A Tyreseller.

I reached Cochin determined to succeed where my predecessors had failed. Before boarding the taxi at the airport I had a good look at its tyres. That was a professional habit.

I dumped my baggage on the back seat and sat in front. “Chandra Mohan,” I Introduced myself to the well-groomed elderly driver, “General Sales Manager, Parat Tyre Company.”

“Krishnan.”

“Why don’t you use Parat tyres?” I asked.

“What’s the difference, sir? They’re all round, black and made of rubber.”

I had a good laugh and said, “Technology makes all the difference. You may not understand if I explain.”

“My company purchases the tyres,” the driver said. “Kovil Transports.”

“Well, I came here to talk to them. They don’t buy from us.”

The driver shrugged.

“I’m meeting one Mr. K.P. Nair around noon tomorrow.”

“That’s the MD’s son.”

“It appears,” I commented, “that Mr. K.K. Nair, your MD, is rather difficult to contact.”

“Not for his employees.”

I had a dossier on Mr. K.K. Nair. He was from an old family, which had lost its wealth. At the age of eighteen he joined a local businessman as driver. He educated himself during spare time and obtained a university degree. His boss offered him a desk job but he wanted to strike out on his own and bought a second-hand taxi cab and later went in for a new vehicle. The fleet grew with amazing speed. Trucks were added. Then he diversified into other fields.

“Tell me,” I said, shifting to a matter of personal interest. “Is there any restaurant here that serves genuine Kerala food?”

“I doubt,” Krishnan replied. “Most of them provide a blend.”

Next day, my meeting with Mr. K.P. Nair turned out to be reasonably successful. We obtained a trial order with a promise that if proved good we would be in the list of regular suppliers.

When the business part was over Mr. Nair said, “There’s a slight change in our lunch programme. I hope you won’t mind.”

I had no choice.

“Our cab drivers,” the host said, “file a report if they observe anything special about a client. Your driver yesterday noted that you like to try authentic Kerala cuisine.”

I was impressed.

“I’m inviting you home,” Mr. Nair continued, “for lunch.”

We reached the place in about twenty minutes. An elderly gentleman dressed in white kurtha and dhoti greeted me and introduced himself, “I’m K.K. Nair.” He was the image of the cab driver that had dropped me at the hotel the previous day.

After we sat down, Mr. Nair addressed me, “Can I ask a question?”

“Of course, sir.”

“The quality of commercial technology,” he said, “is in achieving optimum performance by using the cheapest raw materials. Agree?”

I was amazed by the near perfect definition. “Certainly, sir.”

“Mr. Chandra Mohan,” Mr. Nair continued, “every three months I’m a taxi driver for a day. Just to keep me reminded of my humble beginnings. Yesterday you happened to be my customer. I’m glad.”

I couldn’t think of anything to say.

Ends.

[Note: This story won 3^rd prize in the Unisun-British Council Flash Fiction Contest, 2004 and was published in an anthology titled Winners 1.

I am publishing it again now in memory of Chandy Mathew Pallivathukkal who was the moving spirit behind Unisun Publications. He passed away at Bangalore, India on April 7. An MBA from IIM, Ahmedabad, he was the Chairman of Duroflex, and the Chief of Unisun Technologies Ltd., a company that has made great contributions in the field of solar energy. Chandy’s collection of short stories ‘Looking in, looking out’ was acclaimed by critics. Abraham Tharakan.]

parayilat.blogspot.com/index.html