Cell Out

Last night, as Olga and I were leaving the club, we tried to call the driver to pick us up, but the phone would not connect.  After several frustrated attempts, Olga handed the phone over to me in which I attempted the ancient marriage ritual of doing exactly what your spouse tried expecting it to magically work.  It did not.  There was something wrong with the cell phone service in Delhi. 

I will digress for a moment here and wax poetically on the complete incompetence of Indian companies - yet again.  I mean, what cell phone company allows its entire system to crash, particularly in a country in which no one has a landline.  Airtel, the cell phone provider, is the same company that also provides my internet service and, if you have been following the blog, you know in what esteem I hold them.  This level of idiocy, though, even surprised me.  At what level of incompetency do you have to operate to allow your entire network to crash.

B-O-N-E-H-E-A-D-S!

Anyway, cell phone networks crashing presents a unique problem in Delhi when you live as an expat.  It is not about not being able to call your friends or receive texts (neither of which I do), but when your cell phone is out, you have no way to contact your driver which means you are stuck. You might as well have run out of gas!  The way the driver - drivee relationship works here is that the driver diligently drops you at the door or entrance to where ever it is you would like to go.  You enter and enjoy yourself and when you are ready to go, you call and he magically appears.  When all goes well, this is the extent of your reality.  The driver's reality is a bit different.  Yes, he drops you off, but while you are inside enjoying your air-conditioned meal, he has parked the car in some forsaken pad of dirt in the vicinity and is waiting for you in 110-degree heat.  The issue last night was that we had no idea where this pad of dirt was located and, since it is the embassy area, we knew it was not close. 

We dialed and dialed, but had no success, so we thought we would just grab dinner where we were and wait it out.  We munched down our dinner and tried again, but to no avail.  It was getting on 9:00pm now and I had begun to curse this wasteland of incompetence called India. The reality was that we had two choices:  1) grab a taxi and hope that the driver eventually figures out that we have gone and returns home before I need to leave for work the next morning or 2) walk around the area and look for the driver.  I opted for 1, but with the hope that maybe the driver had recognized the situation and taken measures. In a last ditch effort, we walked to the end of the street and there, against all odds, was my resourceful driver nervously waiting for us in a no parking zone.  Happy to see us, he bolted across the street to escort us to the safety of our vehicle. 

Apparently, he had recognized the gravity of the situation several hours prior and was making regular passes by the entrance of the club to ensure we were not waiting.  In addition, he left word with the taxi stand at the entrance that if we tried to take a cab, they should direct us around the corner. 

After we got home, I realized that maybe my driver’s talents are wasted behind the wheel and I should recommend him to Airtel to run their cell phone and internet division.  My hesitation was simply that I would lose the only competent driver in India.