The fat taxi driver1On the way to the airport, the taxi driver started talking about this and that. I asked him about his father, who was in the army. Then I said, “During the Second World War, where were you?”
He said, “I was not born.”
I looked at him. He was so huge. Everything about him was bulging, but he was fifteen years my junior.
He said, “My father was in the army in Germany, Hungary and Austria - but not in India. My parents waited until after the war to have children because they felt that if they had children during the war, the children would be defective. So I was born in 1946.”
I was saying silently, “True, you are not defective but you are very fat!” He was extremely nice, though. He drove very fast to save me, since I had been delayed at the hotel.
WE 28. 20 May 1982↩