’, a dazzling white, beautifully embroidered and designed keeping in taste to the fashion in vogue. The latter is taller in comparison, with an unconventionally long face, and shortly cut hair barely touching her shoulders. Both are in their best, their eyes outlined with mascara, their bodies perfumed and skin freshly washed, with almost painted faces.

It is true that all is not the same, and it is also true that only a few are good. But women in their early ages do not seem to obey the aforesaid axiom. Why it appears thus is definitely difficult but not impossible to decipher, since it is undoubtedly true that however unimportant and remote a certain law may appear it will always hold good in any given situation, whether we approve of it or not.

We may venture to draw a simile here and say thus, not all women are beautiful however chary may they be in beautifying themselves. To whatever extent be it, it will always remain a disguise, a game of ‘hide and seek’, forever elusive and deceptive, never appearing in true form if it exists at all. It would in fact be a futile attempt to define what is beauty, but to distinguish between what is beautiful and what is not is the easiest of all tasks. The two are separated by a margin that is deceptively small which probably causes us to falter each time. Women who are in fact not beautiful may appear to be so. Hence I shall refrain from commenting on the beauty of our two heroines, in spite of the fact that beauty is probably the first of all the attributes that a woman may posses.

Thus our hero and heroines meet, agree, one party to hire and the other to be hired; travel together a distance whatever, in a fashion however, fate may have destined them to do.

                               IV

On having a closer look at our two heroines the taxi driver quickly pulled over, and with a debonair smile addressed the two ladies in the most polished of manners that is natural to him.

“ Well, where do you wish to go?”

The girls, who were waiting for the taxi to pull over, were momentarily taken aback on seeing the driver behind the wheels. Of all the things, they had least expected the taxi driver to be such a handsome young lad. And in fashion common to almost all young girls, in that most coquettish of manners the two smiled, half giggled, and replied to our hero.

Our hero quickly agreed and hastened to unlock the rear door inviting the two ladies, with a childlike gratefulness that is also very common to all young lads of his age when they are greeted by such a flirtatious and flattering smile from the opposite sex. Still beaming with a smile on his face, after the two girls had entered and seated themselves, the taxi driver looked at the rear-view mirror even more cheerfully than before and put on the ignition.

The cab pulled out into the road and sped out at a pace that could at the most be generated with the first of the gears. The taxi sped on at full speed, as the road was uncannily empty. It stopped at the signals and at road jams now and then, but again speeded up at full throttle.

The girls were lost among themselves, talking and chatting with their loud, sonorous voices. What they talked about and discussed were all beyond the understanding of our poor uneducated hero, for their language seemed alien to him. All he did hear was there sweet melodious voices, laughing and giggling; the raving sound of the old worn out engine of the taxi and the sounds of horns of the other vehicles on the road.

He swung the wheels, once left, once right; skillfully guiding the taxi into narrow passageways or through the gaps between vehicles, with insurmountable dexterity, assuming the bearings of a pro. Occasionally glancing at the rear-view mirror, to see to what effect his heroics had on the lovely maidens. Whereas the latter just kept on babbling among themselves, completely unaware and listless about the world; making the decidedly feminine movements and gestures that is so common among young girls, so as to explain themselves that little bit more. What they laughed about and why they giggled, confused our hero all the more as he was taking a keen interest as to what the girls were saying. Alas! Girls do many things for reasons hitherto unknown and unintelligible to the world. Often, it so happens that the slightest interest shown at men by the willful and wanton behaviour of women that it becomes the cause for great many joys and miseries. As to how men react to such miseries is another matter, but so far as the joy is concerned, one thing that is definite to happen is the show of futile gallantry by men.

The taxi driver pressed his accelerator to the maximum, the engine raved to a deafening sound; the brakes screeched, the car bounced into pot-holes now and then; now in second gear, the wheels rolled; now in the third and not before long a push downwards to the fourth and the wheels just kept on rolling faster and faster, almost above ground.

The car was neighing to its destination, but by now the driver had forgotten everything to remember as to where he was supposed to go. He just drove, listlessly as to where and how; when suddenly one of the girls cried out.

“Hey! Wait, wait, we’ve reached”

But out of nowhere, there it was, a massive truck just turning left from the intersection in front. There was a loud cry and a shriek, the brakes screeched to a halt, and the taxi skid towards the truck.

What happened after that, whether there was a collision or any damage; whether our hero or heroines survived or not is a matter that I had promised not to delve into, since this is a short story. And all stories should be beautiful, at least in end.