The currency of goodwill

| 2 MIN READ | Two 100 rupee notes and the small things that matter

A few weeks ago, I exit with my son from a doctor’s appointment. We pass a side-walk bhel puri stall. Crispy puffed rice tossed with sweet tamarind & spicy green chutneys, onions, tomatoes, roasted peanuts, sev and spices. I order two bhels, for my chauffer Mahesh and myself. My son does not eat stuff made on the dust-layered streets of this city. I on the other hand, follow the 10-second rule for the recycling of edible objects I drop on the floor. Two decades ago, it was the 5-second rule.

He pulls out a vessel to begin mixing our order. I take in the aroma of chutneys. A new layer of saliva gathers over my tongue. I pull out a 100 rupee note and leave it on his cash box. He makes two cones with the glossy pages of an old Vogue magazine and begins filling the first one. I see the volume of his servings, run my hand over my belly and ask him to fill mine to half. I handover the first serving to Mahesh and return to pick up mine. He puts my payment in his cash box and returns 25. I ask why. Because I did not take a full serving. I said let it be. He persists. I ordered a full serving, it was prepared, I was late in truncating my order. I explain this and he relents. I walk away, holding onto the simple clarity with which he runs his business and lives his life.

A few days later I exit the Mumbai Central railway station and walk to the main road to find a taxi. I walk 10 minutes, past 5 cabs scattered across a kilometer, all of whom refuse my short ride. A BEST bus is stuck in traffic. I climb in and ask if it will go down Arthur Road. Before the conductor says no, the bus begins to move. There is a thin crowd spread across the bus. I wait at the entrance floorboard. As it arrives at a stop, I get down to make room for passengers to enter and climb back on for the 500m ride to the circle ahead. The conductor rings the bell to stop the bus and asks me to alight. What I took as neighborly informality, slapped down as civic presumptuousness. I start walking again, turning to thumb a ride from bikers. Some gesticulate to say they are near their destination. One stops on a Yamaha 150cc bike. He is turning left at the circle so can take me up to there. I tell him I rode a Yamaha 100cc in college. We talk about mileage and pick-up.

At the circle, I walk towards the exit that leads home. There is a barricade constricting the flow of traffic. I move past an out station tourist bus. The conductor sees me turning to hitch a ride and asks me to hop on. I thank him and ask for a drop at the end of the road. There is an old man with a white beard seated behind the driver. As I approach my destination I pull out a 100 rupee note. I hand it over to the conductor. He laughs and refuses the money. I smile and say it’s the cab fare you saved me. A token of gratitude for volunteering to give me a ride. The old man says, we don’t need money. All we need is the goodwill of those around us.

I get down and walk home. I feel surrounded by people with clear minds and clean hearts. Each time I encounter them, I turn a little bit into them.