Sandhya Vasudev
I grew up in a town where the cycle rickshaw was in vogue. This was pedalled by a person in front and seated two normal sizes, or three skinnies, on the seat behind. The seat had a hood for sunshine or rain. This type of cycle rickshaw differs from its cousin in the northern states, wherein it is not pedalled, but pulled by a person trotting, the apparatus somewhat similar to the yoke used in cultivation.
But the cycle rickshaw cannot sustain in bigger cities and the auto rickshaw has turned into the most popular mode due to its unique ability of navigating fast through any traffic maze. I remember the cockroach when I spot an autorickshaw squeezing expertly between two vehicles. Just as a cockroach needs just its whiskers to gain entry to pull its entire body through, the driver needs just the nose of the autorickshaw to push itself, and he manages to drag the whole body through, with the adjacent vehicles gliding away like the epochal parting of the Red Sea.
My grandson Kanishk, never having seen an “auto” before, has been fascinated by the three wheeled “cool” vehicle and thrilled to have a ride in it once or twice, while on a visit to India. We have even managed to get him a toy model of an autorickshaw. The auto drivers may be sporting a uniform, but they certainly differ in their outlook. I have had several experiences when the auto drivers had been least interested in going in our direction and preferred to drive empty than earn some bucks. While travelling alone, I occasionally make small talk with the driver if I find him chewing any type of tobacco product. I ask him if he has a family and then gently ask him to stop the habit, citing the terrible consequences. I now understand that the person per se is much more than being the mere driver. One was a graduate and spoke English quite fluently, one was an enthusiast and maintained his auto like a luxury car, one was well versed with Indian politics, yet another held strong views on government policies.
But recently my husband and I boarded an auto in Bangalore wherein the driver proved to be an actor. We boarded the vehicle after a function, dressed in formal attire including jewelry. The driver refused to switch on the meter but stated smilingly that he would take as much as we gave. Surprised at this, we replied that we would pay him the same price as we had paid on our onward trip. Soon, after navigating a turn, he started speaking on his cellphone, as if he had received a call. He started sobbing, asking the caller if his wife was safe and said that he would reach as soon as possible. After he hung up, he implored us to give him five thousand rupees as his wife, who had been admitted to the hospital earlier, was to be operated on. I had read about such a fraud only days earlier, and asked him to drop us then and there and proceed to the hospital. His expression indicated that we had caught him in the act and he sped away without a word. We felt grateful for the busy street with people around.