A New Car for Wilfred

I’m starting a new series which I’ve called “portraits”, based on a few of the many interesting characters I meet on my travels. I enjoy the challenge of trying to paint people with words, teasing out their stories along the way.

Wilfred Topno leans back into the sofa and pushes his glasses up onto his forehead. His hands return to his lap, fingers locked together. "You know," he says, "life is short, and there are many works to do."

Wilfred is a busy man. At meal times he eats urgently, like a gazelle at a Serengeti watering hole worried about crocodiles- he's often finished and up out of his seat before his wife has sat down. His phone seems glued to his hand as he fires off dozens of short, sharp calls throughout the day.

Wilfred runs a community-based NGO called People’s Action for Development, which focuses on social justice issues facing Adivasi people in Assam, India. His staff all call him 'Uncle.' Wilfred himself is Adivasi; his parents were tea garden labourers who came here from Jharkhand in 1924. When they retired, they moved from the ‘lines’- housing for workers inside the tea garden- onto a small plot of land they purchased further away, meaning Wilfred and his 6 siblings could experience life and opportunities outside the tea garden. Many are not so lucky, and become stuck in a vicious poverty cycle passed down through generations. To his credit, Wilfred took his chance- he was the first in his family to go on to further education after high school, and he took a job as a teacher while he was still at university in order to support himself and his parents.

Today, Wilfred’s daughter is training as a dentist, and his son is a doctor at the sprawling new hospital in Lakhimpur, and about to buy land and build a house for himself and his wife, who is training as a dermatologist.

The generational transformation is complete. In 90 years, Wilfred’s family have gone from earning $1 a day picking tea leaves to doctors' salaries.

I’m staying with Wilfred while I’m here in Assam. Much of my first week was spent in the passenger seat of his beaten-up 2004 Maruti Suzuki 800, my foot stomping an imaginary brake as we swerved errant cows, overladen motorbikes and maniacal bus drivers on patchy local roads. Despite all its shortcomings in safety and comfort (and the several dozen 'near misses' we experienced in it) I found myself becoming attached to this characterful old car. So, when Wilfred told me he was in the process of buying a new one, I had mixed feelings.

His son had been trying to convince him to buy a new car for a while, but Wilfred wasn't on board yet. He explained that his current car was cheap to run and repair- replacement parts only cost 100 rupees (around US $1.22). He said a new car would not be as fuel efficient and would be more expensive to repair, and it would take several hours for someone to come fix it, whereas he can currently do it all himself. Clearly, the decision to buy a new car was a difficult one, and he took a long time over it.

Finally, he announced the day had come- he was going to pick up the new car.

In a myriad of ways, so much of Indian culture is on another plane to anywhere else in the world: the music, food, traditional costumes, Bollywood, cricket fever, it goes on. Given all this incredible difference, it was oddly comforting to learn that no matter where you are in the world, there is a universal truth in car salespeople.

Wilfred relaid, in his customary deadpan, his experience in the showroom in Lakhimpur. Having finally succumbed to his son's nagging he had taken his time to select the car he wanted- simply, a new version of his old car. No fancy features, different colours, optional extras- just the plain old base model. Wilfred turned up to the showroom complete with the exact amount required to buy it. Sure enough, he was immediately set upon by a car salesman who launched into a passionate pitch for the car he had already decided he was buying. Then, having paused for breath long enough to hear that convincing Wilfred wasn't necessary, he threw himself into another interminable effort trying to sell add-ons. Naturally, this was also fruitless- Wilfred didn't even want a car radio. Fortunately for me, airbags came as standard, otherwise I fear he would have dismissed them too. Having successfully stonewalled them through 2 hours of this, he was finally able to drive off in his shiny new Suzuki Alto.

Wilfred is a pious man- he has been a devout Catholic his whole life. He gets up at 4am every day to go for a walk with his rosary, and we have evening prayers before dinner each night. So, to him it was only natural that as soon as we returned home in his new car, we took it to be blessed.

We drove to his local church where the priest said a short, solemn prayer, and tossed holy water vigorously all over (and in) the car. There followed a moment of silence, broken by the priest who began circling the car and discussing its various merits- good fuel efficiency, a larger fuel tank, more boot space (and the back seat goes down!).

Not to be outdone, Wilfred's wife also performed her own ceremony when we returned home: splashing water on each of the wheels, and rubbing oil on the tyres and around the steering wheel.

The next morning we were off again. The roads and their other occupants were just as dangerous as before, but boosted by a spiritual higher power (and a fresh set of brakes) things seemed to run more smoothly than before.

***

On our way into the office, Wilfred stops to pick up a young couple waiting on the side of the road. They need to get to the train station, they're going to Guwahati. 'No problem,' he says.

I've told Wilfred's story not because it is unique, but because it is so common. Much has been made of the breakneck speed of progress in India, and its burgeoning middle class. Millions of people across India are buying land, building houses, and driving new cars. What sets Wilfred's transformation apart from so many others is that he has dedicated his life's work to helping the thousands left behind in this relentless march for bigger and better.