My Man Moin

Moin, proudly standing beside his tuk-tuk. He is now the proud owner of a vehicle with four wheels.

I have a love/hate relationship with texting.

I love it because my dog-sitter can send me an up-to-the-minute picture of Sam (my uber arrogant Afghan hound) in elegant repose on my (uber expensive) bedspread when I am halfway around the world.

I hate it because texting kills people.

Beyond its canine assurances and tragic accidents, texting enables me to connect with my friends in India who don’t have access to a computer. Many, in fact, don’t even have an email account.

The phone is their sole form of modern technology. Bless them.

Two years ago, I happened upon a man named Moin from Jaipur, who quickly transitioned from sweet-talking Indian driver, to beloved friend—an evolution that took less than an afternoon. As is the case with nearly every Indian I’ve met, regardless of age, gender, education, you name it, they possess an element of thoughtfulness I have rarely seen duplicated elsewhere. And, of course, there’s that unmistakable Indian humor.

When I’m with Moin, our outings are typically stuffed with chaotic meetings and sitting in traffic amidst an unremitting chorus of blasting horns and barking dogs, which is every bit as nerve-bending as it sounds. It takes someone like Moin to make you somehow enjoy the ride and not throw yourself in front of a bus and be done with it once and for all.

When I leave Jaipur, I don’t miss the heat or the traffic, but I do miss Moin.

Thankfully, there’s WhatsApp, the go-to texting/voice app to which seemingly everyone—except Americans—is enthusiastically wedded.

Moin is from a small village outside of Jaipur. He doesn’t know his birthday; his parents didn’t keep track of those things. He has also never been to school. About 20 years ago, he began driving a bicycle rickshaw in Jaipur, an occupation that defies understanding to most Westerners—at least this one. Moin saved enough money to eventually by an auto-rickshaw, or, as I prefer to say, a tuk-tuk, which is best described as a 3-wheeled motorcycle with a caboose. No longer dependent on his two legs for horsepower, Moin began scrimping and saving until one day, a few years back, he met a Swiss man who generously helped him get to the next step: a car!

Moin learned to speak English by communicating with his passengers. He also speaks Italian, and some French. (And to think, I spent many years in school studying both and still struggle to order dinner on those rare occasions in Paris.)

I mention these brief details about Moin because they are important to understanding how we communicate on WhatsApp—high marks for quantity and quality. Spelling, however—as my teacher used to write on my report card—could use some improvement.

One evening, Moin was texting me from his hotel room in Jodhpur. He had been working with another driver for more than a week, taking two families around the sights of Rajasthan. Moin, who is exquisitely sensitive, was worried that he had done something wrong because the other driver wasn’t talking to him. I assured him that the other driver was probably just tired and in the morning, everything would be fine.

Moin responded as follows (forgive the typos, as his text messages are verbatim), “Yes dear…I am agree with you but not 100%”.

The text continued, “I thing a lot finaly I gas. That other driver (my friend from Delhi) He is SOO serious today. I ask for him many time what do you want please let me. But he is SOO quite.”

When I began reading his text, I could just imagine my dear Moin, fretting to no end that he had somehow offended his friend and in my quasi-maternal manner, when Moin is sad, so am I.

The last line of his text read, “Now I getting haddock.”

Haddock? Moin is getting Haddock? It’s one o’clock in the morning, why is he going out to get fish? I read the message a second time and a third. I just couldn’t figure this fish thing out. And then it hit—headache!  Of course. He’s getting a headache. All this worrying is giving him a headache, not a haddock.

I may have a love/hate relationship with texting. But I love Moin, and I love his texts even more.

This article originally appeared in the 2017 issue of Wild Fibers.