He was a small village boy with Gigantic Stories. He had been to the moon and back, if you would go by his version. I met him through a friend of mine at Dhaka. My friend had known him since their boy-years, having grown up in the same village.Rab, as he was called, used to stay at Dhaka with a few friends and fellow villagers. A chauffeur by profession, Rab had the incredible gift of spinning stories of any length he wanted to . While on a trip to my friend's village, we got a chance to know the Great storyteller in him. He had accompained my wife, me and my Friend on this trip. It was a trip through the hinterlands of Bangladesh, crossing multiple rivers in ferries, Riding small micro buses , battery operated tom-toms and Rickshaw vans through some of the greenest villages I have ever seen. All along the trip, Rab continued with his tales of the impossible.Our casual talk would be interrupted by his periodic intejection of which relative he had in which powerful office of Bangladesh. The bus would be passing by a military camp and immediately Rab would say , ""Dada, my uncle is the Commanding Officer here"....While crossing the majestic Padma, we were lost in a reverie , overwhelmed by what we say all around, the reverie would be broken by Rab's, "Dada, Yesterday Bangladesh lost the cricket match. I was at the Prime minister's office then, and I saw the President leave for the match."....Or this rather archaic sounding, "Dada, I will lend you my bike. You ride it....Dont you worry about the police sergeant and all..They are all my village folk. The DIG-Police is my uncle, You dont know the kind of power I have ".....He impressed quite a few gullible folks in the bus by his tales of District Magistrate uncles and High Court Judge cousins. One of them introduced himself as a senior officer in a Nationalised bank and requested him to share his contact details.After the person alighted from the bus, Rab winked at us and said," Says he is a Officer in such an important bank..Ha ha ..I can call his bluff..Just one phonecall to my Brother, who is the President of this bank should be good enough".."But brother, how would you know his name. He didnt disclose his name or which branch is he based out of:", my friend interrupted..."Oh brother, whats in a name..My Brother is very powerful. I would just need to tell him that this person looks like this, and he can sniff him out"...
Pscycologists say that people with big tales usually have some small feeling or inferiority complexe to hide.I dont know how true was it with this friend of mine, but I noticed that his tendency to fake increased in my presence. Probably he mistook me to be a topshot of my organization and thus tried to impress me.However, instead of getting impressed, I started dreading him.....I suffer from migraines, the moment Rab would open his mouth, my migraines would be back.It was a trigger. So, to keep him off from his fantastic stories, I would try to broach some small topic, but Rab would take that topic as the foundation for his next "Dreamworks Production" and zoom off into the thin air...Pulling out one fantastic story after the other from his inhexaustible quiver. Savour this one, "So Brother Rab, are you riding your bike ? Hows the Old machine doing ? ' , "Dada, what to say of my bike and me..I was born to ride.Although i drive a car, bikes are my passion".."Oh good, nice to hear that. Do you know, some people in India have started Bike Taxis...".."Dada, thats nothing new..I used to do it...I would be dressed in my Biking gear, I would wear biking boots, the visor of my Helmet lifted and I would vroom off..I would take any highway I felt like and I would disappear for days altogether...All along the highway, I would offer ride to people in exchange of money..With the wind playing with my hair, I would be off to distant places with tourists and adventure seekers..." We, the listeners , would have to struggle a lot to contain a sceptic smile....
Now heres the last bit of the story. While returning from the exotic trip, during which Rab had minced meat our brains and pushed our endurance to the limit, we happened to touch down at Rab's home as well. We had informed him that there was some work back home and that we would need to start for Dhaka early. Rab said, "Dada, I need to return earlier than you . I had accompanied you without telling my Sir.Yesterday night he had called me up, he was telling me that he needs me to take him to Sylhet.You see, without me, my sir feels very insecure. He is the Chairman of The Zilla Parishad. I told him that I was off to my aunty's house at Savar, and that my aunt was very sick. So you see, what urgency i have to return . Its even greater than yours." Right, point noted. However i still felt apprehensive. We lolled around for an hour at his house giving him ample time to get ready. But to our surprise, even after an hour he showed little signs of embarking on the journey back. We reminded him that it was getting late, and he exclaimed, "But, we didnt have our lunch. How can we let you go without having lunch. Besides there is a cycling competition going on at the neighbourhood school, my cousin who is a retired police commisioner and the current president of the Panchayat is the chief guest. We will check out the race.".."But we will get late", I protested.."Dada, my urgency is greater than yours, we wont delay, dont worry".Now my friend interjected "Brother Rab, you have no urgency to return, and neither do i see any seriousness on your part. You have been saying this since morning, but this is just another one of your regular bluff"....The medicine had its effect, we started back to Dhaka after our early lunch.But all the way back , Rab kept saying we should have gone for the cycling race. He had missed out on an opportunity to show us how he and his friends would have been accorded a VIP reception. He would grumble and crib, and when he calmed down a bit, we would reignite the fire saying, "Even we feel sorry. We wanted to experience such a grand event. Its all fate "..And he would start the whole process once again. Even now , whenever I meet him, I just need to remind him of the cycling event, that brings out a whole host of stories and lamentations from him....... And when I listen to them , I wonder whether the economic inflation in Bangladesh and India is being caused by him? God knows, but here was certainly a worthy nominee for "The Great Inflater" title.
Pscycologists say that people with big tales usually have some small feeling or inferiority complexe to hide.I dont know how true was it with this friend of mine, but I noticed that his tendency to fake increased in my presence. Probably he mistook me to be a topshot of my organization and thus tried to impress me.However, instead of getting impressed, I started dreading him.....I suffer from migraines, the moment Rab would open his mouth, my migraines would be back.It was a trigger. So, to keep him off from his fantastic stories, I would try to broach some small topic, but Rab would take that topic as the foundation for his next "Dreamworks Production" and zoom off into the thin air...Pulling out one fantastic story after the other from his inhexaustible quiver. Savour this one, "So Brother Rab, are you riding your bike ? Hows the Old machine doing ? ' , "Dada, what to say of my bike and me..I was born to ride.Although i drive a car, bikes are my passion".."Oh good, nice to hear that. Do you know, some people in India have started Bike Taxis...".."Dada, thats nothing new..I used to do it...I would be dressed in my Biking gear, I would wear biking boots, the visor of my Helmet lifted and I would vroom off..I would take any highway I felt like and I would disappear for days altogether...All along the highway, I would offer ride to people in exchange of money..With the wind playing with my hair, I would be off to distant places with tourists and adventure seekers..." We, the listeners , would have to struggle a lot to contain a sceptic smile....
Now heres the last bit of the story. While returning from the exotic trip, during which Rab had minced meat our brains and pushed our endurance to the limit, we happened to touch down at Rab's home as well. We had informed him that there was some work back home and that we would need to start for Dhaka early. Rab said, "Dada, I need to return earlier than you . I had accompanied you without telling my Sir.Yesterday night he had called me up, he was telling me that he needs me to take him to Sylhet.You see, without me, my sir feels very insecure. He is the Chairman of The Zilla Parishad. I told him that I was off to my aunty's house at Savar, and that my aunt was very sick. So you see, what urgency i have to return . Its even greater than yours." Right, point noted. However i still felt apprehensive. We lolled around for an hour at his house giving him ample time to get ready. But to our surprise, even after an hour he showed little signs of embarking on the journey back. We reminded him that it was getting late, and he exclaimed, "But, we didnt have our lunch. How can we let you go without having lunch. Besides there is a cycling competition going on at the neighbourhood school, my cousin who is a retired police commisioner and the current president of the Panchayat is the chief guest. We will check out the race.".."But we will get late", I protested.."Dada, my urgency is greater than yours, we wont delay, dont worry".Now my friend interjected "Brother Rab, you have no urgency to return, and neither do i see any seriousness on your part. You have been saying this since morning, but this is just another one of your regular bluff"....The medicine had its effect, we started back to Dhaka after our early lunch.But all the way back , Rab kept saying we should have gone for the cycling race. He had missed out on an opportunity to show us how he and his friends would have been accorded a VIP reception. He would grumble and crib, and when he calmed down a bit, we would reignite the fire saying, "Even we feel sorry. We wanted to experience such a grand event. Its all fate "..And he would start the whole process once again. Even now , whenever I meet him, I just need to remind him of the cycling event, that brings out a whole host of stories and lamentations from him....... And when I listen to them , I wonder whether the economic inflation in Bangladesh and India is being caused by him? God knows, but here was certainly a worthy nominee for "The Great Inflater" title.
Wonderfully written brother...I almost felt I know Rab by the end of the piece:). Though I can well imagine the exasperation felt at the time when he is all geared spinning out his tale, but isn't it characters like these who add that extra spice to our otherwise dreary life? Great writing! (But there are a couple of typoes...then it will be perfect)
ReplyDeleteThanks Deba Da..Sorry for the typos..I see that I am not a good typist..I am the traditional pen and paper writer..Haan people like rab add on spice and tarka to our lives...And i have been fortunate to meet quite a few like him..Ha ha ha..:)
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