The Life of Dhiraj-da & his Smile Beyond Hardships

Discover the heartwarming and poignant tale of Dhiraj-da, the witty and cheerful taxi driver beloved by his passengers in Sikkim. Amidst the challenges of the COVID-19 pandemic, Dhiraj’s humor remained intact, bringing smile to many despite his struggles.

Dhiraj-da, the quick-witted happy-go-lucky driver daju, or the elder brother to all of us who he ferried around every day, knew how to attract all his passengers, and we just loved to ride in his taxi, for he was a majorly witty man, in his mid-forties, and his wisecracks were more than worth our hard-earned money.

He himself would not laugh as loudly as we did, but a naughty smile always hung from the lips below his light bristle that was an apology for a moustache. And he had an answer to almost any question, but with a twist that made everyone roar in laughter. So, there was always a chatter and laughter in his car.

And despite his not-so-handsome demeanour, and despite his almost funny little paunch, which I suspected could be what I call is a Bachus Bulge, we loved the man and his sharp wit.

The Covid pandemic had made most of us somewhat glum, but hadn’t affected his humour at all, and perhaps travelling up and down with him to our respective offices, that was the only time that we could let our hair down.

Usually reticent about his personal life though, he did one day say – not really told us as much as thought aloud  that because of the pandemic and Covid regulations of lesser passengers in any car, business was going downhill to the Teesta. And he confessed that he had had to withdraw his son from the English medium Holy Cross School.

“Tyo school ta daami hunchha ni, baini, tara, paisha kamti vako ni yo Covid le garda,” he told me one day when I was the only passenger. And I could easily see his problem. Holy Cross was a private, English medium school, an excellent one so far as its reputation went, but indeed, it was a bit more expensive than any government school.

Due to Covid regulations, fewer passengers than in normal times could sit in a taxi. Many private companies had either shut down or had cut down their staff strength to merely shoe-string levels. And in any case, almost all offices introduced that strange thing called WFH… work from home. Shops were closed, many businesses crashed and all that meant that he had fewer passengers. And less money in hand.

So with the pandemic stretching indefinitely, he had to jettison his dream of getting his son an English education, so that one day he would earn more than his father, and Dhiraj could give up his strenuous driver’s job.

***

Dhiraj took him away from Holy Cross and put his twelve-year-old son into Modern Government Senior Secondary School. Though the school called itself an English medium one, yet none of the teachers took the classes in English, but in Nepali. And though Ravi was fluent in his Nepali mother tongue, he felt very ill at ease with learning subjects like history, geography, or even English.

At first, he found it ridiculous that the English teacher would read out from the book in English, but he would explain the narrative in Nepali! Eventually, what had at first seemed merely funny, became repugnant, even repulsive to him.

On his part, the English teacher spared no opportunity to ridicule him in the class, paying back Ravi’s visible indignation with harshness.

And since he had become accustomed in Holy Cross to speak with his classmates in English even while they were playing, he was naturally given to that habit. But when he did so, his new classmates would laugh and taunt him as an Angrej ko natee… grandson of an Englishman.

Ravi didn’t understand why he had to leave his school and join another. He was not old enough, and Dhiraj had very sensibly kept him away from issues of home finances.

So gradually, Ravi turned from being reticent to become an angry bully in school, and would once in a while make a pulp of one of his rude classmates when he could no longer take it lying down. So when the second phase of COVID-19 was announced, and we, the usually happy and smiling Sikkimese people became glum, Ravi was actually very happy, for that meant studying from home, away from his baiters.

But just as he was happy, his father seemed to have a fairly reduced taste for humour. He had a good heart, but kindness doesn’t bring in the moolah. His almost cherubic smile remained pasted on his lips, and he even cracked a few jokes, but his eyes were trying to see something far in the distance.

***

Deepa Subba, Dhiral’s forty-year-old wife, once a beautiful, glowing woman, now bore the wrinkles of poverty and stress all over her fair countenance. The rent hadn’t been paid for two months and their otherwise genial landlord had started wishing her with a grimace whenever they crossed each other.

Deepa even suggested to Dhiraj that they better relocate to their village, and maybe they could grow some crops on their land. Or if they couldn’t do that, they’d at least not have to worry about paying their rent.

“Ravi could join a new government school there… or maybe you can sell off our land,” she told her husband, who did not seem to be amused with that. His family heritage… the land of his forefathers, where he had been born and grown up… where his parents had blessed Deepa after they got married… sell off that land? “Not till even a breath of life remained in me!” he promised to himself. And just then a new idea struck him.

“Corona morcha abo yo saal, anta sabai kuro theek vai halcha, ” he laughed out and realised his laughter sounded more like grief in denial. True, what he said was on everyone’s lips: that this year the killer Corona would itself be killed and the days of fear and constant anxiety would be over.

***

They both looked at the wonder that they had created… Ravi, was the only one from both their families who had ever attended a school. They were so proud of him and so, all three hearts had broken when Ravi’s Transfer Certificate was issued by the Holy Cross School.

They had dreamt of making him a doctor one day and the child was good in maths and science, but I guess life was a bitch, and they were at its mercy every day.

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Ravi had grown distant, he didn’t eat well, nor slept on time. He wore a tired expression on his face and his eyes grew dark, as if it had swallowed all the happiness in the world.

The scary government notifications on Corona grew more confusing, and the extension of the lockdown grew on everyone’s nerves.

Little by little, the humour in Dhiraj-daju took a backseat, and he was now a pale shadow of his past. People wondered what was wrong with him, but everyone kept quiet.

Even I felt that the misnomer of “social distancing” which in fact was physical distancing, was becoming a serious problem. Actually, this forced and scary physical distancing was creating social distancing, and that was gradually crystallising into emotional distancing.

***

As Dhiraj entered his taxi that day to go out to run passengers, he looked refreshingly chirpier than his usual, glum self of recent times. Deepa was shocked when he not just hugged, but actually kissed her.

She gently pushed him and looked curiously at his eyes: “Anta kay bhoyo aju xai?” “Nothing,” said Dhiraj, his eyes smiling, “nothing, I just have a new idea,” he said, then picked up the lunch pack Deepa had kept ready for him. He looked at his distant son, threw him a hopeful smile, and left.

It was pretty late that night and Dhiraj had still not returned home.

“Nani, aju baba sarai dhilo hunu vayo tah, ” She told her son… indeed, it was getting too late. Ravi too looked a wee bit worried.

At that moment as a sudden gust of stormy wind slammed their open window shut so loudly that both mother and son shivered for a while in fright. But later they managed to have some meager dinner and lay down on their beds but kept the light above the main door on for Dhiraj to find the doorbell outside.

The next morning Sikkim Chronicle was the first to report that a white Alto with a Sikkim numberplate had fallen into the Teesta on the West Bengal side, but some local bravehearts had managed to pull out the man from inside.

The newspaper quoted the boys: “We jumped into Teesta khola, so maybe we were a bit late. We got the body out, but shockingly, the dead man was still wearing a strange, beautiful smile.”