Scene From Delhi - 7

I sometimes take a cycle-rickshaw from St. Stephen's to Kumla Nagar to get on extremely high-speed internet at a cafe there, or go to McDonalds, or to buy books. It's 7 rupees door to door, maybe $.14. The cycle-rickshaws, like anyone, will haggle with you over 1 rupee and some occasionally refuse to go for less than 8. I refuse to go for more than 7. Today I took a cycle-rickshaw to KN from college. Again, I haggled with the old cyclewallah. He asked for 10 and I said "Har din ye rasta 7 rupiya hai." "Every day this route is 7 rupees." He came down to 8. I said "7. Bas." "7. That's it." He assented and we went off. At the first turn, we got bumped into by an SUV behind us, which is no laughing matter when you're in something as unsturdy as a cycle-rickshaw. The jerkoffs in the car were laughing and faux-apologetic. Cycle-wallah and I were annoyed. We turned back around. There soon came an opportunity for the cycle-rickshaw to move, while we were waiting at the light, and the cycle-rickshaw didn't take it. The SUV behind us turned down whatever Americana pop drivel they were playing and the driver leaned on his horn to get us to move out of the way. Cycle-wallah looked like he didn't like being pressured so much, and wasn't doing well with it, so he shook his fist at the SUV and didn't budge. The SUV kids revved their engine and yelled out the window. No dice. The light turned green and cycle-wallah moved forward. The SUV screamed out of line and went around us, someone in the backseat throwing a still-lit half-cigarette out the window as they passed. My guy shook his fist again. About halfway to KN, the cycle started shaking every time cycle-wallah pedalled. I had flashbacks to riding my red banana-seat bicycle back at Arbor Drive, the same lurching feeling when the chain came off. He kept trying, but he knew it was fruitless. He pulled over, amid yet more screams of horns all around. He got off the cycle and looked down at the chain. I got out and looked as well. The chain had stripped a few spokes of the gear down to nubs, just in the few wrenching revolutions the cycle-wallah had applied. He looked at it and just started crying. I hadn't yet seen a man really cry in India. He started playing with the chain and rapidly speaking to himself in Hindi between deep, hard breaths. It was plain to see that he was going to have to get his gear replaced, he didn't know how he was going to pay for it. I gave him the 9 rupees I had in my pocket and walked the rest of the way.