*Unlock phone. Open Uber app. Set pick-up location. Set destination. Set payment mode. Pick UberPool, Go, XL, etc.*
After this, I usually spend the next few minutes wondering whether or not to call up the Uber driver. Some drivers here in Delhi have this horrible tendency of not moving an inch, until and unless you ring them up. In the end, I decide to muster up the required broken Hindi in my Mallu accent and I call up the driver.
“Bhaiyya, maine abhi Uber book kiya tha. Aap aa rahe ho naa?”
“Haan ji, sir. Aap kaha par ho?”
* heartbreak *
* searching up the necessary words in Hindi to describe my place in the universe to him *
“Main yahaan Sitaram Bhartiya Hospital ke pass
* Fuck this! *
“Haan ji, sir. Aa raha hoon…”
I scan the horizon for my cab, fervently hoping that he’ll be able to find his way to my location using (this-marvellous-new-technology-that-Uber-drivers-seem-to-have-trouble-using) GPS without my having to call him up again.
As the cab finally approaches, I put on my best poker face so as to discourage the driver from making conversation. In the event that he does, I try to explain… “Main Kerala se hoon. Mera Hindi utna achcha nahin hain.”
As he pulls over at the drop-off point, he says, “Five star rating de do, sir.” I oblige, secretly hoping that I don’t get a low rating due to my abysmal conversational skills.
My Hindi is improving fast though. Here’s proof…
What does a homosexual farmer selling wheat by the roadside call out?
“Gay hoon, le lo!”