The Dacoit with a Heart

It is often said that while auto rickshaw drivers in Bangalore can be called robbers, the ones in Chennai are no less than dacoits. I can vouch for that, being a Bangalorean now living in Chennai. Could even author a biography on their awfulness.  

For those in the know, a character sketch would be redundant. But let me fill in those who aren’t. Here is how auto drivers operate in Chennai: You name the destination; they deliberate for a few seconds before agreeing to take you, in a rather condescending way. The meters in autos here only have ornamental value; so the next step is finalizing the price. These undisputed kings of Chennai’s roads usually quote a figure close to three times the actual estimated price. If you’re lucky/speak Tamil/are a master negotiator, it can be brought down to only two-and-a-half times the actual. Also, if he doesn’t know the place, you had better know it, correct directions et al. Or gear up to hear the choicest of abuses in Tamil. 

But maybe they aren’t all bad, not all mercenary. Take one that I ran into last afternoon. Here’s the background: My brother, who I was staying with in Chennai, moved to Bombay since yesterday. While the idea of staying alone looked welcoming at some level, realities that finally hit home when my brother actually left ruined it all. Apart from the strain on my financial resources, I would have to deal with having no one at call to listen to my nonsensical ramblings I feel the need to dole out every now and then. No one to use as a punching bag at my disposal. No one to just vent my frustration on. No one to ask why I did not eat. Or at least, no one as reliable and unconditionally available as my brother. I’m a firm advocate of the belief that there’s no support system as good as family in this world. And my brother’s the best of ‘em all. I sometimes wonder if I even deserve a sibling so perfect. Could go on…But wouldn’t want to embarrass him J  

So there I was, walking down the street towards the shops soon after my brother left, overwhelmed by emotion. So much so that I thought nothing of sobbing noisily, right in the middle of the road, in broad daylight. I flagged down an auto, hoping he would comply. Barely had I mentioned the destination that he agreed to take me. Too weak to even realize what just happened, or even to ask him what he would charge, I sat inside and continued to sob.  

I gave him a hard time finding the place, given my hopeless sense of direction, unfamiliarity with the area and of course my mental state. But to my surprise, not only did he remain patient and unfazed, he even smiled kindly every now and then. Finally, when I did get off, I took out 30 odd rupees and handed them over. 30 rupees to a Chennai auto driver, even for a short distance, is no less than a slap on the face. But our man smiled, took the money unquestioningly, and went his way.  

While there is every chance that the man was genuinely nice, I can’t help but believe it was the tears that made him that way towards me. The only disheartening angle to this episode is the fact that this kind of attitude is the exception rather than the norm. And it seems to take a teary-eyed, depressed soul to evoke that attitude. Maybe this isn’t even that big a deal…But being a victim of several vile auto drivers, to me it really was a big deal.  

It’s nice to be important. And important they are, the auto drivers of Chennai. But it’s more important to be nice, and maybe there still are some who know that; and even practice it. Or maybe, we could open our minds too, be nice, and give them a chance.