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.

Auto Art.

On my way to a restaurant last week in an auto that had the usual depiction of women and tragic ends to a love that is never quite forgotten. It's quite interesting how the same theme is protrayed differently each time. I remember one auto that had a girl sitting by the sea and crying, and another - several actually - that claimed one should trust a snake if need be, but never a woman.

Interesting concepts, don't you think?

Auto Art.

Who says only Bangalore has fundu-looking autos splashed with colours and portraits? This one i saw when i went to Mumbai for a friend's wedding. Seemed like a good one to start off my photoposts on autos, considering i have a car to drive me around now.

Close Encounters of the Dubious Kind.

I drove from home to office today for the first time. And i brushed an auto bumper.

Fully afraid already, bumping into the auto was almost the last straw. As i saw the autowallah get out of the driver's seat, i put on my most puppy-dog look. He marched out, saw the bumper and went, "Kya madam?"

With my hangdog expression, i went, "Sooorry bhaiyya!" and "Chod do bhaiyya, sorry bhaiyya!"

He saw my expression and tried to control the smile that played on his face, but it showed through. Slightly. Then he turned to my driver, seated next to me, and went, "Yen Saar?" and my driver goes, "Kalista idini odsodue. Yenu agilla bidi."

So then he quietly went away, and i continued to office.

Sigh. If only all autowallahs were like him.