Dharamsala Diary

His hands are most of the time up in the air. His one hand busily and angrily directs the maddening traffic and the other holds a mobile, into which he barks orders, perhaps for more passengers. When both his hands are on the steering wheel, it is to negotiate his taxi between an ominous landslide and a precipitous drop that leads you, if you are unfortunate, into the valley’s riverbed, far, far below. He gets his adrenalin going by a playing a continuous blast of Hindi movie songs.

But more than his cavalier treatment of what the passenger views as a life-and-death situation is the attitude of Dharamsala’s taxi-wallah. And Dharamsala’s taxi-wallah is a taxi-wallah with an attitude. He thinks he is the king of the road, both dirt and paved. The inequality in his majesty’s realm is a matter equally divided between the poor and the peeved.

Well, to refresh his royal memory, here is a background of his majestical antecedent. It was way back in 1990 when the Department of Information and International Relations of the Central Tibetan Administration organised the first conference of Tibet Support Groups. When the idea was first broached around 1988, the department hoped at the most about 36 Tibet supporters would show up for the conference. As it turned out, His Holiness the Dalai Lama won the 1989 Nobel Peace Prize and the number of those who attended the conference the following year shot up by more than 300. Well, this was more than what a refugee organisation could bargain for, or handle.

Remember, those were the days of pre-liberalisation India, when the logic of economics did not come to the assistance of demand. But somehow accommodation was found for the 300 or so guests, but the problem was how to ferry them every day from their hotel to the department? We certainly couldn’t ask our honoured guests to take a trek to the department. Most of them did not know on which side of the mountain the department was located in the first place. In their excitement over the trek, they might take a wrong turn and head up to Triund, Dharamsala’s highest point, perhaps to hold a support group conference with the gods of Tibet, amidst the numerous fading prayer flags, fluttering in the high wind. The number of vehicles the Central Tibetan Administration owned then was inadequate for the task. So, all the local vehicles were hired.

That was how Dharamsala happened to have a fleet of feisty taxis these days. And the logic of economics did come into force: where there is a demand, there is always a supply.

These days taking a taxi ride in Dharamsala is literally saying to the driver, “Here’s my life. You do what you want with it.” He will switch on the music and then turn the ignition key, which makes his taxi come to life with an angry roar. Then he flies up the mountain road.

You needn’t bother to tell him, to take his time, that you are in no great hurry. If you do, he will retort by saying, he’s got a lot of other passengers waiting. He wheezes past everything, pedestrians, lazy cows, chewing cud in the middle of the road, and oncoming vehicles. The way he roars ahead of every obstacle on the way makes you think the driver is gearing up for his next Grand Prix. As this thought crosses your mind, as if to prove you wrong, our telepathic driver suddenly stops and holds a lengthy conversation with the driver who’s coming down the hill. It doesn’t matter that the conference between the two of them has caused a big congestion, with shouts and blaring horns. The two of them have important matters to discuss. When at last the conversation ends, the driver with great agility weaves his vehicle amidst the traffic he has caused and manages to reach you in front of Nowroji’s General Store.

For all your trouble, and perhaps for saving your life, you have to pay him the princely sum of 50 rupees, which is more than the monthly salary of the Central Tibetan Administration staff in those early days.

Dharamsala’s taxi drivers are at their busiest during the 10th March commemoration, Losar or the annual function at the Tibetan Children’s Village when His Holiness the Dalai Lama is present. Then the taxi driver will not make anything stand in the way of his next trip up the hill. Then you notice there is a distinct gradation in the ranks of the vehicles plying the road. The king of the road is the taxi with a Dharamsala licensed number plate. Next comes the one with Himachal Pradesh license. The pageboy to the king is those outside the state. And you can tell. They driver deferentially, unsure and slowly on measured wheels. Somehow you are surprised the king doesn’t drive these lowly creatures off the cliff.

Days of gloom set in when His Holiness the Dalai Lama is off on an extended visit outside Dharamsala. The taxi driver is sullen and mournful with his usual wisdom on his lips. “No Guru-ji, no business-ji.”

An occasional diary

(www.tibet.net is the official website of the Central Tibetan Administration.)