Trust in the city.

As promised, I get a missed call from the hairdresser at around 2:30PM. After the usual
heavy Sunday lunch, I am busy with my favourite Sunday activity - reading the Sunday supplement of The New Indian Express, which in my opinion, is the most balanced and
fun read for a Sunday.

Even though I am not really in the mood to venture out in the hot sun, I leave the comfort
of my couch to have my hair cut. Get to the bike, only to see that the rear tyre is punctured.

Hmmm.

I could just walk to the barbershop, which is only like a kilometre (km) away. But I have
some friends coming over in the evening and need the bike to run some errands. I push
the bike to the neighborhood puncture shop. The lady who owns the place says that the
guy who fixes punctures does not come in on Sundays and there is nothing much she can
do about it.

The other places I know are quite far and there is no way I am going to push a punctured
bike all that way. So, I try a workaround. I fill the tyre with air, pay her and drive to the
other shop, hoping that the air will not run out before I reach the shop. Unfortunately, the
shop is closed, due to being a Sunday.

I rush to the next one that I know and luckily he is open. I heave a sigh of relief. Meanwhile
I get 2 more missed calls from the saloon. I call him and tell him that I am stuck with a flat
tyre and it will take some more time before I can come over.

Now the tyre guy removes the rear wheel from the bike, and takes out the tube. He is quite
a talkative guy and just loves chatting, while I, in contrast am the silent type, who would just want him to fix the puncture and let me move on. But I have no option other than listenting to him and replying wherever necessary. He is all admiration for my 12-year old bike saying
that the older ones are much better than the ones churned out today and give more mileage
per litre of petrol and are more reliable and so on.

Then he asks if I am a Malayali (from the state of Kerala in India).

I am a little miffed because having spent more than half my life in Tamilnadu, I have come
to think of myself more as a Tamilian than a Malayali. And I was damn sure that my command over the Tamil language was so good that no one would be able to make out my state of origin from my flawless Tamil. Looks like I still need to work on it.

Anyway, now he takes the tube, examines it minutely and asks me what air pressure I
normally use for the tyre. I reply that for the sake of a cushioned ride on the bumpy roads,
I use lower pressure than what's recommended by the manufacturer. He says that its wrong practice and that due to filling lesser than recommended air in the tyre, the sides of the tube have got damaged.

Also, there is a reasonably big puncture near the valve head. So, given the overall condition
of the tube, the only way out for me is to replace the tube. Which was not what I expected
when I rode to the puncture shop, because I had changed both tyres and tubes only a few thousand kms ago.

I was expecting it to be only a small puncture and had only 30 odd rupees with me, which
would have been enough to pay for fixing a puncture. Now the tube itself cost 140Rs and
his labour would be another 20Rs. I tell him that I dont have that much money on me.

He says, "No problem, sir. You don't bother about the money. You can pay me later."

I am surprised. Because he does not know me or know where I stay. What if I go and never return with the money ? There is no way he can trace me. Maybe his instincts tell him that
I would return with the money.

So, I ride off with a new tube and paying nothing. I go home, get the money and return to
pay him. He smiles, maybe thinking to himself, that he did not go wrong in his asessment.

I return home, still wondering how people trust others in a city where in most cases we
dont even know the next door neighbour. OK, the amount involved (like 4$), could be
termed trivial, but for that guy, I am sure its a decent part of his daily income.

If this happened in my home town in Kerala, I would not be surprised because everyone
knows everyone else. But, in a city, such trust does not cease to surprise me.