Seventeen

I recently returned from a trip to Sri Lanka. Despite my best efforts it wasn't a productive trip professionally but there was this one endearing moment on a rainy afternoon that has filled me with awe.

My Mum and I had gone to our old neighbourhood to visit some old family friends and on the way back we decided to take a three-wheeler. This one guy who was driving out of the lane stopped and inquired where we wanted to go not in words but with grunts. I realized he was mute. I was a bit shocked at first but when I recovered I asked him for a pen since he was insisting via gestures that I write down where I wanted to go. When I couldn't find a pen he went off for a bit - all this while my Mum kept saying he seems creepy and asking me to stop talking to him. But he returned with renewed vigour and a pen. So I wrote down where I wanted to go including my fare we haggled for a bit (using my hand and his as paper) finally settling on something reasonable. That took some effort since I was juggling back and forth in Sinhala with him and in Urdu with my Mum - talking and writing at the same time with the former and pleading with the latter for some compassion.

Things settled down and we were off when my Mum decided she wanted to get chocolates for the kids who shared the home where we stayed. So we stopped at this little store and I got out and as my Mum got out the three-wheeler guy took off. She screamed at me saying why didn't you listen to me and he has gone off now with all our earlier shopping. I told her to calm down and pointed that he was just turning the three-wheeler around - it still surprises me to this day how much her mentality is filled with Pakistani distrust.

But then that was not the end of it she next decided to stop at the market, and then something strange happened just before she came back - this time I stayed in the vehicle - this guy pulled ahead to the exact entrance she walked out from. I felt goose bumps then - and it was not possible from the outside to see someone coming out since the market is a grey stone building with no windows or doors.

We did set off for home then without any more stops. When I recounted the events of the ride at home later that evening - especially her distrust filled accusations - we couldn't help laughing about it.

I can't help but feel proud of this three-wheeler guy. I don't even know his name but he was such a hard working person it takes real guts to go to such lengths for a fare. Not to mention the memory of that ride back home will stay with me for a long time.