A matter of accent

Taxi drivers know how to spot a stooge

You want taxi, mister?8221; someone called out behind me from a rusty Mumbai cab. His English was contrived. Having wandered far away from my glitzy Juhu hotel, I probably had the touristy bulls-eye painted on my back. Why else would he assume I would choose him over an auto-rickshaw like any typical Mumbaikar? Why would he struggle with me in broken English rather than in Munnabhai8217;s lingo?

I was trying to briskly walk away, trying to lose myself in the crowd. But the shouts grew louder: 8220;Discount for you only, mister!8221; 8220;Hello! Where you going?8221;

Over my travel years, I have come to cringe at any form of accented English from such 8216;conveyance conmen8217;. What typically ensues is some or all of the following: a suddenly discovered malfunctioning meter, a fare amounting to a king8217;s ransom, an unnecessary cruise through the town8217;s perimeter before arriving at your destination.

Having lived in Bombay for over 30 years before, how could these opportunists tell I was now a visitor and did not belong here any more? What was so touristy or NRI-ish about me now? I wore a pair of Kolhapuri and donned desi clothes like anyone else from Chembur would have. 8220;It8217;s the haircut,8221; some wag had earlier suggested.

Personally, I think such drivers develop a sixth sense for tourists over the years, transporting people and studying anthropological mannerisms. Clothes, glasses, shoes, cigarettes, jeans, cologne 8212; these are the giveaways. If you belong to the godforsaken NRI species, your angrezi-speaking children let you down.

8220;Hey! Gentleman! Come to taxi,8221; the driver-thugs of Bangkok prowl the touristy streets of Sukhumvit or Sathorn Road. Like crouching tigers, they lie in wait to entice that hapless tourist to a long, expensive ride.

8220;Which terminal, sah?8221; Sitting in the cab, a thick accent now broke my musings. Accented English had worked my defences up. I reflexively clenched my fists, gritted my teeth and even let out a low growl 8212; getting ready to fight out yet another con game.

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Ashamed, I relaxed. I was only headed to Heathrow with a driver who spoke with a Cockney twang!