#sharedride

Travel Together, Arrive Better

‘Jharia, Jharia,’ shouted the lithe helper of the approaching tracker jeep, swerving uncontrollably over the bend on the busiest intersection of Dhanbad, before coming to a screeching halt. Scantily clad, in ganji (vest) and shorts, he was majestically mounted barefoot on the tiniest of space on the foot rest at the left side of the vehicle, by balancing his right toes on it and beckoning the passengers frantically as if there was an emergency of sorts. His posturing and waving of the arm resembled that of a seasoned politician or a mighty Nawab acknowledging his subjects. The crowd, comprising mainly of coal mining workers both men and women, begin to stir a little in anticipation as to who would get to make the trip to Jharia, situated 15 km away. Jharia was a large coal field initially that grew into a robust town full of business activity, thanks to the purchasing power of large pool of employees of various coal mining companies that were later nationalized into Coal India Ltd.

The Jeep looked full to me with people sitting tightly in the three rows without doors, and also crammed up on the two short stools facing each other at the back. As far as all of my fifteen years were concerned it shouldn’t have stopped there because it was completely full. Leaping out, right in front of me from the yet to fully stop lopsided monster, the arrogant looking khalasi, (helper) gestured me, “Come on,” his eyes stern and glaring and voice breaking. Not much older than me, he was full of swagger but his raw gestures towards me went in vain as I declined instantaneously and took a step back to give him a clear signal that I was not least bit interested. He moved to others, grabbing them by arm, one by one and pushing them into the newly created spaces by serving flurry of instruction to those already seated, to move a little left and right, front and back. He even sorted them according to their size and gender to optimize the space utilization. Some reluctant passengers were pulled out from one place and ushered to another in the cabin and they all obeyed him as if he was their master; not one resisted or argued. He must have doubled his fare with ease and beaming with pride as if he had won a battle, gestured me one final time to join in. Sensing my disapproval, slapped the side of the jeep to indicate to the driver to move on and in no time the stop was cleared and I and few others were left to wait for the next one.

The scene was in the summer of 1983, at Dhanbad’s busiest Chowk called Bank More from where numerous cycles, rickshaws, overloaded buses, cars, trucks, jeeps and trackers passed each minute. Amidst the fierce sun, the deafening traffic noise of the late morning and unbearable black dust that defined the atmosphere there, an unruly circus of sorts made me sick with disgust. Our Handloom shop was right on the edge of the T- point where Jharia Road bisected the Chas Road. If one counted the small gully on the forth side then it was a proper chowk where extortion (rangdari) gangs were most active. Every driver halting his vehicle there had to make a small payment to the gang member stationed there before picking or dropping their fares. How these ruffians were identified in the crowd, as they wore no different clothes from the rest, baffled me at that time. They openly displayed the currency notes in their palm such as one sees at petrol pumps and with bus conductors, as if the exercise was perfectly legal. They called it the ‘Protection Money’ and boisterously announced repeatedly that if paid, they would not be harassed by anyone there. It was like the famous dialog of the mega hit Hindi movie ‘Sholay’ in which the main villain, Gabbar Singh, calls upon the villagers to shell out grains and food items to feed his gang in return of the protecting them from himself.

I think it was the fourth or the fifth tractor that lured me in, not because the condition was any better but because I got the seat with the driver and the long slender gear rod prevented the over cramming of passengers there. Thus began my first shared ride on the single but wide road full of ups and down like it had caved in at some places. I would be told later it was because of the extraction of coal at those places. It gave the feeling of riding in the hills which I always enjoyed. Although there were frequent designated and unscheduled stops, the driver would speed up like there was no tomorrow. As soon as someone said or gestured to stop, the helper would slap once on the side and the driver would swing the mass to the left and hit the brakes without a care or scare of the following traffic. On entering the town, the road became narrower and the stunts bigger. People sat with bated breath and never uttered a word even while an approaching tracker from the opposite end would come dangerously close, and their drivers separated the two overloaded bodies of scrap in the swift maneuvers while exchanging a devilish grin. Sometimes the helpers would clap high five and exchange quick information regarding a damaged road or a new rangdari gang active in the area. Thus after loading and unloading of passengers, gas filling and running an errand or two in between, the journey of 15 km got completed in about 45 minutes.

The trip could have been worse had one Rangdari goon not agreed to the amount being paid and had the two kurta-pajama clad gentlemen not intervened to stop the commotion that irrupted suddenly and grew out of control. The henchman began to lift his T-shirt and appeared to withdraw what looked like a revolver. The passengers became as stiff as statues when he began to shamelessly brandish the gun, shouting choicest expletives at the driver. The two gentlemen positioned there by luck (or design), settled the matter and facilitated the exchange of cash and blessings between the two and put the vehicle on its way. An easy calm descended upon us in anticipation that our journey may soon be completed.