THE MIDDLE CLASS IS ALWAYS AT THE RECEIVING END

THE MIDDLE CLASS IS ALWAYS AT THE RECEIVING END

The other day, after making some routine purchases at the Spencer’s, we were returning home on Sohna Road, one of the busiest areas in Gurgaon, the millennium city of India. Mr Patel, my old friend from Gujarat, was driving the car. As he is very fond of driving, so I allowed him to drive, though he is here on a short trip. Mr Patel is a quite accomplished driver.

My friend is an upright, assertive but soft-spoken Gujrati who has lived most of his productive years in Africa and Middle East. Now he is settled in Baroda in Gujarat State. By virtue of living abroad for a considerable period of his life, Mr Patel is a stickler of rules and also would go a long way to assert his rights. This is contrary to the average Indians in this part of the country, who often take pride in breaking rules and despise people who intend to assert their rights.

About a kilometre before our condominium, there is a shopping complex where a Starbucks coffee shop has come up recently. The coffee shop is visible right from the road and as we were approaching the shopping complex, Mr Patel expressed his desire to have a cup of coffee there.  I agreed readily.

With the car’s indicator blinking, Mr Patel was slowly turning the car to the left in order to enter the parking area of the shopping complex. I was sitting on the passenger seat next to him and was enjoying the ride. Suddenly, out of a blue, a motorcycle came from behind and hit the left-side front bumper of our car. Being an alert driver, Mr Patel pressed the brakes hard and the car stopped. 

Within a fraction of a second the motorcycle zoomed ahead and I saw it skidding on the road, throwing away two elderly women and a young boy who was driving the bike.  By their dress both the women appeared to be from a local village, and the boy seemed to be from a particular local community. One of the women was also carrying a cloth bundle.

While the women were still lying on the ground, the young man quickly got up and came charging to the driver side. It did not matter to him that he was at fault for hitting from behind, that too from left side. He shouted at Mr Patel, “Are you blind? Don’t you see?”

Mr Patel, enraged for being charged wrongly, rolled down the window and said angrily, “I had already given the indicator sign. Did you not see? Moreover, you hit me from behind, it is your fault.”

The indicator was an unknown object for the young man, thus of no consequence. He said menacingly, “You come out of the car and I will show you whose fault it is”.

Sensing trouble, I told Mr Patel not to enter into any argument with the young man and urged him to take the car inside the parking area. By that time the women had also got up and were angrily coming towards the car. Apparently, they had not suffered any physical injury due to the fall.

We entered the parking area of the shopping complex and parked the car at the first available slot. I immediately came out of the car and examined it. There were only some minor scratch; it means that the motor cycle had only bruised against the car and no damage has happened to either side. 

Quickly I grabbed Mr Patel by hand and virtually dragged him inside the shopping complex. Though the Starbucks was right at the entrance, I decided not to go there directly but took a small tour of the shops behind it. After about ten minutes or so, we entered into the Starbucks through the side entrance that was not visible from the road. I surveyed the sitting arrangements and chose a table from where I could see the parking area and our car. Till then all was quiet at the parking front.

I ordered two Americano and some cookies. Mr Patel was still furious and he roared at me, “What, Mr Sen, why did you prevent me from teaching that stupid boy a lesson? He was at fault; he came from behind and overtook us from the left side, did not bother to see my signal, was carrying two pillion riders, and yet had the nerve of charging at us.”

“My dear Mr Patel”, I tried to pacify him, “that boy is a rustic local villager and for him your traffic rules, etc. have no meaning. I was apprehensive that he might hurt you and that would have been very painful for me. That’s why I urged you not to engage with him in any verbal duel.”

“Ha! I would have telephoned the local SP and got him arrested. I am sure that brat even doesn’t  have a valid driving license”. Mr Patel declared scornfully.

“Dear Patel Saheb,” I submitted persuasively “even before the SP had time to respond your telephone call, that boy would have mobilised a dozen villagers and might have manhandled us or damaged the car. Sir, this is India!!! The local police might even be more sympathetic to the local clans.”

“So, you would prefer to run away than to defend your right, is it?” Mr Patel asked me, his voice by then had lost some of its roaring power.

“I would like to remind you the saying - Discretion is better than valour”, I stated nonchalantly.

Mr Patel did not say anything for some moments; then, suddenly he blurted out, “What is this life? The rich and powerful are as such subduing us at every step, while we hide ourselves from the wrath of lower strata of the society for no fault of ours. On the top of this, we have to pay taxes that are used for providing subsidy to them. Is it worth-living?” 

Since I had no answer to his legitimate out-burst, I kept quiet.

At that moment I looked through the window to check the situation at the accident site, whether those motorcycle people were still there or not. To my horror, I noticed that the two women were agitatedly talking to a group of villagers and pointing towards the shopping complex. Seeing this my limbs became cold and I started to visualise various possible scenarios that might follow.

Soon, the motorcyclist along with four young men entered the parking area, said something to the parking attendant, and moved towards our car. Two of them went round the car, perhaps to detect any trace of the accident, while others were aimlessly looking at the shopping complex.  Sensing trouble, the parking attendant called a security guard and both of them began talking to the young men. I had no means to know what they were talking about, but from the gesticulations of the security guard I could surmise that the young men were being asked to go away from the parking area. A few moments later, two of them stood near the parking entrance and the rest went away. 

Meanwhile, our coffee had been served but by then I had lost all appetite. Mr Patel was still sulking; I was thinking of what to do next and weighing pros and cons of various possible actions.  After some mental deliberation, I called up my son, asked him to come to the shopping complex with his car, park that in the basement parking lot, and meet us at the Starbucks.

Silently, both of us were sipping our coffee without speaking to each other; I kept on looking surreptitiously towards the parking entrance.

After a while my son came and met us at the Starbucks. I narrated the whole incident to him and suggested that for the time being we leave our car at the parking area and he takes us back home in his car. Afterwards, we can send Mr Hakam Singh, our driver, to bring back our car home, hoping that things would be normal by that time. As usual, he did not say anything, which means it’s okay with him.

While coming out of the Starbucks I again glanced towards the parking site. Happily surprised, those fellows were not seen any more! But I decided not to take any chance and came back home in my son’s car.

After lunch Mr Patel went to his room for afternoon siesta and I sat on the living room sofa, recapitulating the day’s incident. One particular despairing comment of Mr Patel was troubling me all the time - “What is this life? The rich and powerful are as such subduing us at every step, while we hide ourselves from the wrath of lower strata of the society for no fault of ours. …” 

It reminded me a painful incident that happened with me about a year back. At that time I was on a short assignment of teaching conversational English to the back-office staff of a five-star hotel in Gurgaon. Generally the sessions were held between 4 and 6 PM. One day, while I was driving to the hotel I got a SMS that the session has been postponed to 5 PM. I decided to kill the time by having a cup of coffee in the Café Coffee Day that falls on the way.

I parked my car on the road by the side of another car and went inside the coffee shop. When after about 40 minutes I came out, I noticed an Audi parked right behind my lowly Hyundai Santro in such a manner that I had no way to take out mine. A young, well-dressed lady was sitting on the passenger seat but there was none on the driver’s seat. Her rich attire was indication of her privileged class.

Apprehensive that I might get late for the session, I gently knocked at the car window and the lady lowered the window. “Excuse me,” I said politely, “Your car is parked in such a way that I am unable to take out mine. Could please get your car moved a bit.”

The lady took out a very expensive, jewel-studded mobile phone and telephoned somebody. I assumed that she might have asked her companion to come and move the Audi. Satisfied, I went to my car and sat inside.

After about fifteen-twenty minutes I started feeling restless. Nobody had appeared to move the Audi and I had only about half an hour left for the session to start. Cheesed off, I again knocked at the car window and said in a rather harsh tone, “See Ma’am, I am getting late for my appointment. Can you please ask your companion to hurry up a bit?” She again took out her expensive smartphone and telephoned somebody. 

Frustrated, I again went back and sat in my car. After about another fifteen minutes or so, a young Sardarji, dressed in latest men’s fashion, strolled leisurely to the Audi and gave something to the lady in the car. On seeing him I came out of the car, thinking that he would at least say sorry for having blocked my car. He did nothing of the sort and behaved as if I did not exist.

I was infuriated by the arrogant attitude of the Sardarji and decided to confront him. “Hello! I have been waiting here for more than half an hour. This is not the way to park one’s car”, I told him scornfully.

“I can park anywhere I like. This road does not belong to your father”, he retorted.

I was taken aback by his audacity. “What is this? Instead of showing regret you are being insolent; this is not done”, I countered.

He came charging and burst into a torrent of unprintable abuse, ending thus: “Go away, I am leaving you because you are an old man, otherwise I would have beaten the hell out of you right here”.  I was speechless and saw him driving away.

As I recollected the incident, I again remembered what Mr Patel had said a few hours back. True, the rich and powerful subdue us at every step and we go on hiding ourselves from the derision of the underprivileged.

The middle class is always at the receiving end!!!