“I Looks Like Jungle Boy”: Thoughts on having a Driver in India

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Before we came to India, my Uncle’s Indian friend had advised that we hire a driver. I was opposed to the idea at first. That kind of luxury was reserved for the rich or the old (or both)--and I certainly didn’t belong to either category. In the end, though, I decided to try having a driver. I found a recommendation on Lonely Planet’s thorn tree website (where travelers post questions and suggestions about different destinations) and signed us up with a small, private company.

Driving tourists appears to be big business in India. Some companies have fleets of cars ready to dispatch long lines of mini vans and Indian-made Tatas. Our company is very small and only consists of “six friends.” When Avtar picks us up in Delhi, he is a welcome sight and we begin the quick exchange of getting-to-know-you questions. Avtar says that he has two young children and is married. I would guess that he is about 32 or 33 years old. He is from a small village at the base of the Himalayas, but has lived in Delhi for several years. He has been a driver for 12 years. With that, we fall silent and I worry that we will have nothing to say to Avtar for the next 15 days and 1200 miles.

We drive by a painted picture of a tiger and I take it as inspiration. I ask Avtar if he has ever seen a tiger. He responds with a series of stories about tiger sightings in his village as a child. One story involves him and his cousin--both aged about 7 years--taking their livestock to the river for water. As they played in the water, a tiger appeared. In one swift and powerful motion, the tiger pounced on a goat, taking it down by the jugular, and carried the instantly-limp animal away. Avtar and his cousin both were rendered silent for some time after the tiger left--staring blankly at the spot where the goat had stood.

As Avtar talks, I think to myself, ah, this is what it would be like to grow up in the shadow of the Himalayas. It is the same thought I had had years before while watching two boys in Louisiana toss bread crumbs into murky swamp water as they called “Here alligator, come here, alligator.” I had thought then, as I did now, this is what it would be like to grow up some place entirely different--a childhood peppered with tales of thieving tigers or temporary pet alligators. In my mind, I am creating a patchwork of interesting region-specific childhood stories that I might reference from time to time when comparing my childhood with that of others. I am happy to add this intriguing tiger story to the catalogue in my mind--placing it near the alligator story.

It takes some time to discover this, but Avtar is a stud. On day three, he reveals that he has had several international girlfriends--one particularly serious Japanese girlfriend whom he dated for three years. When I press for more information, he generates a list of their countries: Belgium, Wales, America, Japan, Argentina, etc. I tally these countries/ women--trying to keep track--and imagine the bachelor lifestyle of a young Indian driver. Apparently, it is common for drivers to meet, hook up with, and sometimes even marry their clientele.

“What’s the longest trip you have done with a tourist?” I ask Avtar one day. He thinks and says 45 days--with an elderly man from Argentina. As the story evolves, we learn that this Argentinean man had been to India three times and Avtar had been his driver each time. On his third trip, the Argentinean man had actually proposed that Avtar return to Argentina with him and marry one of this two daughters. The Argentinean man had produced pictures of his daughters--one a doctor, the other a lawyer. Avtar said they were both pretty, but--ultimately--Avtar declined, saying that they were too different to make a marriage work.

At first, it is very strange to have a driver--but it seems that we are not alone in this method of insular travel--most of the other westerns we meet have a driver as well. It becomes a “well, when in India” kind of thing. I am never sure of the protocol with Avtar. We often invite him to join us for a meal, but he always begs off, saying, “Maybe next time” and heads to the non-AC room or outside to have a smoke. While Avtar’s English is not perfect (but very admirable as he learned it by listening to tourists talk), we still manages to hold in depth conversations about politics, religion, customs, culture, and music. To my ear, his speech patterns are somewhat endearing. He punctuates and sometimes cleaves sentences with the word “actually” (which reminds me of a professor I had in graduate school who would interject into her own sentences “and this is the truth”). Avtar will say, for example, “Well you can go, actually, but the price will be very high, actually.” He also refers to all children as “the childrens” and whenever we arrive early to meet him, he asks a concerned “What happened?”

There are countless times that I am thankful to have Avtar. He often espouses what I (at first) perceive as conspiracy theories about various locations and cities. For example, he tells us that the street food in Agra is not safe for tourists (and we then neglect to tell him that we had just eaten samosas that very morning in Agra). Avtar uses the word “racket” to describe what is happening in Agra. Apparently, tourists are purposely given bad food and then taken to the hospital where the street vender is able to collect money. More than once the word “corrupt” is used to describe things in India--by Avtar and by others. I am struck by their knowledge of this somewhat sophisticated English word and take this to be significant.

One day, Avtar picks us up after a lavish day of eating nann and drinking chai by a lake. He looks different and I can’t quiet figure out why. Avtar offers, “I got a haircut” and then adds “Before, I looks like jungle boy.” This makes me smile because I know that Avtar--as his tiger stories have shown--really does know what a “jungle boy” looks like. And with that, we drive off into the cow-filled streets--with our very own jungle boy turned international stud driver.

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Comments

[Mom and Dad]

A driver really did make a difference.
So glad you did get a driver. Sounds like he has made the trip so much more fun. Now I have this image of you two being driven all over India by the little boy in "Jungle Book"...