I landed at the Dabolim airport on Christmas day, and even before I had disembarked from the plane, I was ruing my decision to come to Goa on the yearend holiday weekend. People were pouring out from flight after flight and the traffic that is usually encountered on the Mandovi bridge at Panjim 30km away, had seemingly backed up all the way to the conveyer belt at the airport. After an excruciatingly long wait for my luggage, I finally made it, a heavy VIP suitcase in tow, to the prepaid taxi counter at Arrivals.

Actually, there are two prepaid taxi counters at the Goa airport, adjacent to each other, and both had about 50 people queued up to book a cab. I chose one of the queues at random and quickly got engrossed with my phone, catching up on 45 minutes of flight mode messages and emails that were pinging in. The queue was moving along at a slow, mechanical pace — while I never really checked, so absorbed was I on the phone, I had a sense that I was standing behind a touristy Japanese couple.

Halfway to the counter, I was interrupted by voices of the said couple admonishing an unkempt, bearded young Indian man — faded jeans, backpack and all. “We were ahead of you in the queue. Please go back”, said Japanese tourist-san to the Ruffian. “Sure,” said the Ruffian, allowing them to go ahead. So when I looked up from my screen, I saw myself standing behind him instead of the Japanese couple. “Have you just jumped the queue?” I tapped him on the shoulder and asked. “Not at all,” he said, “I was just unsure if I was ahead of them or behind them”. And he stood his ground like a truck.

“ “Will get you some other time,” I muttered under my breath, as I watched him rush off with the taxi that should have been mine ”

I was confused. Had I been standing behind the Ruffian all along and simply hadn’t noticed? Admittedly, I had paid no attention to the queue or the people in it so far. Or had this Ruffian just planted himself into the queue out of turn — playing a neat little trick between the Japanese couple and me, and squeezing himself between us before I could remonstrate again. I was unsure and decided to give him the benefit of doubt. I went back to my phone but couldn’t concentrate. Five minutes passed, then 10. The queue continued to move along slowly. But the more I thought about it, the more convinced I was that this dude had just bypassed me and the extra hour he would have spent, had he brought up the rear of the snaking queue.

The counters kept running out of taxis. It had now been close to an hour-long wait, and I was seething. Just as I was preparing to once again launch an indignant assault on his shoulder, the Ruffian reached the counter and ordered his taxi. “Will get you some other time,” I muttered under my breath, as I watched him rush off with the taxi that should have been mine.

A few minutes later, I got my turn at the counter, and receipt in hand, I made my weary way towards the vehicle that was to ferry me to my welcome drink and hopefully, to a more civilised world… when I passed the Ruffian and his taxi, backpack leaning against his leg, I saw the driver furiously trying to will the car to start. I’m no automobile expert, but that cranking engine was clearly not going anywhere soon. I gave the Ruffian one last look as my taxi revved and sped away... What is it they say about karma being a bitch?

( Rishi Piparaiya is the author of Aisle Be Damned )

rishi@aislebedamned.com

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