The Coolie

The coolie appeared like a genie as soon as the driver unlocked the boot to take my luggage out at the New Delhi railway station. He assessed my single piece luggage in one swift glance and then looked at me to assess the fare. I asked him about the fare and he cited the railway approved baggage rate but then went onto say that no one either honoured it much less believe it !

He demanded a hundred rupees to carry my small overnighter and he seemed surprised when I said yes.

He rolled the white long cloth which was around his neck and positioned it on his almost bald pate .Picking up my suitcase with his gnarled hands he placed it on his head; he then nodded and indicated with his right eyebrow that I should give my laptop backpack across his shoulder.

His wrinkled face was unshaven. He had a thin frame with a sparse growth of hair at the back of his head - his nose seemed a trifle large for his small black beady eyes .He was old but his quick movements and sinuous frame belied his age. He wore the half- sleeve red shirt of a coolie over what looked like a woolen undershirt. These were supported by brown track pants that had a red stripe along its seams. Brightly coloured striped socks gripped his feet ; his grey sandals had the word Nike written on the strap. On his left shoulder was a grey shawl - a woolen skull cap stuffed in the side pocket of his long red shirt. He was ready for the Delhi winter.

It was a short walk to the platform but over a pedestrian footbridge. My small suitcase was not heavy and his grunts ,rhymed with almost each step, surprised me and gave away his fitness. At the landing that turned towards the staircase down to my platform I took the laptop bag from him. He was tired.

Reaching the end of the stairs he put the suitcase down and yanked its handle to wheel it. He stopped midway of the long platform and indicated where my coach would come. He sat on his haunches next to the luggage.

A chai-wala crossed and he asked for tea and enquired if I wanted one. My nod was transferred to the chai-wallah who passed on a small plastic cup of hot liquid that remotely resembled tea ! The taste was a peculiar medley of watery sweetened milk in which a teabag of dust tea had been infused. I gave the vendor ten rupees for the teas that we had had.

He conversed without being prompted. He said that his name was Ramashankar and from Balia in UP. He had come to work as a coolie decades ago and continued to do so as his only son was now living with his in-laws in Kanpur and had nothing to do with him anymore. His wife had succumbed to illness years ago and he now lived alone in a "chummery" with other coolies. His land in Vaishali in Bihar, had been usurped by his cousins and wife's brothers. To my soft compassion that was uttered in "tsk-tsk" he said had no regrets with life except that almost all luggage came with wheels and livelihood was tough as every passenger had become a coolie !He grinned ,exposing tobacco stained teeth.

He took my empty cup and deposited it in a dustbin. The train had come and he picked up my luggage and we went inside my compartment. Placing the suitcase under my berth he cautioned me that I should use the chain to secure it for the night.

I gave him a hundred rupee note which he folded and placed it within the small bundle of currency notes that he had in a pocket in his undershirt. He rummaged through the notes and extracted a five rupee note and held it out for me to accept.

My frown prompted his answer :

"For the tea!"