The Midnight Cab

I stepped out of his cab in front of the house Aniruddha used to live in then, shut the door, bent down to look at his face across the window and specifically remember to have said, “Take care”. I genuinely meant that when I said that, I recollect. After a while we came in and we lay on the ground staring at the ceiling and I asked Aniruddha, “Why do you think he shared so much with us?”

The story I am going to share with you tonight, was perhaps the first inspiration for this series. It was hard to come up with the right way to write about it and is probably the reason why it is the third article in the series.

It was the 13th of November, 2017. Aniruddha’s friend Raka had been experiencing blinding abdominal and back pains for over a month and had finally decided to consult a doctor at the hospital. Her boyfriend came down from Amherst. Her roommates and Aniruddha were quite concerned. They wanted to be with her when she was at the hospital. I was visiting Aniruddha from Texas for a week and quite inevitably I became a part of the process. One of her roommates drove us to the St. Agnes Hospital, Baltimore at around 9.30 in the evening. We went, waited and at about 11.30 in the night, Raka came out and let us know that she had been asked to take some tests and would have to stay back. Her boyfriend and the roommates wanted to stay back with her. Aniruddha and I somehow planned to get back home because we had some early morning plans the next day.

It was 11.50 PM when we booked our cab home. The driver’s name was Deependra, a familiar Indian name, about mid-aged. We hopped into the car. I took the front seat beside the driver and Aniruddha took the back one. Now that I think about it, I generally don’t do that. I always prefer the back seat to the front. That day was an exception, I guess.

He started with asking the reason for our visit to the hospital, paused for a moment and said, “Aniruddha… That seems like an Indian name. Which part of India are you from?” “West Bengal”, Aniruddha said. Almost in a reflex I asked, “And you?” “What do you think?”, he asked. “Ummm… West Bengal? Your name is a familiar Bengali name”, I said. “Well, Nepal. I am from Nepal”, he mentioned.

We were about seven minutes away from home. I could see the face of this man only partially. It was dark and the only light entering the car was from the streets. His face had some acne marks and he had a big flat nose. I could see the apple in his neck and could figure out he wanted to talk. One thing I had learnt from the warm people of Texas was how to strike up a conversation. Asking about the weather, or the time they started driving that day, or whether they are from the city can be easy starters for a casual conversation. I somehow chose a different question this time, “So, how long have you been here?” “I have been here for about 10 years now”, he said and took a pause. “Wow! That’s a long time. Do you have family here?”, I said. And I did not need to say anything more. He took a short glimpse at me and said, “I do”. His answer sounded quite terminating. At first I thought maybe I had gone way too off board with my questions. But then after a while, I realized maybe it was actually a small push that he needed.

” Well, I do and I dont”, he went on. I could sense a sting of pain in his voice. “What do you mean?” I said.

“My brother stays here”, he said. “And his wife.”

I could sense the situation from the way he punctuated his sentence with the pause. “So, do you stay with them?”, I asked.

“I used to stay with my brother till last year. And then, my brother got married to the girl he wanted. You know when you are in love, you don’t really see things through. She doesn’t want me to stay with them anymore. We did not see this coming, my brother and I. He got married and after a few weeks I found out that probably she would become the reason for the crack in the relationship between me and my brother. I know my brother still wants to keep contact, but you know things are different after you get married”, he just blurted out. I was at a loss of words. I did not know what to say or how to react to all of this. Our ride was nearing its end as he took the last turn. Here was a man who had just shared with me a story of perhaps his deepest of pains, the bruise of which was clearly very fresh in his heart and I had to get down just because my ride with him had ended. I felt helpless.

His cab stopped at our destination. I had not spoken a word until then. I gathered my thoughts together, looked him in the eye and said, “I am glad you could share this with me. I do not know what to say. I do not know if it is true if I say that I think I can understand you, but in a situation as this, probably being able to share your pain with someone is a big achievement in itself.” To this he replied,”I apologize if I made you uncomfortable with all of my story. But sometimes it just comes out, what you feel inside, you know”, he rubbed his chest as he said this. I looked him in the eye and said, “People change. Even the closest ones, who you thought would never leave your side no matter what, change. One has to adapt and recover. I guess you’ll have to do the same.” He nodded his head as he looked down acknowledging, looked up and said, “I am sorry.” “Don’t be. I am glad you shared,” and smiled at him. Aniruddha and I unlocked the car door almost in unison after that.

I stepped out of his cab, bent down to look at his face across the window and specifically remember to have said, “Take care”. I genuinely meant the words when I said that, I recollect. After a while we came in and we lay on the ground staring at the ceiling and I asked Aniruddha, “Why do you think he shared so much with us? He does not even know us.” He had been quiet the whole time.

“I think he shared his story with us BECAUSE he doesn’t know us. His secret is safe.”, Aniruddha said. I have always marvelled at how he is capable of saying so much with so less.