Writers!?

Ever been to a party which served the best hooch and grub in town, only to find yourself distressfully placed in the center of a crowd that discusses interest rates, economic policies, MF Hussain, new dynamics in polygamous relationships and - gasp - metaphysics? Some years back, this was a curse that afflicted me, and showed up with unfailing regularity on Saturday evenings, when all I wanted was a stiff drink. Thankfully, that phase passed, and now I find myself drinking with drinkers, working with workers, dining with diners and making out with errr...

Anyways, I picked up this little nugget of a book of short stories by James Thurber called 'Lanterns and Lances'. Just completed reading a wickedly funny story,"The Porcupines in the Artichokes." The story begins as follows ...
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'I have writers the way other people have mice,' a disturbed hostess has written me. 'What can I do to keep them from arguing, fighting, and throwing highball glasses after dinner? One doesn't dare mention names, such as Herman Melville and Harold Loeb, or the fight is on. What would you suggest?'

Well, now, it isn't easy to entertain writers and have any fun. You might begin by saying, over the first cocktail, 'I don't want any writers to be mentioned this evening.' Do not make the mistake of adding, 'From Washington Irving to Jack Kerouac,' because that would instantly precipitate an argument about Washington Irving and Jack Kerouac. You might begin by saying, 'The porcupines are getting our artichokes.' This could, of course, lead to literary wrangling and jangling, but everything is a calculated risk when writers are present, even 'My grandfather almost married a Pawnee woman,' or 'I wonder if you gentlemen would help me put the handle back on my icebox.' A writer, of course, can turn anything at all into a literary discussion, and it might be better not to say anything about anything.

I myself have found, or rather my wife has found, that you can sometimes keep writers from fighting by getting them into some kind of pencil-and-paper game. You could say, for example, 'There are thirty-seven given names and nicknames, male and female, in the word "miracle." I want you all to see how many you can find.' This almost always takes up a good hour, during which the writers are mercifully silent.
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Conflicts

Beyond a point, how does one take a call on social and economic benefits?

In one country, children go to work on farms with their parents and it is considered good because the family trade is passed on from generation to generation. The country prospers and the practice is found acceptable. In another, it is considered bad because the child is deprived of a school education. Thus, we have several social groups encouraging parents to send their children to school and not work often in the family business.

In one country, outsourcing is considered bad because it threatens livelihoods of the local economy. In another country, people buy soft drinks at throwaway prices and not costly vegetables grown locally.

In one country, immigration is banned completely; yet in another, immigrants (illegal or otherwise) are known to have created some of worlds leading financial institutions.

In one country, free trade and movement of labour is banned. Yet, football is thriving because of nations from all over participating in European league football. This has benefited both the nation from which the footballers originate, and the European leagues.

Taxiride

My relationship with the fine cab-drivers of this city continues to flourish. I have no idea why they open up and discuss their problems with me, but I usually walk away feeling a little wiser. Today turned out to be no different.

With the rain-clouds playing truant over the last few days (after heavy showers last week), the humidity was back to its vicious worst. As I seated in the back-seat of a taxi outside work, the cabbie sped off. Stopping at an intersection, another taxi slid close to our taxi. Both the taxi-drivers knew each other. The other taxi had four passengers, which at that time of day indicated some decent pocket change for the driver of that taxi. Our taxi smiled ruefully at him,"Enjoy the business. It's a good day to make money."

The other taxi sped away, and our taxi moved in a different direction. The senior gent driving our cab cleared his throat.
"I just paid off Rs. 1000 to this 'chap' so that he wouldn't harass me later on for my licence or route."
I just looked back at him politely. This was not exactly ground-breaking news.
"This 'chap' was missing for some six months. Said he had to go to his village. Same village as the guy who owns this taxi. They are all in this together."
I mumbled out a sympathetic reply.
"He came back yesterday. After six months. He tells me to give him money immediately. He wants six months commission in one shot."
That seemed obvious enough; if I were an extortionist, I would do the same.
"I asked him,'why do you need all the money now?'
"He replied,'My wife wants me to buy her jewels.'
"I got irritated with him. 'So what will your wife do with all the jewels? You cannot buy medicines, food or rugs with jewels. Jewelry is useless; you can only wear them.'"
This seemed to make eminent sense, except I wasn't sure I would deal with an extortionist in that same vein.
"Tell me, sir, what would you do with jewels. They only shine."
I agreed, and said so.
"Exactly. Now look at this fool. He is young and gets married. His wife is also young. They have great ambitions of being wealthy. But they don't have enough on what he is making. They are both stupid to want to spend on jewels.
"I told him,'You don't have children. You should save for children. I will pay you when you have children. Otherwise, you will simply waste your money and come back for more. Then, I may not have money. So get lost!'"
That was remarkable; not just reasoning with an extortionist, but telling him when he will get his money!!
"These people are stupid, sir. They never save enough for their children. Even the money they make, they will just keep it as cash at home. He must be out there, harassing someone else."
Now I was really curious as to what would follow next.
"Look at me. I have one lakh rupees. There is this person I know who works in Nariman Point. I drop him everyday. He is from the same village as me. I went to his office and he graciously agreed to meet me. I told him,'I have one lakh rupees. I don't know what to do with this money but I know I don't want to spend it. Please take care of it.'
"He agreed. This was eighteen months ago. He invested that money for me in the stock markets. In eighteen months, I have made thirty five, maybe forty, thousand rupees... and thats even after the market has fallen. Now that is what you should do with your money."
I just stared back at him.
"Now look at my life as a taxi-driver. If I were to invest that one lakh into taxis, I would never make that much money. On these roads, the way people drive, I have to spend a lot to take care of scratches and maintenance every day. Maintenance is very high ... then I have to pay for the taxi rental, and I have to pay for commissions. And there are so many taxi drivers anyways."
He paused to sigh.
"This city can sometimes be unforgiving to taxi drivers. You should never invest money into the taxi business. You are better off in the stock markets. If you don't make more money in your business than what the stock markets make for you, you should think twice about your business."
Churchgate loomed in the distance.He halted the car and collected exact fare from me. He seemed relieved to have spoken to someone, and wished me well.

I just got a lesson in economics of a taxi business. I also learnt that being an agent for an extortion racket is not a lucrative profession. After all, crime doesn't pay.

Focus

It's amazing how much can be learnt from sitting back and observing people. Some insights were to be had from observing a kid barely out of his teens driving an autorickshaw. This morning, I naturally over-slept and woke up a half hour later than usual. As my car was unavailable today, I decided to travel by the local trains. The only catch was that peak hours were tapering off and no autorickshaw driver was willing to take me to the station - a journey that is always undertaken during peak hours. In between sighs and some rich expletives, I briefly toyed with the idea of taking a cab to work, when this autorickshaw halted next to me. I swore that if this guy also refused to take me, I would take a taxi to work. When I looked at him, I was sure that he would agree. He seemed just about old enough for a license and keen on taking as much business as possible. Some people exude that charm.

As soon as I seated, the rickshaw sped away, and I realized that this is a four-stroke engine and revving much faster and moving much better than other rickshaws in this city. Sure enough, pedestrians cut across the road, a student of "Excellence" Motor Training School made sure he was on the wrong lane, trucks seemed that they would collapse into a debris of metal and Bunty Kapoor in his Octavia made sure he would cut in front. Pretty soon, there were BEST buses overtaking from both sides (that is a scary experience), and the traffic signals had all failed. The rickshaw driver continued to zig while everyone around zagged.

All this while, I was mentally rehearsing the expletives at each encumbrance. I couldn't say such things to the fine bus drivers; they were meant for the "Excellence" Motor Training School student. How dare I question the origin of that lovely pedestrian; the origins of the truck driver was far more questionable.

The journey takes around twelve minutes under normal conditions; the kid made it in seven. He pretended not to have change for the twenty I gave him. I didn't press for the change either; he had earned it.