The Imperfectionist

I was born and brought up in Sweden to parents of Indian origin. My grandparents moved to the beautiful city of Stockholm years ago. My grandfather worked for a Swedish telecom company and my grandmother was an English teacher. My father was very young when they moved here. Daddy grew up in Sweden, went to school here and as a grownup young man found himself a bride – my mother who is Swedish, but is of an Indian origin too. Both my mother and father grew up in Stockholm, but were very much in touch with their respective families back in India – they visited their grandparents for holidays, played with their Indian cousins, and came to know and understand India over time. However, my case was very different.

I had a nearly perfect life in Stockholm – great education, total comfort, plenty of opportunities, exotic vacations: everything just perfect! After 22 years in Europe, I had never really visited India – the place of my origin. I knew India only from books and documentaries. So on my 23^rd birthday, after my graduation, before I started my first job, I decided that I would spend a couple of months in India. I wanted to visit the country of my parents and grandparents. I wanted to see what it was really like.

My parents were not sure about this and advised me to rethink, but I was adamant. I wanted to do this. Isn’t it important to know your roots – where you came from? Well, to me it is.

I landed at the Chhatrapati Shivaji International Airport of Mumbai in the early hours of the morning. As I landed I was reminded of what I had read about Chhatrapati Shivaji – I had researched about who he was. Shivaji was an Indian Maratha king – he was well known for his intelligence and street-smartness. Shivaji had successfully won battles and escaped from dangers simply by using his own wits. He was not a king who had numerous resources, but he was a strategic thinker who could apply clever tactics to get things done with limited support. The thought of Shivaji made me smile as I went through customs and immigration. I was feeling very excited to be on the land of Shivaji – would I meet him here, I wondered.

After gathering my suitcase from baggage claim I walked towards the exit. I was expecting to meet my distant cousin Rahul there. I had reached out to him earlier and had asked him to pick me up at the airport. We were to drive back to the family house in the outskirts of Mumbai, where my father’s cousin resided with his family. I was indeed looking forward to meeting my Indian family.

I looked around and searched for Rahul, but I could not find him at the terminal. As I took out my mobile phone and switched it on, I saw that there was a message from Rahul – “Stuck in a huge traffic jam, it will take me over an hour to get there. I suggest you take a pre-paid taxi and drive home yourself. I will see you there.”

I walked towards the “pre-paid taxi” counter and handed them the address I wanted to drive to.

“AC or non-AC?” asked the man behind the counter.

I wanted to experience the country of Shivaji, so I confidently said – “Non-AC please.”

“Are you sure Madame?” the man asked.

“Yes, absolutely.”

“That will be Six hundred and fifty Rupees Madame, to be paid directly to the taxi driver. Here is the taxi number.”

I took the slip of paper from him and walked out in search of my pre-paid taxi. After a few minutes of walking around, I was able to spot the taxi and its owner – a man wearing a white uniform.

I approached him with a smile, and handed him my address. He glanced at it and asked me to get onboard. For some reason I wondered if he really knew the driving direction to my destination.

So I asked him “Are you sure you know where this place is? I see you don’t have a GPS”

“Don’t worry, be happy Madame. I take you home”. He said confidently with a big smile.

I shall be very honest with you – I was a bit scared when I got inside the taxi. I had read in international media about several crimes against women happening in taxis in India. It made me nervous.

“Don’t be silly! It is daylight and we all know that media often blows things out of proportion.” I reassured myself, as we started our journey from the airport.

“Madame it take one hour to reach. You listen music? I got bollywood” he asked in his broken English.

“Sure, why not”

As we got out of the airport premises on to the “real” India while listening to some loud Hindi songs, I got my first shock. I had read and heard about the traffic in India, but had never really seen something like this. There were cars, trucks, motors, bikes and people everywhere. They were overtaking each other from all sides – left, right, center! I held my breath and tried to control my fear; I think the taxi driver noticed my nervousness.

“First time in India Madame? Don’t worry be happy. I take you home” he said.

“Yes, indeed it is my first time. Please drive slowly, I am in no hurry.” I said.

“You no hurry Madame, but me hurry. After taxi, I go to workshop in Dharavi. My wife wait for me. You know Dharavi?”

“Dharavi the slum? I did read about it and saw it in movies”

“Haha, movies yes. Dharavi my home Madame. Very good place. You come.”

“Yes, sure. I will visit.” I smiled.

“If you come, you come to my workshop. My wife make bags with her friends”

Now I was slowly getting comfortable. There was so much of chaos on the road, yet the driver was navigating amidst all the chaos with immense expertise. I saw how he made his way into small streets, how he overtook other vehicles tactfully and got himself out of traffic congestions as and when required. On a couple of occasions, he simply made steep “U” turns when he anticipated traffic jams. At the beginning, I thought he was breaking rules, but then he corrected me “Madame, you don’t worry be happy. Here this is rule”. What an expert navigator he was. He reminded me of Shivaji – intelligently & tactfully solving problems: that is exactly what the driver was doing too.

As we drove further, I asked him a bit more about himself.

“What is your name, and since when do you drive the taxi?”

“My name Ramesh Madame. I drive taxi four years. I drive day time. Night time I work in workshop. My wife have workshop.”

“Oh you work really hard Ramesh – day and night! When do you rest?”

“Yes Madame, children school so need to work. Economy not good Madame. I want to become engineer Madame, but my father no money. So I become car mechanic. But I lose job then become taxi driver. But I need more money so work on jute machine at night. What rest Madame? Rest on Sunday only. I see Bollywood movie on Sunday”

“Tell me about this workshop Ramesh”

“Workshop to make jute bags Madame. My wife do with her friends. Bank give loan for machines. We sell jute bags. At night I make jute purse and files for men. Today I go to workshop early – one old machine break, I have to fix”

“You can repair sewing machines?”

“Yes Madame – easy. Me is mechanic no? So easy for me to fix machine. I learn it from technician last time.”

“That is great Ramesh. Do you enjoy all your work?”

“Yes Madame. I enjoy. Work means good. No work means bad. Fix machine means fun.

You come America Madame?”

“Oh no, I come from Europe. You know Europe?”

“Oh yes Madame – Me know Europe – me drive taxi no? Me talk people from Europe in airport. You come where in Europe?”

“From Sweden. It is in Northern Europe, in Scandinavia.”

“Me know Sweden Madame. IKEA of Sweden for furniture. Me knows”

Frankly, I was quite impressed with Ramesh – he was a skilled driver, who could brilliantly drive me through the Mumbai traffic with most comfort; he also worked on jute sewing machines at night, he knew how to fix broken machines, and his knowledge about economy, Bollywood and the world in general was quite impressive.

We continued our conversation and Ramesh continued to surprise me with the stories of his life. Before I knew it we had reached my destination – our family home in the outskirts of Mumbai.

I thanked Ramesh, and opened my suitcase and took out a box of chocolates. I had got them for my family, but for some reason I gave it away to Ramesh.

“Oh thank you Madame. You need taxi you call me Madame. Here my card”

He handed over his card which was black and yellow. The taxi company was called “Kaali Peeli” (which means black & yellow in Hindi) and down was Ramesh’s name and number. I kept it in my handbag, shook hands with Ramesh and after saying good bye walked towards the house.

Everyone at home was very kind to me. After the initial greetings, lunch and some rest, my uncle described the plan for the coming months to me. It was indeed very good of him to have thought everything through – though this is not what I had expected at all.

“I will have my Mercedes with chauffeur at your service, at all times. The chauffeur is well trained, speaks excellent English and knows Mumbai and surrounding areas pretty well. He will take you to the most beautiful parts of the city – meant for tourists like you. Okay? And then after a couple of weeks in Mumbai, we will plan a visit to some resorts in the outskirts. You can also visit Goa if you like. It has lovely beaches.

I have also organized a 2 week tour for you to the south of India – Kerala, Trichy and a few other exotic places. Let me know if that suits you. Your father has strictly said that you should be given every comfort, and I will see to it that you have all you need.”

It looked like I was taken care of – but this is not what I wanted. I did not want to live like a foreigner – I wanted to live like a local. I did not know how to decline the offer from my uncle, who had clearly done all the hard work and planning on my behalf.

I think he noticed that something was not quite right. “Anything the matter?” he asked.

I decided to be honest. “Uncle, you know I really appreciate all your effort here. I also know that mum & dad are worried about me being here by myself. But to be honest with you, I do not want any of the comforts you are proposing. I want to experience the real India. Can I pick my own chauffer Uncle?”

To my surprise, uncle was not unhappy. He was very open-minded to my proposition and said “You know best what you want. Here is a local mobile phone, I have my number on speed dial. If you are ever in need, just call, and I will be there. You can enjoy yourself now – the real India will surprise you!”

The next morning I took our Ramesh’s card and called him. He was pleasantly surprised to hear from me.

“Ramesh, we met yesterday, you drove me from the airport. Can you become my tour guide for the next few weeks? I will pay you on a daily basis. Are you up to it?” He agreed to take up the job and that very day we started the tour together.

The next few days were full of activity – Ramesh introduced me to the local trains, the local cuisine and a number of different tourist attractions in the crowded financial capital of India. At times we drove in his taxi, at other times we took the local train. Ramesh took me to the popular and the unpopular destinations and provided me with detailed stories and history behind each one of them. We visited the Gateway of India, Nariman Point, Mount Mary Church, Colaba, Siddhi Vinayak temple and so on.

Each day with Ramesh was a learning experience for me – Ramesh’s smartness, quick decision making, ability to navigate and solve problems and extensive general knowledge continued to impress me. When he was not driving or telling me a story, he would be on his phone fixing some issues at his wife’s workshop, or at a friend’s garage. It was as if his mind was always in action – always working. I often wondered if Ramesh ever took a nap; if he did, I am certain he would be solving some problems in his dreams too.

After two weeks Ramesh informed me – “Madame, next week I no come. It is Ganesh festival. Big thing in Dharavi”

I knew about Ganesh festival of course. Ganesh is the elephant God – worshipped by Hindus. It is believed that Ganesh is responsible for eliminating obstacles in your way. You pray to Lord Ganesh and your obstacles – whatever they are, will disappear. The following week was the grand week of celebration in the city. So it was natural that Ramesh would be busy.

“Of course Ramesh, do enjoy the festivities with your family. I wanted to ask – is there a way for me to experience the festivities in your neighborhood?”

“Yes Madame, Yes Yes!” he said excitedly.

“So, I can come to Dharavi on one of the next days?”

“Madame, you must come! Dharavi my home. I take you there next week.”

The thought of a slum made me think of a place submerged in poverty and dirt, but I was taken by surprise when I actually visited the place. Ramesh, my tour guide very passionately showed me every interesting corner of the neighborhood. He took me to the residential and the industrial parts of Dharavi. He showed me the temples, mosques, factories, workshops, recycle-houses and everything he possibly could in this 500 acre land inhabited by over half a million people.

On one hand, it was unpleasant to see the living conditions – extremely narrow streets, tiny houses with many residents, lack of toilets and sanitation (I was told that there is one toilet for hundreds of residents), incredible population density (almost 10 times the density of the rest of Mumbai) and pollution of all types.

But on the other hand, this was indeed an economic powerhouse of its kind. Everyone I met or saw was a “Ramesh” by himself (or herself) – industrious and smart. Ramesh’s Dharavi is probably the most productive places I have ever been to. Nothing here is wasted – every piece of land is used, every speck of plastic is recycled and every minute of the day is utilized. People here have limited resources and comfort, but they know exactly how to make the best of what they have. They are hardworking and happy – they know how to solve their problems and navigate their difficulties with precision. I was reminded of my first ride with Ramesh from the airport. Here at his place, almost all people were “Rameshes” – their life looked so imperfect to me, yet they led it with such perfection!

I spent the rest of the day with Ramesh’s family. His wife invited me to lunch at her home. Typically she would charge the tourists who chose to eat at her place, as part of the local tours. However I was special – I was Ramesh’s “friend”. So I was offered a delicious free home-made meal.

After a visit to her workshop, we all gathered outside for the Ganesh festivities. There was a huge 10 feet tall shiny statue of the Elephant God, decorated beautifully. We were now getting ready for a few volunteers to pick up the Lord and place him in a truck that would then carry him to Mahim and immerse him into the sea. The truck was a few meters away, as it could not be driven on the incredibly narrow street. I kept wondering how the volunteers were going to carry the huge statue to the truck without really breaking it!

Ramesh noticed that I was looking carefully at how the volunteers operated. As usual he said “Don’t worry, be happy Madame. Nothing bad happen to Ganesh Bappa. He solve problems, so he solve this problem also – he know how to get into the truck”. I was amazed at his confidence – he was sure that the statue knew exactly how to get into the truck via the super narrow, crowded street without hurting itself.

To my total surprise the handful of Rameshes (I mean the volunteers) who carried the statue, did a fantastic and precise job at carefully placing their beloved Ganesh, unhurt, into the large truck. There were a number of obstacles on their way – stones, electric wires, cylindrical water tanks; but by Ganesh’s blessings they were able to eliminate these obstacles and solve the problem they had. I was full of astonishment as I saw this happen.

“See Madame? Ganesh solve his own problem!” laughed Ramesh.

The next few days flew away before I realized, and it was finally time for me to fly back to Stockholm. Ramesh came to drop me off to the Chhatrapati Shivaji International Airport. We continued chatting as we drove towards the terminal.

“You know Madame, me sad to see you go. Come again, okay?” he said.

“Yes Ramesh, I definitely will. I am also sad to leave. But I will always remember India, Mumbai and you. The next time I come, I will be sure to call you.”

“Yes Madame, call. I drive you around again. And I also show you my new workshop Madame. I started best from waste project Madame, with my wife.”

Another impressive initiative from this bright entrepreneur! Is he human? I thought to myself.

As I got off the car and took my suitcases, Ramesh handed over a little parcel to me. “This for you Madame, from my wife – It is rotis made at home. And this is Key Chain for you from Mumbai – you know this man? This is our Shivaji Maharaj. He was great King Madame.” He said proudly.

I nodded with a smile as I accepted his humble gifts, and thanked him from the bottom of my heart.

As my flight took off from the land of Shivaji, I could not help thinking of the many Shivajis I had met, in the crowded Mumbai, in the dense Dharavi. The many Rameshes I had seen there, were in some way incarnations of the great King – these were the modern Shivajis: Kings of their own world, who were surrounded by imperfection, yet navigated the same with utmost perfection. They are what I call the Imperfectionists.