You just missed that 10.15 local by a whisker and are already running late. You try to calm down and convince yourself that “all is well” despite these minor hiccups. And once you reach the desired station, all you want to do is get into that autorickshaw across the street. But that is not meant to be — the autowallah refuses flatly. What do you do?
You fume, think of a million gaalis and just before you are about to utter the infamous “F” word, you give up and leave it at that. Finally, you accept the fact that nothing else could happen and you are just destined for a tough life. I am sure most Mumbaikars face this everyday. And you really aren’t a Mumbaikar till you have known what it is to be left bruised and hurt by an autowallah’s ego. But here, I would like to state clearly that I am not running a smear campaign against them, merely stating the present day reality of the city and in no way negates some of the gems I have met as well.
I’ve often faced this problem of have a hard time finding autos. I am told they are not interested in you unless you are a “babe” and a class apart from the rest (that’s what the men believe!) and I don’t belong to that category. Additionally, it could also be because I don’t live in a locality from where the auto can get another “bhada” (“passenger” in Mumbai lingo) easily. From taking autowallahs to the police station and literally hanging onto the auto by clutching the bar of the auto, I’ve done it all. Initially, I would scream and shout my way through an argument, but over the years, I’ve learnt the tact and art of dealing with them. And I kid you not — you could gradually be a veteran of the art of diplomacy simply by talking to them.
In fact, one of the most vivid memories I can recount is of taking an autowallah to the police station in my first year of college. God alone knows what happened to this special one, but after agreeing to take me and sitting inside, he suddenly changed his mind, sat like a cool cat and said, “Madam jaana nahi hai, utar jaiye”. My expression went a complete circle from huh-did-you-just-say-that to a scowl that clearly meant how-dare-you? I then made it my mission to fight for justice and asked him to take me to a police station instead. For a second he flinched, but surprisingly, drove to the police station. Of course, the rest is history and he was made to drop us. Hence proved. The police station plan works.
However, not all autowallahs are to be blamed for the misery that their brethren are responsible for. I remember an autowallah, who with his sheer earnestness, bowled me over and inspired me immensely. He was a graduate, spoke fine English, was a father of two and worked from 5 in the morning to 12 in the night (this also included time in the shop he ran with his wife). After all that he had faced, he had set himself up well to educate his children and take care of his ailing mother. Now, there are millions of such stories that you will find in the city, but his honest demeanour struck a chord in an instant.
So essentially, this isn’t a rant, rather just an expression of how multifarious this city is. The autowallahs are an important cog in the wheel that is Mumbai. It’s difficult to function without them and sometimes, we just lose touch with our humane selves, forget to watch our words and forget that these guys too have their ends to meet and survive. But then what’s a city without its share of woes? Well these days, most of us convince ourselves by just thanking our stars that “at least we are better off than Delhi, we at least have a meter system”. Did I just compare Mumbai with Delhi? That’s another touchy topic and let’s not even get there for now.