tumi bangla bohlo?

It was pouring rain as I desperately looked for some sort of ride home. All of the autos were full and none of the taxis wanted to take me to Kasba because of the horrible construction going on in the area. Finally, one taxi driver agreed to take me, first informing me that his meter was "broken." Still, I grabbed the chance and hopped in. As we pulled away from the curb, he asked me, "tumi bangla bohlo?" ("do you speak Bengali?") And that's when the fun began.

"Well, a little," I said, holding two fingers up to indicate a small amount. I proceeded to rattle off my token Bengali phrases which include: "good morning," "you are looking nice today," "left, right, straight," "I am naughty" (I'm told often at the office that I am naughty), "do not stare at me," "I am tired," "let us go quickly," and "I do not like mosquitos." The last one always gets a laugh out of Bengalis. This taxi driver spoke excellent English and I think he wanted to see my Bengali reach a similar level. Sadly, this wasn't going to happen in a 30-minute taxi drive, but what to do.

At one point, we were stopped on a bridge and waiting for the ridiculous amount of traffic to pass. A man in a "wheelchair" (actually, a large tricycle moved by cranking the pedals around by hand) pulled up next to our taxi and waited alongside us. He overheard our conversation and asked the taxi driver if I spoke Bangla. I quickly shared my limited knowledge with him and we all laughed as we waited for the light to turn. He too joined in on the lesson.

Language lessons turned to cooking lessons during the last leg of my journey with the cab driver. I learned (and recorded) how to make aloo-something-something (an excellent dish of mashed potatos, onion, chilis, and mustard oil) and stepped out of the cab with an overwhelming sense of happiness and a good recipe to try out. It's moments like these that remind me how wonderful the people here truly are. The small hardships that we encounter are ultimately overshadowed by such pleasant memories, including that of a taxi driver and a polio victim teaching me Bangla on the top of Ballygunge Bridge.