Victoria No. 203

Her earlier memories are of racist attacks by skinheads. "I remember being chased down the street, I remember the hostility." She also remembers being pulled out of class by her Grade III teacher only to be told that it was OK if her poem was bad because her English wasn't all that good. "But I was more fluent in English than I was in Gujarati," she laughs. Such experiences usually spawn rage, fear and an inferiority complex in most Indians here. In Bhairavi, though, these inspired her to radical thought and action.

What is ironical is her decision to work in a sector dominated by males. About her choice that entailed shunning lucrative offers from corporate America, she says, "I wanted to concentrate on building a mass organisation with poor people. Taxi drivers were the ideal constituency." Gender bias came with that turf, though she says her biggest disappointments "have actually come from other progressive people rather than the assumed sexism of the driver community". In a tone that betrays bemused irration, she adds, "I'm seen less as a legitimate organiser with political analysis guided by my experiences as an Indian woman raised in a working class immigrant family, and more as a subject for those curious about South Asian patriarchy. My allies have been the drivers. It is because of their acceptance that other people accept me."

Their acceptance of her has been reciprocated by Bhairavi's love for their way of life. "At the end of the day it's the charm of the drivers that motivates me into doing this. It's not just my job, it's my heart and soul. Who doesn't like talking to a driver? They have fascinating stories. They're so intelligent, so funny. They've been my teachers, my brothers." Then she confesses with a laugh, "One of my favourite places on a Saturday night is the airport taxi lot!"

Despite her trips to the airport, Bhairavi has never been back to India. She doesn't have to because, as she says, she daily 'visits' India, Pakistan, Haiti, Ghana—a long, varied list of nationalities represented in the Alliance; cabbies who provide a glimpse into their cultures. Bhairavi is indeed a New York enigma. The clincher? Hear her confess: "I don't even know how to drive."