On the road to Sabarmati-8
Dheeraj Fatehchandani has arrived. He is at the reception of Amar Vilas, a decent night stay outfit in Indore, the smart city.
I peep out of the large third-floor glass window. Rain Gods have taken a day off this morning, unlike the previous evening as we drove in from Bhopal. Dheeraj would have darkened our doors 12 hours earlier but for the incessant, pleasant shower.
“It’s raining, and I stay an hour’s drive away from Amar Vilas. So can we make it tomorrow morning?” posed the young acquaintance I am yet to face in flesh and blood over the phone.
What’s the big deal if the meet is delayed by a few hours? We agreed.
Now, the sun is out, and Dheeraj is at the reception.
Come up, Dheeraj.
Ulhas Ambegaonkar quickly rearranges the room setting as if we have invited Royalty. Freight Tiger Sudhir Kumar and Kausar Syed Hussain are in an animated discussion about what I have no clue about.
Barring bamboo fabric woven greyish collarless Tee worn by Ulhas, the rest of us are in black. Men in Black? Yes. No, we are not mourning or anything. Black is man pasand.
Dheeraj, too, is in black! Consensus ad idem!
He walks in through the open door with a smiling “Hi’ on his lips. His hands are loaded: obviously, some famous Indore namkeen he promised three days before we landed in his hometown. Another colorfully decorated rexine fashion rectangular bag. No idea about its content.
Mind you, and this is my maiden mulaqat with Dheeraj. We have known each other through social media over the past few months. Transportation is the common glue that united us. He is third gen transporter focused on the Indore-Ujjain route.
We shake hands, exchange greetings, and a round of introduction completes the prelims.
He unzips the fancy rexine bag and fishes out a plaque. Bingo! It’s me on it. Some nice words about my work as an author, handcrafted by his artistic better half. Truly touched. I gift him my latest book, DRIVERNAMA! Namkeen ownership changes!
Sudhir Kumar grabs the hot seat next to him to pick up Dheeraj’s grey cells. The rest of us surround to hear the home towner’s kahani.
“I am an accidental transporter,” he blurted out. Accidental Prime Minister, we know of Dr. Manmohan Singh. But accidental transporter? Heard for the first time.
That fact came out as Sudhir began dissecting Dheeraj why his company’s fleet strength remained the same for over a decade after his father’s untimely demise. “I was not keen to run a transport company,” he confessed. Watching his grandfather, who almost gave up, and his father struggling with managing the transport company, Dheeraj was uncomfortable diving deep into it. However, after many deliberations, he plunged to leverage his technological prowess through a customized Transport Management System. Today, “I have done 50% of what I am attempting,” adds he. Future? Bright, pat, comes the reply.
We troop out to the mezzanine floor restaurant for breakfast with Dheeraj. The clanking of steel forks and spoons in a combative mode with porcelain plates filled with mouth-watering items reverberates. The restaurant is packed with road trippers.
Dheeraj settles with a cup of coffee while the rest of us are busy performing pet pooja. Sudhir continues his engagement with the third-gen reluctant transporter!
“Check out, time!” hollers Dinesh Agarwal, our trip coordinator. Leaving me with Dheeraj, the rest scooted out to bring pieces of luggage from the third-floor room to the waiting vehicles at the portico.
At the portico, Dheeraj hands over the slip for his valet-parked vehicle in the basement. We hardly spent an hour or so. But it appears as if we have known each other for ages.
“Make another trip and spend more time with us and our drivers. We will love it,” he says while getting into his SUV to drive back home to do whatever to script the “bright future” he hinted at. Good luck, Dheeraj!
