Over the years, I've heard all sorts of love stories. Some had happy endings, others culminated in tragedy. In Shimla recently, I heard of a tumultuous romance between a trucker and a village belle whose slightly twisted happy ending piqued my interest way more than the traditional "and they lived happily ever after".
The unlikely hero of our story is Sanjay Rana, a native of a tiny hamlet near Dharamsala. Sanjay migrated to Delhi to seek his fortune about 15 years ago. He began driving a truck, which turned out to be rather lucrative. "I earned over Rs 30,000 a month, something no lad in my village could boast of," he said. The times when he carried perishable loads such as soft vegetables and fruits, there was the added prospect of hefty tips on timely deliveries. While the money was great, life as a trucker was unrelentingly hard. "Sometimes, I'd to carry a load to Srinagar, sometimes to Kerala and sometimes to some remote north eastern town," he said. Given that trucks are often not allowed entry into busy town areas, he would start driving as early as 4:00 a m every morning. "To keep my costs down and margins robust, I didn't hire a spare driver. All I had was a young lad who cleaned, cooked rice and dal in the moving truck and generally did all the odd jobs," he recounted. There was no question of resting during the day. "We would eventually halt for the night in some dhaba in the middle of nowhere, but sleep would never come easy. My shoulders and arms would be so cramped!" he said. Soon, he realised as most truckers do, that half a bottle of booze and some opium made excellent and effective bedfellows.
Over the next few years, Sanjay saved enough money to buy his own truck... and better booze, and the finest-grade opium from Rajasthan. Then, the opium-chewing, hard-drinking trucker went home, and lost his heart to a village belle - and she lost hers to him. But her parents knew what trucker's (and especially Sanjay's) lifestyles were like. They refused to allow the marriage. Sanjay begged his parents to intervene, but they were unsuccessful. Desperately in love, Sanjay then asked his inamorata to elope with him. "She said she'd never do that! So, I told her to either kill herself or kill me. I couldn't live without her, you see...." he said.
His eloquent story was reminiscent of Romeo and Juliet, so, I asked if he'd heard of them. "I've driven so many foreigners around, I just can't remember all their names!" he said. Eventually the ardent swain realised that the biggest obstacle in his marriage was his profession. "So, I threw my precious stash of opium and booze, traded my truck for an Innova and registered as a taxi driver in Shimla. Then I drove up to my prospective in-laws who said they couldn't object to our marriage now that I was no longer a truck driver," he said. So, they finally married nine years ago and promptly produced two beautiful offspring.
Were they living happily ever after, I asked. Sanjay replied: "Oh yes! Soon after we married, I left her in Dharamsala with my parents, and returned to my job in Shimla. We now meet every six months or so." I was amazed. After all that talk of killing himself if he couldn't be with his beloved, he now saw her so seldom? "We have to be practical - if we were to live together in Shimla, who'd look after my property and parents in the village?" he exclaimed. "Life isn't a fairy-tale after all!" Maybe it was, I replied, but who says fairy-tales can't have twisted endings?
Disclaimer: These are personal views of the writer. They do not necessarily reflect the opinion of www.business-standard.com or the Business Standard newspaper
