“Look, I won’t say I do not have anti-Muslim sentiment or I do not want them to go, but it is only about the Muslims who come from other countries.” Trying to figure out the actual word, he said, “What do we call them? Oh, the Rohingyas and the ones who come from Bangladesh”.
Finally, as Cab Dada was ready to drop me off at my drop-off location, he said, “Now I see, you and I have the same ideals and thought process. We are on the same page.”
What made Dada change his stance was when he himself, earlier in the conversation, as an answer to one of my questions, said, “I won’t say I am completely okay with Muslims; I do feel against Muslims, not all of them, but the Rohingya and those who come from Bangladesh.” Though I believe that his initial remarks were largely an outcome of his political and social experiences and not intentionally communal, I am sure it will be as interesting for you to discover how it all began as it was for me when it was happening.
On a usual office day in a small hotel room in Kolkata, my roommate, continuing the tradition, woke me up at the last moment, and I saw myself getting ready for the office in the next 15 minutes while simultaneously booking a cab. Here I am sitting on the edge of my bed, dressed for work, and waiting to receive the call from Cab Dada.
I received the call from Cab Dada once he was at my pickup location, and like always, I checked the name of the driver, which was a proper Bengali name—both first and surname. Once it was clear that Dada is Bengali, I quickly tried to seize the opportunity to test my Bengali speaking skills. But to my surprise, this time Dada continued in pure Hindi, the kind a person from Bihar, UP, or Jharkhand would speak.
Trying to make sense of two pieces of information I had at the time—his Bengali name and Hindi belt speaking abilities—the first thought that sprang to mind was, “Dada must be from Asansol or from West Bengal’s some other Hindi belt bordering district.” I was correct; he was from Asansol.
Once I sat in the car on the front seat, while putting on my seat belt, the first thing that came out of my mouth was “Kya baat hai dada, kya gana chala rahain hai aap- Meri awaaz hi meri Pehchan hai– Male version,” to which Cab Dada, in his late-60s, spreading a controlled smile on his face, replied, “I do not listen to these types of songs every day. As this song was already playing, upon listening to your hello tune ( Kuch Tou Loag Kahengay) I figured out the taste of your music and decided to continue playing the same song for you till you sit in my cab”.
What an unexpectedly beautiful gesture from a complete stranger in this strange world! So it turns out that the urge to access and conclude about the other person was bidirectional. I wasn’t the only one attempting to make sense of the little information available about the other individual. He was also doing the same on his side but in a less political and more humane manner than mine.
So far, so good, isn’t it? Now here comes the twist. By now, Dada’s Hindi Beltness had already intrigued me, and I now badly wanted to know Dada’s political leanings to feed my curious mind the answer to its question, “How does the Hindi Belt influence/Hindi Belt bordering states of Bengal vote?” And when we reached exactly Newtown’s Loha Bridge, I gave in to my curiosity and, adapting a polite tune, asked “Dada, can I ask you a very personal question”. “Yes, of course; why not?”, he replied.
Dada, Who do you vote for?
Dada took a brief pause as if he was contemplating whether I would judge him for saying what he was going to say as his answer. Finally, after taking a brief moment of contemplation, Dada said, “My vote goes to the BJP, and so does my family.”
Without going into details of his voting preference, I moved on to further satisfy my curiosity to better understand the Hindi Belt-influenced Bengali mindset, and I threw my second question. “Dada, what do you think? Should Muslims from India be thrown out of India?”
Dada retook a similar pause, but an intense one, as if, “What if these two people sitting in my car are Muslims?” briefly crossed through his mind, but only if he knew by this time that two Muslim men, mind-washed by Pakistanis who cross into Kashmir, ” Taroon kay nechay say,” were sitting in his cab. Finally brushing off the second thoughts, Cab Dada rather decided to pursue the conversation and replied, “Look, I won’t say I do not have anti-Muslim sentiment or I do not want them to go, but it is only about the Muslims who come from other countries.” Trying to figure out the actual word, he said, “What do we call them? Oh, the Rohingyas, also the ones from Bangladesh”.
He continued, “They come from other places and settle here, make their houses, and then also get voting rights and participate in political decision-making, which I do not like.” While saying this, he also indirectly pointed towards the current political regime, which, according to him, enables Rohingya and Bangladeshi Muslims to enjoy rights that actually belong to natives only for their electoral benefit.
By now, I was ready to make him go through an exercise that I myself go through whenever I need to decide my stand or form my opinion on matters that involve deciding between nationalistic emotions and human rationale.
Let’s go through the exercise exactly as I made the dada go through it.
I said, “Dada, imagine you are not an Indian; you are not a born Hindu; you are not what you are today when it comes to your ethnicity, nationality, belief, or political standing. You are living in a country where violence breaks out, and you are somehow the target of it. Your house is burned down, you are thrown out of your job, your whole family’s life is in danger, and you have small children—both boys and girls—who are under constant threat, coming closer with every passing minute. Now, leaving your past life, memories, and everything valuable to you behind, you decide to move on to protect your family.
You move to a country where life is not going to get better; it may get better in physical terms, but it will never be the same on the emotional side. But there is one thing that is certain: you and your family’s lives will be safe. Then one day, suddenly, some people, ideologies, or political parties come and say that you should be sent back to the place you came from. The place where people are waiting to cut you into pieces, kill your children, and harass your women—would you like these people? Will you call these people or ideologies fair?
After listening to the whole exercise, Dada took a proper human break. I could see on Dada’s face his wavering mind, trying to figure out the answer that could strike a balance between his political thought and moral standing. His pause was so intense as if Dada really imagined the whole situation by fitting himself into the story. This time, extending the pause a bit, Dada replied, “I would not like this to happen to me; I would not like the idea of me and my family being sent back to the place I have been running away from”.
Then I asked the follow-up question, expecting that Dada’s political standing would this time dominate his human self.
“Dada, will you call this ideology, person, or party human or inhuman?” And thankfully, like always, even if late, the intrinsic characteristics of humankind won. The promise of light at the end of the tunnel came true, and Dada said, “Politics aside, you are right, this will be inhuman”.
It was after this conversation that we found ourselves at my drop-off location—the gates of my office—both of us smiling at each other as if we had gifted each other something worthy of millions and learning for life in such a brief ride of seven minutes, and it was at this moment that Dada said, “Actually, now I realise we both have the same ideas and thought process; we both think on similar lines”.
I do not know how true it is in the long run, but the smile on our faces while saying bye to each other and the instantaneous feeling of accomplishment were like those of a school-going boy who learns something new and worthy of keeping with him or her for life. It was as real as it could be and evident in both pairs of eyes. A ride full of learning and hope is how I would like to remember it.
The writer is a content creator cum political consultant who can be mailed at [email protected]
