An afternoon in Gorakhpur, India
Language is a barrier. You are a foreigner in a foreign land. I am, in Gorakhpur city as a foreigner. After completing the signing up procedures for graduation at St. Joseph women's college, Gorakhpur, I traverse along the crowded street near the bus station, boldly negotiating with the auto rickshaw/rickshaw drivers for a reasonable fare. They should take me safely back to the place where I stayed previous night. Some drivers, deducing me as a foreigner, try persuading me to their auto rickshaws; but I cannot fall for their words as I run out of money.
There are two types of services available here. 1. Reserved auto: you can travel alone but the fare is not admirably fair. 2. Share auto: you have to travel along with other crammed up passengers. I have not had any idea about these services until a kind boy, who witnessed me negotiating with some drivers, turns up and briefs about the travelling system in auto rickshaws. He leads me to a share auto and fixes my auto fare brilliantly, which is Rs.15. Thanking him sincerely I swift into the auto rickshaw and secure my seat. Two passengers already have occupied in the back seat: One is a young man who looks like a college student. The other is a young woman who is busy eating peanuts from a polythene bag that rests on her lap. Her fingers have wrinkles. She has gaps in between her teeth. Her lips in red lipstick shine in dim sun light. Yet, she wears a sad layer all over her face, there is some sort of mysterious charm in her look .she is beautiful, sufficiently enough to put me under her spell. She fully devotes her attention on picking up nuts, cracking the shell and eating. She has a backpack, which lies, behind our seat.
A few minutes have passed; five more passengers have got in and our vehicle is full now. Every one is a stranger to each other. Most of the passengers look supposedly aged 40. The man who occupies the opposite seat is the oldest passenger with lined face; he looks quiet. None of them speaks English.
I ask the young man if he knows about the place I am supposed to get out. He does not seem to listen and care to answer. Then I turn to the girl sitting at the end of the seat. I, somehow, manage to deliver my question in English. Although she does not speak English, she understands what I mean. She speaks to me in Hindi. I understand half the message. Our Auto takes off. Through the crowded street, it moves forward carrying all of us. The streets are busy. The shops have displayed their seemingly mouthwatering sweets in glass cases. My focus now is reverted to the girl. I observe her actions without signaling her that I do. She does not look anywhere but she is busy eating nuts as if she is a child. I again ask her if she can inform me when the auto arrives at my place. Although she replies again, I cannot catch most of what she utters. We move on. At one junction, she gets out; walks off, handing the fare to the driver. One by one all passengers leave. Finally, I am alone. I will soon reach my place…I wait for my turn anxiously looking for the landmark she has described...
George Rino@2014
Language is a barrier. You are a foreigner in a foreign land. I am, in Gorakhpur city as a foreigner. After completing the signing up procedures for graduation at St. Joseph women's college, Gorakhpur, I traverse along the crowded street near the bus station, boldly negotiating with the auto rickshaw/rickshaw drivers for a reasonable fare. They should take me safely back to the place where I stayed previous night. Some drivers, deducing me as a foreigner, try persuading me to their auto rickshaws; but I cannot fall for their words as I run out of money.
There are two types of services available here. 1. Reserved auto: you can travel alone but the fare is not admirably fair. 2. Share auto: you have to travel along with other crammed up passengers. I have not had any idea about these services until a kind boy, who witnessed me negotiating with some drivers, turns up and briefs about the travelling system in auto rickshaws. He leads me to a share auto and fixes my auto fare brilliantly, which is Rs.15. Thanking him sincerely I swift into the auto rickshaw and secure my seat. Two passengers already have occupied in the back seat: One is a young man who looks like a college student. The other is a young woman who is busy eating peanuts from a polythene bag that rests on her lap. Her fingers have wrinkles. She has gaps in between her teeth. Her lips in red lipstick shine in dim sun light. Yet, she wears a sad layer all over her face, there is some sort of mysterious charm in her look .she is beautiful, sufficiently enough to put me under her spell. She fully devotes her attention on picking up nuts, cracking the shell and eating. She has a backpack, which lies, behind our seat.
A few minutes have passed; five more passengers have got in and our vehicle is full now. Every one is a stranger to each other. Most of the passengers look supposedly aged 40. The man who occupies the opposite seat is the oldest passenger with lined face; he looks quiet. None of them speaks English.
I ask the young man if he knows about the place I am supposed to get out. He does not seem to listen and care to answer. Then I turn to the girl sitting at the end of the seat. I, somehow, manage to deliver my question in English. Although she does not speak English, she understands what I mean. She speaks to me in Hindi. I understand half the message. Our Auto takes off. Through the crowded street, it moves forward carrying all of us. The streets are busy. The shops have displayed their seemingly mouthwatering sweets in glass cases. My focus now is reverted to the girl. I observe her actions without signaling her that I do. She does not look anywhere but she is busy eating nuts as if she is a child. I again ask her if she can inform me when the auto arrives at my place. Although she replies again, I cannot catch most of what she utters. We move on. At one junction, she gets out; walks off, handing the fare to the driver. One by one all passengers leave. Finally, I am alone. I will soon reach my place…I wait for my turn anxiously looking for the landmark she has described...
George Rino@2014
