The chatterbox who saved the day
PEOPLE often surprise us, and judging them solely on the basis of our first impression is a mistake. This truth was reinforced by an incident that happened almost a decade ago.
On my way to Shimla, I stopped at a roadside tea stall to have a bite. I heard a middle-aged man talking loudly to the stall owner. The bus he was travelling in had broken down and he desperately needed a lift to Shimla.
On an impulse, I offered him a ride. Soon, he was sitting beside me in my car, chatting cheerfully. He turned out to be an irritating chatterbox who had a commentary ready for everything in sight. As we passed the venue of an election rally, he said, “These politicians have no morals!” Over the next few kilometres, he talked about corruption and old movies.
Exasperated by his chatter, I turned on the CD player and tried to seek refuge in classical music. A chhota khayal rendition in Raga Yaman had just started when my co-passenger exclaimed, “Wah! Wah! I simply adore his voice. Pure bliss!” I glanced at his face incredulously; classical music and this buffoon looked incongruous. Sensing my disbelief, he blurted out, “Arre, Bhai saab! It’s the inimitable Bhimsen Joshi, who else? His melodious voice always stirs my soul!” His acquaintance with classical music astonished me and I upgraded my opinion about him.
At Dharampur, I stopped the car at Giani Da Dhaba. While ordering food, I asked my companion if he would have beer. He responded eagerly in the affirmative. After finishing our food and beer, I took out my wallet and cast an oblique glance at my partner, half expecting that he would at least offer to pay. No chance! He was too busy pontificating on the comparative merits of Pandit Jasraj and Bhimsen Joshi.
Returning to the car, I thought that he was not only an insufferable bore but also a parasitic freeloader. For the rest of the journey, he remained unusually silent most of the time. I dropped him at his destination in Shimla and forgot everything about him and the whole episode.
A few years later, my wife got severely infected with Covid-19 during the second wave of the pandemic. The blood oxygen in her body dipped to alarming levels, but no beds were available in hospitals. I tried hard to procure an oxygen concentrator but in vain. I dropped a message in my WhatsApp groups about my desperate requirement.
One evening, when I returned to my flat, I found an oxygen concentrator delivered anonymously. There was a note attached to it, mentioning a phone number. I immediately dialled the number to express my gratitude. After a brief pause, a familiar voice boomed from the other side, “Perhaps I have slipped out of your memory, Bhai saab! But how can I forget that blissful drive with beer and Bhimsen Joshi on the serpentine road to Shimla? No, you don’t have to thank me or pay me anything. I have just earned that beer as well as the ride today!”
