Buddha in the traffic ~ high rollers

 

 

AI Generated

 

 

On a chilly Monday morning in October in Boston, I was in no mood to walk 2 miles to get to office, so  got an uber.  Greeted by a turbaned sikh with a strong Boston accent and a ton of impatience at the wheel of my ride. Traffic was thick and he was swearing half-heartedly under his breath. That made me chuckle a bit, which he picked up immediately and said that he grew up in Delhi till the age of 15 before his move to Amrika, three decades ago with his father for greener pastures. Post the icebreaker, he checked with me if it was okay to swear in Punjabi / Hindi. Driven by a strong desire to get out of that traffic and since I  had made peace with the fact it was going to be a long ride.  Then in chaste Punjabi and Hindi, he yelled out words which can’t be written here, but that was the mojo he needed for the morning. He was grinning like a Cheshire cat. For a moment I felt I was in a crowded street in Delhi and what could have been a long ride was shortened to an eight-minute ride with Punjabi music streaming on the speakers in the background while the cabbie happily swearing. Part of my ride which remained with me is the permission he sought. He didn't impose. He checked. That instinct — knowing when, where, and with whom it's safe to vent — is what separates healthy release from destructive venting. He read the room, found a fellow traveller from a shared cultural universe, and let it go cleanly. Bottled feelings don't evaporate — they ferment. Find your swear words, metaphorically speaking, and the road ahead always gets shorter.

One evening as I was planning a trip to suburbia of Boston, I got upgraded to Uber Black which happened to be a very plush Cadillac. It matched my attire as I was formally dressed to the nines due to work in the financial district that day.  The cabbie was a smooth-talking pro with a flashy Rolex on this wrist.  He was dealer at one of the popular casinos in Las Vegas who worked two months at a time and was back home for a month. Apparently, him being silent at home wasn’t acceptable to his family and he was out of the house for two months at a time and didn’t want the silence when he was back home.  Prior to being a dealer, he was a Veteran who quite enjoyed his time in the military.  According to him, he was giving his family space by driving for few hours. For someone who had not been to Las Vegas casino, I sure got a ringside view of the happenings inside the casino and the types of customers who come to splurge their largesse. He believed most customers were nice but everyday there would be one or two who would make fools of themselves or show their ugly side to everyone on the table. From what I heard he seemed to be good at his job but didn’t like the bright lights that much and hence would take a break of a month at a time. One of the things he mentioned stayed with me.  Players who trust their dealer relax, think more clearly, and enjoy themselves more. This was more akin to clients who trust their coach take more risks, are more honest, and grow faster.  In both cases, trust isn't built through expertise — it's built through consistency, neutrality, and the sense that the other person isn't judging you.  Forgot how time flew though it was a forty-mile ride when I made it to the reception ahead of time.

It was one of the longest rides I've ever taken, winding through the Greek countryside, with a man who wore two lives comfortably — a full-time high school mathematics teacher by vocation, and a part-time rental and rideshare driver by necessity. December hadn't been its usual generous self to the tourism trade that year, but he carried no bitterness about it. If anything, he seemed genuinely glad to stay economically afloat, grateful for every fare that came his way.

He knew his history well, the sort of layered, lived-in knowledge that wins tourists over far more effectively than any guidebook. And he knew how to hold a room, or in this case, a car. When the boys in our group showed their reluctance, headphones firmly on and eyes glazed, he didn't push or plead. His school experience took over with — puzzles, jokes, stories — and within twenty odd minutes, they had pulled their headphones off entirely and were hanging on to his every word.

At some point, his tone shifted into something more reflective. He spoke of how his ancestors, for all their brilliance, could not sustain their civilisation's gods and beliefs against the tide of history, while India, he observed, had managed to carry its ancient religion and traditions forward into the present day, still breathing, still practised. The Greek gods, he noted with a quiet wistfulness, had retreated into folklore — revered as myth, not as faith — ever since the nation had embraced Christianity.

Perhaps he talked a little extra with one eye on the tip. Perhaps not. Either way, we were grateful — for the day trip in Greece, for his company, and for a conversation that unfolded in ways none of us could have anticipated when we first climbed into that car.