Behind JLF.

"Medumm, auto?"

I looked up from the top of my throbbing heels. Right beside the security check, outside Diggi Palace hotel grounds, there stood a couple of grubby looking young men.

"Bazaar le chalogey?"

A green eyed boy came forward.

"Chaliye medumm."

"Kahan sey?"

"Peeche sey."

"Peeche sey?!" I looked at the narrow lane leading it's way to a slum-like area just behind the palace grounds.

"The police-walas wont let us go from the front entrance Medumm." He said in English.

I wanted to get off my aching feet and heels so I followed the green-eyed boy.

And thus began a strange experience.

His name is Rishi he told me.

He told me he had married a woman called Whitney from Milwaukee, USA. He said they fell in love in 3 days , married on the 4th.

"You can check it on the youtube, Medumm!"

"But we divorced, because she wanted me to move to America. I am an only son Medumm. I have two sisters, I work in a call center at night. I want to be a certified Guide Medumm."

I nodded. Fascinated by the narrow dusty dirty lanes and getting to know the secrets of where insane amounts of food leftovers of the rich are dumped.

"Tell me Medumm, is it a literature festival or a drinking festival?" He asked, gesturing a peg with his thumb.

I laughed. "Why do you say that?"

"Because Medumm all these Indians come out not with books but with pegs and funny thing Medumm, the goras wear salwar suit."

"Yes, Rishi I agree, I saw that myself."

"Do you know what happened last night Medumm? A girl was so drunk she couldn't even make a call to her family. I called her Papa. It was 1 at night Medumm. She couldn't even walk."

"I earned Rs 5000 today because they come out drunk and don't care how much fare I ask!"

I nodded in silence. What could I say?

"I want to read books Medumm. I want to be a guide."

I promised to myself I will send him books. I promised I will read them myself and always remember the dusty dirty road that led me straight to the security gates of Diggi palace. And the one that led back to the garbage-filled slum of the rickshaw boys who fed tea and somose to police officers doing extra time.

The rickshaw boys who all had the JLF entry passes around their necks. Customers of 3 years on their phone list and email ids on yahoo.

Not a walk away from perfumed Ritu Kumar and Gucci bags, a few dreams are blooming.

A rickshaw boy is paving his way to a better future without any complaints.

Rishi Hotla. 2 sisters, one an aspiring IPS officer he says, another an aspiring doctor.

He lived right by the droopy roof of a hut and flowing hand-pump where 3 girls were smiling and washing their clothes.

I was humbled.

"Why are you silent Rishi?"

"You were silent Medumm."

No one has ever really respected my silence before, not in that perfect manner he did.

He talked when I wanted him to talk, told me tales.

He slid into easy silence when I got lost in thoughts.

He got me a good bargain at the Jaipuri jutti shop.

He saved me a long walk from the entrance of the Diggi palace.

He saved me from snobbery.

"I am no ordinary rickshaw driver Medumm." His voice rose above the traffic.

No, you aren't Rishi.