Nice Auto Conversations are a two way street.

Today, after a really long time, i took an auto home. The distance was just over two kilometres, so after several autos refusing to take me my way, i decided to try my luck on the other side of the road and who should come honking to catch my attention but a swanky new green auto complete with electronic metre.

"R.T.Nagar?", i asked and he replied in English "Where in R.T.Nagar Ma'am?""Main Road", i said. "30", he quoted. Beyond arguing, i agreed. Others were asking for incredible amounts of money.

One minute into the ride, he asked me in English, "Do you have 30 bucks change?" It won't be too far off the mark to say that my jaw dropped when i heard him use the word bucks. And, honestly, i was also impressed.

"Yes, i do." Usually, when auto drivers set the tone of the conversation by talking in English, i speak back a little bit in the language and switch to something more comfortable so that they find it easier to converse. I don't know what it was this time, but i decided to speak in English only, and asked him a question i have never asked an English-speaking autowallah before:"If you speak decent English, why do you ride an auto?"

"I work at a travel and tours company Ma'am. I ride the auto only on Saturday Sunday."

"Oh", i said, surprised. "Why only Saturday Sunday?"

"This is my own auto. My father rides it on weekdays. Two days, i give him rest and i ride on weekends."

"Where's the travel agency?"

"Chamrajpet."

"And how do you travel to work?"

"I take the bus. Actually, i have a vehicle, but the traffic is so bad, so i don't use it. I keep it for my mother and father, if they want to use it."

"Is it your own travel agency?"

"No Ma'am. My boss is travelling, in Malaysia. So i'm servicing customers right now."

"Are you from Delhi Ma'am?", he asked me.

Now that surprised me. Nobody's ever asked me if i'm from that Godforsaken place. No, i said."Oh okay. I thought maybe, the way you talked..." I again gave him a vehement no.

"You work Ma'am?", he asked.


"Yes, i do. I work for a technology company."

After that, there wasn't much conversation. We arrived at the end of the road, and he stopped his auto. I hopped out, handing him exactly 30 bucks. We smiled at each other and i said Thank you very much. And he said You're most welcome. He said, i can drop you till your home. I said, that's alright, i'll walk it. 


He said, "You have no idea, you have made me very happy." I said, "Why? Because nobody talks to you in English?" "Yes", he said, and went away smiling.

I felt good. And i also realised that the reason some autowallahs speak up in English is because they want to practice talking it, feel around it, get comfortable with it. My reluctance to take them out of their comfort zone meant that they'd not be able to grow their zone to include English too. I'm just glad that i chose to continue the conversation in English today. And i'll continue to do that in the future.

And i'll look forward to more such pleasantly surprising encounters in the future.

Meet the Schizophrenic Auto.

These days, i get my entertainment on the roads from autos with entertaining...behinds.

When they don't get extra, this is what they resort to.

Return of the Auto Driver Hater.

I have news. I've been biking it for over two years now.


And every time i pass by an auto, looking at me like a dog looks at a bone, i smirk. And i zip past.


I don't think they realise how many people they're driving away because of their mentality. Their Auto Driver mentality.

Die, scum, die!

Yesterday was Bad Auto Drivers Day.

It started in the morning and like a broken record, went on till late in the night.

Last morning, i walked out of home with my cute little home-shaped lunch bag and my big Yellow handbag, got into an auto and was close to the office when i noticed that the metre showed 505 rupees. On honest metres, the amount is 55. On dishonest ones, it goes anywhere between 60 and 75 - which of course is completely pissing off.

So when i stop in front of the auto, fishing out 60 because of lack of change and handing it over to the autowallah, he turns, sees his metre and asks me how much it comes up to. I told him that 55 was the right amount, and that max it would go up to 60. yes, i was an idiot but that's no excuse for HIS behaviour - he palmed the 5 bucks extra and refused to give it, calling me all sorts of names and getting into an argument. He said that the metre showed 505, so shouldn't i be giving him that much? I lost it with him, and throwing the money on the seat, walked away. Halfway up the stairs to office, i realise i've left my lunch bag in the auto. I run down to hunt him but don't find him anywhere.

Fed up and extremely pissed and hungry by lunch time, M and i head out to the Brigade Road KFC for some meat. Get an auto without problems and ask him to take us there. He does, but stops at the Mota Arcade side of the road. No, no, we tell him, we have to go to the other side. Mulishly he refuses to go, saying there will be too much traffic on that side. And then he grudgingly takes us, muttering under his breath all the while.

Leaving from work in the evening, i find yet another autowallah to go to Cunningham Road. He asks me where exactly, and i tell him, "Near Sigma Mall". As we approach Sigma Mall and he slows down, i ask him to keep going straight and take a right. He stops and asks me where exactly i want to go, and i tell him that i want to get off near Fortune Hotel. He refuses straight out - it's a one-way, he'll have to go roundabout and come back at least a kilometre. Oh, so i have to walk a kilometre just so you don't have to travel a kilometre, i asked him. And he says, Fine, i'll come but you have to give me 10 rupees extra. Fuming, i gave him the metre amount and walked the rest of the way.

Ugh. I hate them. I want to shoot them all or give them a hard death. So much so that i'm thinking of starting a Supari Gang just against Autowallahs. Sneak up in the dark of the night and slit their throats with a sharp knife. Bastards.

On your reluctance to tender change.

So i get off the auto and check,
The metre reads 42.
I hand over 45 because i don't have change,
And pray, Mister Auto Driver, what do you do?

You pocket the money
And turn away your face,
Pretending i've handed you the right amount.
While i stand there in disgrace

Because, whoaho, waitaminit
I don't care if its three rupees,
I've given you more than the metre.
So can i have the excess back please?

Isn't it enough that you ask copiuos sums
Of money, even in broad daylight?
Shouldn't you have some shame, some decency
Instead of gearing up for a big fight?

And fight you will, if i do so much as ask
For the coin you have so happily pocketed
Stretching lazily, you'll spew some paan
While you say, "Madam, prices have sky-rocketed."

"Whaaaat Madam you do like this?
For three rupees also you will fight!
I have so many mouths to feed, auto rent, petrol kharcha
Have some pity on my plight."

"Pity?" I spit out,
My blood slowly boiling.
"What pity? Why pity?
You think you're the only one toiling?"

And so it begins, the series of insults
The name-calling and reckless rampage
Till finally he sighs, shakes his head,
And gives his pocket a perfunctory rummage.

Out emerges the hand,
I wait, holding my breath
He holds out his palm, displaying nothing
And i instantly wish him violent death.

"No change Madam", he remarks smugly,
"If i had i would give, but what to do?"
Admitting defeat, i give him my parting shot:
"If I didn't give change you would create a ruckus, wouldn't you?"

Why do autowallahs do that?

You know, look down at their crotch at regular intervals while driving? It's not like they're detachable body parts that will fall off if you're not careful or looking frequently enough. Uff.

I've noticed it on several occasions. And i notice it particularly because i've had a couple of bad experiences with autowallahs around town. So everytime their hands or eyes stray there, i'm thrown into immobility. After the first instance that happens though, my eyes keep going there just to make sure they're not being assholes.

But it's funny, really. I haven't figured out why they keep looking at their crotch. Or maybe they're looking at the ground below their crotch, at their feet. But why would they want to do that? I mean, there's so much more interesting stuff to look at out the windscreen - a butt crack out to take a breather from the tight jeans the woman on the Kinetic is wearing; or a man slowly pulling his girlfriend's hand forward and caressing it; or the middle-aged pot-bellied pseudo-youngster on the Honda Activa picking his nose, thinking he's being surreptitious but not actually. Better still, they can crib in Kannada about how the traffic is, or discuss in glee the extra money they've asked from their poor passengers.

I guess it can be attributed to them being men: apparently, the species thinks about sex once every six seconds. And i guess their manhood is just symbolic of it. Some sort of subconscious reflex.

Ugh. Whatever.