We live in an economy where, even if we can’t buy and own a car, we can afford a cab. And, as obvious as it sounds, a cabby with it.
Which is probably why it’s not surprising to see people get a cab, get in the back seat and say to the driver, “chalo.”
Outwardly, no one says that they feel like a bourgeois white-collared exec, getting driven around by the working class proletariat. But truth be told, we all do exactly what a white-collared exec would do: get in the back seat and say to the driver, “Let’s go.”
Let’s take a step back and ask: why dont we all get in the front seat — next to the driver — and ride like a couple of friends?
Arguably, this may not be possible if you and your friend both take a cab. You buddies want to buddy up on the journey and so sitting together, in the back, makes sense.
But when you’re traveling alone a front seat is almost as good as the back one. Why, then, do we sit in the back, like we own the car and the driver along with it?
My dad bought a car quite late in the day. After a few years of driving, he’d not let Mum sit in the back if she were the only rider (despite her protests, triggered by the fact that sitting in the front, watching the traffic scared her to death). I asked him why. He said, “I’m not a cabby.”
That imagery stuck. And for that very reason, I never sit in the back of a cab unless I’m traveling with another person or there’s someone seated in the front already.
At the end of the day, all this might seem precisely like much ado about nothing, but it’s the little things, not the big hype and hoopla, that matter.