My Korean Guru

My interactions with Korean taxi drivers are very minimal. The doormen at the hotel give the driver the destination. Most of them know where my office is and once we leave the hotel, the 40 minute drive is spent in near silence. And since I have resolutely refused to pick up any Korean, the only exchanges are the mutual Thank you-s and nice day-s said while alighting. This isn't the usual case however elsewhere. I really respect that profession where timings are so critical - be it a call taxi driver in Chennai or someone piloting A380s. Also, numerous drivers have made sure that I was at the station or airport on time more times than I can count now. I also feel bad for the tribe of drivers in general (Thank you Mr. Arvind Adiga!) what with all that waiting, negotiating through bad traffic and putting up with someone else's schedules. I have single handedly led to abnormal blood pressure conditions in many drivers across many lands. And hence, fuelled partly by guilt, even if I'm not in the mood for a conversation, which is when I get the most loquacious drivers, I tend to be polite and try to hold up my end of the conversation to the extent possible. But with my seriously limited Korean vovabulary (I still haven't picked up the word for "vegetarian", usually my first word in any language) I am saved even that trouble. Moreover, in Korea, as I'm always catching up on lost sleep, I'm not quite risen on the morning taxi ride and remain only clinically alive, sprawled out on the rear seat.

All that changed with my recent trip to Korea. On the first morning, a frail old man with his greying hair neatly parted and combed back, pulled up to the portico of the hotel in his beat up Hyundai. The doorman poked his head through the window and informed my destination. Which is when I heard a raspy, "Oph kors oph kors! I know." from within the cab. Instinctively I knew this could mean prtotracted conversations. Sure enough, as he was slipping into the traffic and I was slipping in to my "clinically alive" state, Mr. Lee, as I learned from the id card, looked into the mirror at me and asked, "Are you high crass gentreman?" As far as ice breakers go, this one worked like a power hammer on an ice cube. I quickly checked if someone else was riding in the cab. No, it was a question for me and a tricky one at that. Apparently what was quite obvious to me, wasn't quite so to Mr. Lee and I replied in the negative with what I thougt was a pleasant smile at that hour in the morning. Mind you, I had just gotten off a red eye flight.

I'm not sure if it was my smile or the answer that encouraged his second question, "You speekku Korea langvechi?" Relieved at a more straightforward question and the prospect that the gaping canyon that stood between us on the language front could quell further exchanges and actually let me go back to sleep, I again replied in the negative. As a subtle message, I even halved the previous smile, and adjusted myself to a more sleep-conducive position.

By this time, we were firmly stuck in the middle of the usual Seoul traffic snarl and barely moving. Good, more sleep! Right? Wrong.

"Okkkay! From hoteru to ophhice - 40 minute. I am Korea langvechi teacher, you student." I opened one eye, only half believing what I had just heard. Mr. Lee was looking right at me with a "You heard me kid" kind of look. Unsure of how to handle this situation, I propped myself up against the seat. I could have played asleep, but I was far too awake to pull that off.

A la Jerry Seinfeld, I was still quickly thumbing through my rolodex of excuses for something convincing to go back to sleep when I heard him go "'Ann yang ha se yo' in Korea langvechi. Engrishu meaning 'How are you?'" And he started repeating that a few times and urged me to do the same after him. After about 5 repeats, when I had lost all hopes of getting some shut eye, he stopped. Instead, he held out his right hand. Making chopping motions, he started counting with his fingers, making me repeat that phrase 10 times, extending a digit everytime. I tamely repeated, enrolling myself for Korean 101.

Apparently not inclined towards a gentle introduction, he followed that up with "Hwa jang shil aidi it su yo? Engrishu meaning 'Where is the rest room?'" and started making his chopping right hand movements. There I was, in a car, speeding down Highway 1, asking out aloud to no one in particular, the directions for a restroom in Korean. Ten times. Looking at my bloodshot eyes, people that heard me would have thought that I was having a particularly bad hangover and seeking a place to throw up.

'Take me to a place' (driver instructions), 'How much is this?' and 'Can you give me a discount?' rounded off the first session. I was clearly out of breath from all the vocal exertions. Just as I sunk back into the seat, he announced that it was time for a test. What?! Less than 15 minutes into the impromptu class and I was already up against the first pop quiz?! The only time a language teacher tormented me this way was when I was trying to learn Hindi as a kid in Chennai. And that was atleast a good 20 years back.

He was rigorous in his methods. I tried my best to answer his various questions and just as I was starting to mix up the phrases, we arrived at the office. As I was getting off, he asked me whether he could pick me up that evening - a usual request from drivers. Again, instead of mumbling myself out of the situation, I heard myself say "7 pm". I had bitten into the Korean language bait. The evening's lessons, held under the dim cabin light was decidedly more romantic with phrases for'You are pretty' and 'You are cute'. At which point, I, ever so subtly, asked him for the phrase for 'I'm married' (Keron het su mida), which triggered a surprised glance in my direction. By the end of day one, I was ready to have this conversation with anyone: "How are you? Pleased to meet you. You look pretty. Oh, and which way to the rest room?" Although I wonder what kind of an impression I would leave on that person.

Anyways, my progress was not bad at all given my Korean vocabulary was only two words strong before - kim chi and bibim bap - two atrocities that I routinely subjected my digestive system to. The routine continued over the next 4 days. The second morning, I had transferred my knowledge from day one onto a sheet of paper. Encouraged by this, he had 2 sheets of notes for me that evening with even more phrases. The third morning was spent on numbers and that evening on the Korean alphabet for which he had prepared extensive notes. He even became considerate enough to give me advance notice on the big test for the fourth morning. It was a massive revision of all the phrases. He then made me read out aloud the alpha-numeric license plate off every single vehicle that we crossed. I barely managed not throwing up all over the back seat from motion sickness. (For the record, I don't try to work in a moving vehicle even if I'm hard pressed for time.)

I wasn't quite sure what kind of a gurudakshina I could give him on the day that I was leaving. He had mentioned that he couldn't take me to the airport that evening. So I had one of my colleagues, who was taking an earlier flight, cancel the taxi ride that he had booked to the airport, and go with my guru instead. At $120 it wasn't all that bad a deal, I'm sure you'd agree. I then took the bus to the airport, practising my fledgling Korean on unsuspecting airport staff en route to the boarding gate.

One way to look at this is that Mr. Lee had used this as an opportunity to get more business. While that is a valid argument, I would anyways have stuck with the first morning's driver through the 4 days. It just happened to be him that morning. Also, he wasn't trying to rip me off or anything. He was just being enterprising. A man trying to make more money, employing entirely clean methods. And in that process, I have stood to benefit immensely. A great win-win, if you ask me. The next time I go there, I'm so buying him a gift and calling him up for level II Korean langvechi!