Your Inspirational World Die/s Every Minute You Dont Read This Article: Taxi
Blessed7 Header AD
Showing posts with label Taxi. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Taxi. Show all posts

Wednesday, October 23, 2019

How to reach Tirumala, Andhra Pradesh, India.

Wednesday, October 23, 2019 0
How to reach Tirumala, Andhra Pradesh, India.

Tirumala town is located in Chittoor district of Andhra Pradesh and is easily accessible by all modes of transport. The Tirumala hills, where the Venkateswara temple is located, is part of a seven-hill range that some devotees scale by foot as well. The Temple of Seven Hills is accessible by road, air and rail as well.


The nearest airport is located at Renigunta, which is about 15 kilometres away. This is a domestic airport which is connected to Hyderabad, Visakhapatnam, Chennai, Mumbai, Bangalore and New Delhi. International visitors can catch connecting flights from New Delhi, Mumbai, Chennai or Bangalore.

The Tirupati Railway Station, located 25 kilometres away, is the nearest railway station to Tirumala. Major trains that ply on this route include the Tirupati Coimbatore Express, Seven Hills Express, Narayanadri Express, Tirupati Express, Narsapur Express, Vijayawada Express, Madras Express, Tirumala Express, Swarna Jayanti, Krishna Express and Gurudev Express. All major cities of India are connected to Tirupati.

Government buses connect Tirupati and other major cities of Andhra Pradesh to Tirumala. Buses ply between Tirumala and Tirupati every two minutes. Direct buses from Bangalore, Hyderabad and other cities are also present. Private taxis and vans can also be hired, although this is the most expensive option at hand.



Tirumala TempleHow to reach Tirumala, Andhra Pradesh, India.
Tirupati Tirumala Temple

Source

Saturday, May 10, 2008

The Taxi Ride

Saturday, May 10, 2008 0
The Taxi Ride
The Taxi Ride

The Taxi Ride



Twenty years ago, I drove a cab for a living. It was a cowboy's life, a life for someone who wanted no boss. What I didn't realize was that it was also a ministry. Because I drove the night shift, my cab became a moving confessional. Passengers climbed in, sat behind me in total anonymity, and told me about their lives.


I encountered people whose lives amazed me, ennobled me, made me laugh and weep. But none touched me more than a woman I picked up late one August night. I was responding to a call from a small brick four-plex in a quiet part of town. I assumed I was being sent to pick up some partiers, or someone who had just had a fight with a lover, or a worker heading to an early shift at some factory for the industrial part of town.

When I arrived at 2:30 a.m., the building was dark except for a single light in a ground floor window. Under these circumstances, many drivers would just honk once or twice, wait a minute, then drive away. But I had seen too many impoverished people who depended on taxis as their only means of transportation. Unless a situation smelled of danger, I always went to the door. This passenger might be someone who needs my assistance, I reasoned to myself.

So I walked to the door and knocked. "Just a minute", answered a frail, elderly voice. I could hear something being dragged across the floor. After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman in her 80s stood before me. She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940s movie. By her side was a small nylon suitcase. The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets. There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensils on the counters In the corner was a cardboard box filled with photos and glassware.


"Would you carry my bag out to the car?" she said. I took the suitcase to the cab, then returned to assist the woman. She took my arm and we walked slowly toward the curb. She kept thanking me for my kindness. "It's nothing", I told her. "I just try to treat my passengers the way I would want my mother treated". "Oh, you're such a good boy", she said.


When we got in the cab, she gave me an address, then asked, "Could you drive through downtown?" "It's not the shortest way," I answered quickly. "Oh, I don't mind," she said. "I'm in no hurry. I'm on my way to a hospice".


I looked in the rearview mirror. Her eyes were glistening. "I don't have any family left," she continued. "The doctor says I don't have very long." I quietly reached over and shut off the meter. "What route would you like me to take?" I asked. For the next two hours, we drove through the city. She showed me the building where she had once worked as an elevator operator. We drove through the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived when they were newlyweds. She had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that had once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl. Sometimes she'd ask me to slow in front of a particular building or corner and would sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing.

As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said, "I'm tired. Let's go now." We drove in silence to the address she had given me. It was a low building, like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that passed under a portico Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up. They were solicitous and intent, watching her every move. They must have been expecting her

I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door. The woman was already seated in a wheelchair. "How much do I owe you?" she asked, reaching into her purse. "Nothing," I said. "You have to make a living," she answered. "There are other passengers," I responded. Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug. She held onto me tightly. "You gave an old woman a little moment of joy," she said. "Thank you." I squeezed her hand, then walked into the dim morning light.

Behind me, a door shut. It was the sound of the closing of a life. I didn't pick up any more passengers that shift. I drove aimlessly, lost in thought. For the rest of that day, I could hardly talk. What if that woman had gotten an angry driver, or one who was impatient to end his shift? What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven away?

On a quick review, I don't think that I have done anything more important in my life. We're conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments. But great moments often catch us unaware – beautifully wrapped in what others may consider a small one.


PEOPLE MAY NOT REMEMBER EXACTLY WHAT YOU DID, OR WHAT YOU SAID...BUT THEY WILL ALWAYS REMEMBER HOW YOU MADE THEM FEEL.