Maid of Astolat

Today, one blog that I miss the most is http://maidofastolate.blogspot.com/. An undergraduate girl, this anonymous blogger used to write extensively on teenage life, unlikely romance and her untreated crush on classics literature. Like her, many good Bhutanese bloggers have stopped blogging (for better or worst - I hope for the better). And here, I share one of her stories that I loved so very much. Read it below:

Five-minute taxi ride

“Hey stop!!!' I screamed as usual hurrying past the gate of my house. Oh, it’s 8 am and the school assembly starts at 8.15. I was getting late. Darn!

My tego was still half-worn, my hair uncombed - half flying, half tied. I’ve my packed lunch bag in one hand and water bottle in other. And the bag on my back. It’s my usual routine though. I was a student of Yangchenphug HSS and always I would run to my school late. Everyday, I would wake up at around 7.30. And it would be 8 for me to wash up and get half-dressed for school.

Every morning, at 8, I’ve to run frantically and it’s not at all easy to find a taxi here. I lived in Jungshina, about 7 km north from Thimphu City. Sometimes, luck would fetch a cab for me right away. But every day was not Sunday, and my name would be already called out by my captain in the school and be marked absent.

However, today was another lucky day for me, for the car that I shouted at had stopped for me. “Thank god, at least…I won't be late today,” I sighed in a sheer relief.

I dashed into the backseat of the car and without looking at the driver, I shouted, “Auu, please reach me at YHS.” Meanwhile, I started shoving my hands through my tego’s sleeves and doing my hair - hoping that the car would zoom off immediately.

But the driver even didn’t start the car’s engine. I looked up at him, angrily. And I saw the driver turning back, looking straight at me, as if I had horns sprouting out of my head.

'Auu, be fast la. Please, I’m already late for school,' I pleaded, still trying on to get my tego on.

He showed me his regal face, and I wondered that how come a cabbie being so rude to his passenger. I just stopped for a moment and looked at him again – he is a good looking young man, well dressed - presumably, in his 20s. How come a taxi driver so good looking? I wondered again. But since I was in a rush, I didn’t dwell on it for long.

“Yes madam!” he obeyed my instruction, uttering it all in a mocking tone. He started driving. But a sort of an amusement flashed on his face before he said that.

I felt angry and disgusted at the driver as when I treated him well he acted sarcastic at me. Since I was getting late, I concentrated back on my tego, pulling it on properly and start folding its sleeves and wonju. Then, I started doing my hair. I pulled out the comb from my pencil bag and combed back my hair looking on the mirror to make sure it was being tied properly. I saw the driver's eyes on me, his expression amused. I ignored him, murmuring, “Irritating driver, huh.”

Then, I fetched out the lips gloss from my hand case and started pushing it against my lips. And I applied lotion on my hands and face. I could see the driver glaring at me in his rearview mirror. But, I purposely glared back at him, annoyed.

His face turned into a huge grin. Laughing, he asked me, in accented English, “Do you always get dressed in the cab?”

“I don't!” I replied him in a bitter tone. But I was still engrossed wearing myself.

“It looks like you are dressing up for me,” I remember him saying. I noticed his accented English and I must have wondered how a cabbie could speak English so well. But I ignored it as I was busy wearing my make-ups and only worrying about getting late. You would hardly meet a cabbie who speaks so good English in Thimphu, but jeez, this man had British accent. 

I replied him, “It’s just ah...small modifications”. Somehow that made him laugh loud, throwing his head back. I threw a dagger at him with my eyes.

“Alright, alright, I give up,” he said raising his hands as if in defeat though his smirk said otherwise. I arranged my books in my bag. He continued starting at me in the rearview mirror in a grin expression.

“Hey, do you mind driving faster, I am getting late,” I remember ordering him.

“Laso la madam!” he mocked at me, turning back and staring at me. I ignored him. 

I reached my school gate. All done by then- I put in my water bottle and arranged my bag and did little tidying up with my wonju and tego, still ignoring the driver. My hair perfectly tied. My tego neatly folded, wonju perfectly made. I looked like a typical good school girl. The driver looked at me and smiled broad, appreciatively though.

Annoyed, I hit at him, “What?”

He just laughed and said, “Nothing Madam.” I glared at him.

The school students were still walking towards school. And my friends were waiting for me on the footpath. Thank god, I was not late, I sighed. The anger left me, instantly. Though the driver has been intrusive and annoying, he reached me school safe and on time.

I asked him the fare, “How much?”

He stared at me, his eyeballs rolled for a while and replied me, “Tell you what, it is free, you don't have to pay.”

I didn’t expect that. Since I didn’t like him and I didn't want to remain in debt to this rude man, I shouted at him, “No, take this money.” I threw Nu 40 on his lap.

He simply smiled and said, “You’re one stubborn lady, aren't you?” And he continued, “I bet your teachers are having tough time keeping you under control.”

My anger resurfaced. “Mind your own business,” I said and came out, slamming his car door.

His only reaction was a loud laugh. 

As I walked towards my friends, how I wanted to tell them what a horrible driver I met that morning. But as I soon as I reached them, they waved and cried at me, “Who is that hot guy who just dropped you here?” 

Puzzled, I looked back and to my surprise, it’s not a taxi. Err…I had climbed into a private car. I had mistaken it for a taxi and took a ride and treated him very rude. I felt so embarrassed and to think, I paid him. As I looked back at him, realizing my mistake and blushing, he laughed glaring at me. The Nu 40 (that I threw on his lap) tugged in his fingers he saluted at me and drove past me back to the town.

Today I try remembering him, but I cannot. Even, I don’t remember his face. I’ve no idea of his working address, and his name. I don't think anyone be so kind to drop a crazy school girl at her school. I don’t think that anyone would tolerate my behavior and rude words like the way he did.  By the way, I tried looking for him, at least, to beg from him forgiveness and to thank him. And I looked at the drivers of all cars I came across, thinking he would be the one, but I never found him. But I know that I’ll always remember him – he stays deep in my heart. However, this writing article is one way to remember him, to thank him for his generosity. Since then, I’ve never mistaken a private car for taxi. But how I wish I’d mistake it again and again. Perhaps I would meet him.