Job the New Driver

'I’m new driver.'

Oh god.

The boy who picks us up from Kochin airport hasn’t yet told us him name and I daren’t enquire about his age but he’s immediately clear on one thing; he’s clueless.

I assume this to be the reason behind his quiet manner (when he does make comment, it’s always preceded with ‘the agency tells me..’) but after almost two days of silence he suddenly speaks up:

‘I like you two. Until day before yesterday when we started I was sad. Now I feel happy.’

Neither one of us is quite sure what to say. We’ve done little to deserve his happiness; in hindsight, we gave up attempting conversation far too easily but we’re nonetheless happy that we’ve somehow cheered this little chap up.

But from what?

‘Last week, my family suffered a death. My sister’s husband had an attack on his heart. He was very young.’

And his sister is even younger. A widow at 25, her prospects are poor to say the least. We know from Manu that the family will have paid a great sum for her to marry her husband and there’s little chance of receiving compensation now he’s passed.

‘I was in Saudi Arabia to make good life. Now I return to India to support my family.’

Job took the first opportunity offered to him which just so happened to be driving. Over the course of the next few days I question many times whether it’s the career for him.

Drivers in India earn so little that they sleep in the car to save on expenses. Job, on the other hand, prefers to take a room each night and uses the small remainder of his daily salary on joining in on the activities we fill our days with. On the odd occasion he negotiates local rates, therefore saving us money but still spending his own. He never lets us pay.

I feel riddled with guilt knowing that he’ll be making no profit from our trip but my concerns seem not to be shared. Each morning, Job greets us with the biggest smile and his growing happiness begins to ease my heart. Perhaps that really is more valuable than money.

We see many wonders with Job over the next few days, from the Table Station viewpoint, to the Madupatty Dam and incredible Punarjani show but my favourite stop of all is the very last.

‘On way to final destination, we pass near my home. It’s possible to stop?’

It’s the least we can do and although it turns out to almost an hour out of our way, we’re more than happy to make a diversion so Job can see his family. Only when we arrive, do we realise that’s not the prime purpose of the trip. Of course Job would like to see his parents and sisters but what he really wants is for them to see us.

Job beams with pride as he presents us to his father on the doorstep of his home.

‘Welcome friends.’

We step inside the quaint little house and are seated immediately down at the table. We’re still introducing ourselves to Job’s elder sister and her husband when the mother emerges from the kitchen with an armful of dishes.

‘This like chicken. Bigger. Clurrrrrk. This one biggg…’

The guessing game with Job’s father lasts a little while until we eventually settle on turkey, buffalo, a vegetable dahl, coconut rice and chapatti. It all looks delicious and I’m dying to tuck in but we wait patiently for everyone to take their place at the table.

Only they never do…The family gather around us but nobody sits down.

I sense my eyes widen in panic as I realise this feast is all for us. The family have already eaten and I can’t know for sure but I have a strong feeling they didn’t eat so well. Meat is a particularly special treat.

Again I feel torn between not wanting to take yet not wanting to offend and knowing that out here, the two are mutually exclusive. These people with such enormous hearts find the greatest pleasure in pleasing others so we eat as much as our stomachs can handle and return their smiles between each bite.

In broken English, we learn all about the family’s lives. Job’s father is a pastor, having converted from Hinduism to Christianity in early adulthood and now travels around India delivering sermons. He’s even been paid to go to England! His widowed sister is staying with her late husband’s family further South whilst his other sister and brother in law live here with his parents and their young baby. On cue, Kutu comes crawling in demanding love and attention.

‘We must take photograph. Our English family!’

Before I know it, there are arms around us everywhere and I’m being handed Kutu to pose with. Somewhere in a small town in Kerala, there is now a brilliant photograph of a horrified English girl holding a screaming baby stood proudly on a mantelpiece.