You would think a conversation would be rather difficult, what with me not speaking “communist” and all.
But, eight minutes into my ride somewhere near the Vytilla- NH-47 intersection, he turned on his Sonosonic tape player and hit play on the "50-cent Massacre" album.
I have on occasion heard Michael Jackson on autorickshaw tape players and maybe even a tragic Bryan Adams single about his losing battle with being boring.
But, 50 cent?!
So I asked him....tentatively......in malayalam.......and he laughed....and pointed and laughed some more.
So anyway, his name isn’t Shorty and it wasn’t his birthday. I checked.
He is a devout Malayalli orthodox syrian with a passport, a dream and name.
Jobie.
I didn't laugh.
We spoke about life, his brother in Bahrain (the person responsible for the tape) and the trials and tribulations of being an auto driver in the shadow of your brother who is a well-off vending machine cleaner in the gulf.
All of this while 50-cent explained how he pops caps irrespective of one's tendencies to being a playa' or a ho.
Sibling rivalry is probably as old as the "We two ours one" triangle. The "Gulf" stamp being the seeding agent to this particular instance. It is all that Jobie can talk about, to him it is more than a money thing. It is the romance of adventure, the experience of sights and sounds that makes his brother the centre of attraction during his flying two week vacation.
It is the freedom of being known as Jobie alone, disconnected from the burden of patrimony and the obligation to his genes.
It is the irrational sense of accomplishment and success when you walk down the street, just like the one you get in new shoes.
It is the inner strength to make any bed you sleep on as warm and comfy as the one you have at home.
It is the urge to find ones own self and indentity.
It is the reason I came to Kerala.
