Driver Tales

One of my regrets from my time here is not writing down enough stuff. More specifically, priceless conversations and interactions with random people. Many of these happen daily at work or at my hotel, but the bulk happen with the person I spend the most time with, Shyam.

 Shyam has been my driver since my first day in India. But I feel that calling him my driver is selling him short. He is also my tour guide, my news source, my gossip source, my advisor, always knows where to go to get what I need, my errand runner, designated driver, and my friend. Sometimes he knows where I’m going (like to dinner or a concert or something) even before I do via the expat chain of communication. He is wildly underpaid considering all he does for me. He knows all of the secret roads and ways to get places faster than anyone else, he’ll drive to 5 different liquor stores looking for Old Monk in the Monk bottle for me (and place special orders when they don’t have it), he’s helped me barter prices so I don’t get taken advantage of, and so many more things.



My driver Shyam and I after a night at Romanos!  Getting Indians to smile for a picture is a monumental task. So I won't complain too much that he isn't looking at the camera.

 I was shocked and a little bit humbled when I learned a while after I got here that his day basically revolves around me. He’s up well before me to drive into his office, pick up the car, and be at my apartment to pick me up for work. During the day, he sits in a hot, smelly, stuffy parking garage with the other drivers playing cards or chess and probably talking about the crazy things his American says, waiting for me to call to say it’s time to go home. If I work late, that means he works later. If I want a night out at Romanos, he doesn't get home until after midnight. If I need to run errands on a weekend, that means he’s working. So I will forever be grateful to Shyam for all that he’s done for me during my time here.

He is also a source of entertainment with the stories he tells, which aren’t anything special to him, but often times make my day. Things that are common occurrences to him fascinate me. And I’m sure some of the stories I tell are tough for him to fathom as well. That's all part of the major clash in cultures between "middle class" Indians (as being a driver for an American expat is considered a pretty good job here) and middle class Americans.

For example, he had requested the day off on Monday to attend a wedding, which I happily allowed. He was going to send a substitute driver. When he showed up on Monday, this was our conversation:

Me: Shyam, why aren’t you at the wedding?

Shyam: Wedding was postponed, sir.

Me: Why?

Shyam: Groom was bitten by a snake, sir.

Me: Holy cow, what kind of snake was it?

Shyam: King Cobra sir. [said very nonchalantly, like it’s an every day occurrence]

Me: Wow! Are you serious? Is he ok? 

Shyam: Oh yes, sir. They cut his arm open and put stones on the wound and wrapped it in herbal leaves. [it took me awhile to understand what he was saying here...I'm not expert but this doesn't seem like a fruitful treatment for a cobra bite.]

Me: And that’s enough to cure a king cobra bite?

Shyam: Yes, although when they sliced open his arm, they cut a nerve. So then he had to go to the hospital.  

Me: That sounds awful, and very painful.

Shyam: Yes, sir. Wedding is back on next week.

Another favorite of mine, I didn’t experience, but was emailed to me by a co-worker whose friend had this conversation with his driver while in India:

It started when I saw a cow walking down the road turn to eat what appeared to be garbage.  It went something like this.

Me: Is that a cow?

Yomesh: Of course, cow.

M: What's it eating?

Y: Food, cows have to eat. [It appears to be eating trash, but I drop it.]

M: Well whose cow is it?

Y: Somebody's.  It eats.

M: Well how do you know whose cow it is?

Y: It will go home at 5:30.

M: At 5:30?

Y: Of course, that's when cows go home.

M: How does it know where to go?

Y: It goes back the way it came.

M: But did the owner just let it out?

Y: Of course, how else would it eat?

M: Where do they go to eat?

Y: Each cow goes to its place to eat.  Then it sleeps.  Then it's 5:30 and it goes home.

[Note that I'm traveling to the hotel at about 5:15]

M: So is this cow going home?

Y: Of course, it's almost 5:30.  That's why traffic is bad.  Cows have to go home.  Unless it gets a ticket.

M: A ticket?

Y: Of course.  If it stops in road, the cow gets a ticket.

M: Who pays the ticket?

Y: The cow's owner of course.  They have to pay the ticket to get their cow back from police.

M: So the police take the cow?

Y: Of course.  After they give ticket.

M: Like towing a car? [I can't imagine I have this right.]

Y: Exactly.  But my cow doesn't get ticket.  He is already home.

M: You have a cow?

Y: Of course, how else would I have milk?  My cow is already home though.  He goes home at 5:00 and gives 2 liters.  Do you have a cow Mr. John?

M: No. [I am trying hard not to laugh]

Y: Well how do you get milk? [I've never thought much about this]

M: We have dairy farms.  Many cows give milk at once and trucks deliver it to stores.

Y: Wow.  That's awful.  Traffic must be awful by your dairy farms.



Apparently three cows have dibs on this trash pile. Who wouldn't want to drink their milk?



There have been countless stories like this that I should have been writing down. If I had the other expats write down their stories as well, we would have the makings of an awesome book that would give its readers a stunningly accurate and humorous look into the Indian culture in an awesome format: Indian natives who know the “real India” , not the India shown to you on TV, better than anyone, trying to explain that life to American businessmen.

Jayme's driver, Hari, has grown to love American music. There is a station in Bangalore that plays mostly American pop music, and most of that is from the 90'sand early 2000's. It really is a trip down memory lane any time you turn that station on. Apparently Hari really gets into the music, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel and drumming to the beat. He is always proud when he can identify a Bryan Adams song, always alerting Jayme with a "Sir. Bryan Adams sir." (I think I've spoken before about India's obsession with Bryan Adams. It's amazing.) Lately Hari has even been identifying different instruments. Recently, while playing a Tom Petty CD for the 200th time, Hari spoke up with a, "Sir. Bass Guitar Sir." Always proud of being able to connect with Jayme and Andrea and their American music roots. I asked Hari who his favorite American artist was the other day, and I was surprised to hear him say, "The Jacaksons, sir". "Like Michael and Janet?" "Yes, sir. Also like Lionel Ritchie and Kenny G. I like to take the drink and night and listen to Kenny G." Who doesn't?

The other day while driving home, Shyam started laughing uncontrollably. I asked him what was so funny, and he said that about 10 years ago he went to this company that if you sign up and pay a nominal fee, they will find you a wife. So he had signed up, but never heard back on a match (I’m unsure what the criteria is for matchmaking.) In the meantime, his parents had arranged his marriage themselves, and he has been married for 8 or 9 years with two kids. So the other day, he got an SMS (that’s what they call texting) from the company from 10 years ago saying they had found him a wife. He thought this was hilarious. I jokingly said he should go check her out to see if she was an upgrade, and I don’t think he thought that was very funny. I think we still have some work to do on understanding my sarcasm.

I have explained before about Shyam's skill of getting where we need to go rather quickly. Since I have gotten used to the car rides, and used to the speed at which we gets there, I have learned to appreciate this "skill". Well, it does come with its risks as well. Last week after a team volunteer event I rode with Jayme and Hari to our "happy hours" afterwards, while I sent Shyam back to the office to drop off some of my co-workers. Hari is more of a careful driver, so in no time Shyam had left us in the dust. About 15 minutes later, Hari points out "Ah, speed trap sir," as he had noticed some cop cars ahead. Sure enough, as we got closer, I recognized my car's license plate. There was Shyam outside the car, arguing with the cop. I couldn't help but laugh. And even though Hari and Shyam are friends, I think Hari got some satisfaction out of it as well. As we drove by, Hari said "10 years with no tickets, sir." I asked Shyam about it the next day, and he laughed and said, "Yes, I had to pay 300 rupees (less than $6). Very high fee! I tried to bribe him with first 100 rupees and then 200 rupees, but he said they have installed cameras now so the cops can no longer accept bribes. I couldn't believe it! Then I tried to tell him that I had very important people in the car, and that I didn't want to be shamed by getting a ticket. None of it worked! Honest cop. "

If I’m ever back in India for a long period of time (God forbid), I will always carry two things with me in the car at all times. A camera and pen and paper (I guess that’s technically three things). A couple times a week I wish I had my camera on my drive home as we always pass something that I wish I had a picture of. Sometimes they must think we are idiots for asking the questions that we ask. Sometimes I’ll ask Shyam to pull over so I can take a picture of something, like a storefront or a sign I find humorous (as in the picture below).  It’s so fascinating as to what they find normal and we find extraordinary, and vice versa.

This is genius marketing. If you are going to buy your fruits and vegetables somewhere, might as well buy them from Infant Jesus! It makes me want to open "Infant Jesus Bar & Grill" when I get home, just to see if the marketing translates.

I'll always remember my time in my car with Shyam as some of the entertaining and educational times I had while in India.