The flight touched down at the Anna International Airport, Chennai. Its 2 AM on 22-Feb-2015. The heavy touch down did not wake up my wife or my 2 kids. They were fully relaxed on the extra large seats in the Business Class of BA. I woke the kids up first. They are quick, and then woke my wife up. We picked our bags and proceeded to the exit.

Out of the airplane and in the airport. I haven’t been here for the past 5 years. Nothing changed in the airport, neither the system nor the people. But India is a much talked and admired country in Nederland (that’s where I work).

My wife frequented India and my foreign raised kids are constantly reminded of being cautious about drivers, helpers or any strangers as a matter of fact every time they visit India.

I walked up to the prepaid taxi counter and took a token to my home which I haven’t seen or visited or thought about in 5 years. My youngest was so curious every time he lands here wondering about the nation he belonged. The elder is like her mother very quiet.

The porter led us to the Ambassador taxi and I saw on the rear wind screen written in Tamil “baadu”.

The typical Tamilian taxi driver said “vaanga sir.. enga povanum” (’Hello.. Where to?’).

My wife spoke. I kept thinking about the word on the rear wind screen of the taxi.

The driver realized that we are NRI’s and greeted the kids by handing them two toffees. The kids took it. As we got into the taxi my wife took the toffees and threw them. She said not to accept things from strangers in English. I could see the taxi driver smiling. I thought he understood what my wife said.

As he kept driving in the night, he asked few questions to my daughter. My wife ’ssh’ed her. But my younger answered him. I could imagine my wife nudging him. This time yet I noticed the driver smiling.

I felt little bad. I picked a conversation with the driver. I could hear my wife sigh at the back while the kids where busy looking out of the window. The huge actor posters and ads filled almost both sides of the road.

I asked “Endha ooru?” (”Where are you from?”)

He said “Sir, Salem sir.”

I asked “Kalyanam?” (”Are you married?”)

He said “aachu sir. aana pasanga illa.” (”Married, but no kids”)

I said “Oh! Ethana varushama taxi.” (”How many years are you driving this taxi”)

I am used to get into such conversations and end up giving my number. Then they eventually call for some help. Knowing my instinct to help anyone, my wife tried to pitch in with all intention prevent the conversation grow. She knew I wasn’t listening to her.

He said “2 varusham sir. aana naa oru BA graduate. Presidency College Chennai, 1998 batch.” (”2 Years Sir, but I am a BA graduate from the Presidency College Chennai, 1998 batch”)

Surprised I asked him “approm yen taxi, nalla velai kidaikalaya?”. (”Educated in Presidency! But, why taxi? Didn’t find a job?”)

India, its size and power, churns out millions of graduates every year from each state. It’s quite possible that unemployment might be high. But Presidency College is one among the Top 5 colleges in the country.

He said “Ila sir. Vidhi sir. Idhula dhan enaku nimmadi iruku.” (”No sir, I find peace in this job and moreover it’s my fate”)

I am still surprised. Now I notice that my wife is interested in the conversation too. She was listening. She values and respects educated people. The kids have fallen asleep. Another 30 minutes to home.

I asked “enna solreenga. kekava aarvama iruku.” (”You got to be joking. It’s interesting to see a ex-Presidency student like you drive taxi and find pleasure in it”)

He reached out to the glove compartment and took a wallet and showed me a photo of a boy inside it. About 4 years old I guessed.

He said “He is my son. His name is Sivakumar. He joined school and was learning new things. I was working in Virtusa as an administration clerk. I used to return home to play with him, help him with his home work and teach him good things vs. bad things. He plays cricket with the street kids. He picked up the local slang word ‘baadey’ which is a bad word from the street kids. That’s what I have put in the back of car. He shouts that word whenever he is upset.”

My wife looked back to see the word, she would have remembered the word to ask me the meaning later. I kept silent. I felt strange and I didn’t want to hear further.

He continued “One day while he was playing on the road a car lost control and hit him. We took him to the hospital but he did not survive.” He paused. He was choking from sadness. I looked out of the window to get fresh air.

He continued “Then my wife was so struck by the sadness and she too fell sick. She didn’t survive after 3 months. They both left me alone.”

“There was the court case against the driver. The judge asked me if I wish to punish or pardon the driver. I pardoned him. But took that car from him and it is this taxi now. I decided to be a driver of this car as long as I live. This is not a car, its my son’s soul.”

I didn’t speak after that. My wife was silent too. But this silence of hers is different from her usual taxi silence. I took the bags from the trunk of the car and paid him little extra. He gladly took it and thanked me as I walked towards my much ignored home. My family was awake to receive us.

To my surprise my wife was talking to the driver. I stopped to listen.
She said “Indhanga, idhu enga veetukar number. Edachum help venumna phone pannunga. Eppovena inga vaanga.” (“This is my husbands number. You will be welcome in our home anytime”)

She told the kids to take few more toffees from him and told the kids to thank him. My son shook hands with him. I could see his eyes flooded with tears. I continued to walk away.

After Lagaan, this is the hindi movie I watched on a cinema. Instantly I realize that the Hindi Film Industry has not grown much with respect to creativity and ideology. They have indeed improved on technical capabilities & increased on the financial expenditures.

The movies still revolve around gondaas, drugs, guns, couple kissing all over screen, pre-marital sex, girls pregnant before marriage, etc etc.
Through out the movie I wonder where went all the protestors of Slumdog Millionaire in which they claimed “it gave a bad image for India”. Kaminey is no different. The film makers should improve their strategy and include some morality in the movie making process.

The only relief is that they stopped loving in many different ways invented by the Khans, Kapoors and Kumars.

The introduction shows Shahid Kapoor the protagonist on a railway track dreaming about becoming a famous Bookie in the Mumbai Race Course and subsquently involved in a chasing sequence.

Another introduction for the second protagonist, again played by Shahid Kapoor shows him dancing away on the streets of Mumbai singing about “AIDS Awareness”.

Priyanka Chopra, lucky the Tamil Film Industry sent her back after giving her the first movie chance.

I wonder what made the producer finance such a movie. The following is the only explanation I could come up with.

Two story tellers approach the producer and give this one line story “a poor boy working for an NGO falls in love with a girl whose brother is a big politician. How the love succeeds is the rest of the story”

Two other story tellers approach the producer and give another online story “a orphaned boy brought up by big bookies dreams of becoming a bookie, but in a freak accident with police gets one of his best buddy bookie killed and he seeks revenge is the rest of the story”.

The producer intelligently thought over and combined the story and made it into 1 by including a father and twin son’s concept. Thus, he saved on the hero salary and mainly on double production costs.

A flash back about a poor dad and two sons are included for sentiment to connect both the stories.

A father steals a watch and screws up his life and also his two son’s life. One son grows and feels his life is screwed up because he is not able to become a bookie. Another son grows up and screws a girl. Because he screws a girl he is trouble from the girl’s brother and the girl as such is screwed because she is now pregnant. The movie revolves around all these screwed people and here is the catch: The producer’s name is Screwvala. A good kaminection

If you can take a hike along the creek to avoid watching the movie: I will recommend that.