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AROUND THE CITY, BEHIND AN AUTO Snippets from auto driver Suresh’s life

Over a lakh and half people like him, in and around this city, spend their lives playing chauffer to the middle-class, despite being a part of it themselves. What would it be like to be in their shades of khakhi?

Stalking one without their knowledge is impossible and pointless, I had to take one of them into confidence. True, knowing that he would be watched would only put him on his best behaviour. But then, the story isn’t about giving him a conduct certificate. It is to simply experience life first-hand from the rear view mirror of an autorickshaw driver.

I hurriedly get ready on a chilly Monday morning, only to find it pouring outside. What a start to the day I had to chase an autorickshaw around town on my bike. I can always catch up with him once the rain subsides, or so I thought. Suresh began his day at 7 a.m. too, giving his rickshaw a wash, a whiff of agarbathi and a brief stopover at the little Pillaiyar temple near the Sayani auto stand, Aynavaram. With the rain, my 8 a.m. appointment with him was all set to be delayed by half an hour. Little did I realise that a 30-minute-delay could trigger off a wild-goose chase. His ‘school savaari’ called in sick and Suresh proceeded to his next task of dropping a teacher to the Presidency Girls High School in Egmore around half past eight. In traffic, he quickly told me he had no clue where he would head after Egmore because it all depended on the ‘savaari’ from there. By 10 a.m., he had left Sait Colony, Egmore for T.Nagar to drop a hotel employee at Residency Towers and then to drop another bank employee at Punjab National Bank, Nungambakkam by eleven. The problem continued, he couldn’t tell me exactly where his next stop would be and I agreed to catch him around lunch-time. In vain.

After half an hour of not finding anyone, he dropped a ‘savaari’ from Harrington Road to Taylors Road and decided to head for lunch since he was closer home. So when I called him from Anna Nagar around lunch, he was already on his way to Pallavaram. Since he had to head back through Guindy, it gave me enough time to catch up with him on his way back. Just as I was wondering how I was going to chase the rickshaw and take pictures, I got a call.

My friend always had an eye for photographs. She promised to get clicking if I would mention about her valuable contribution. Our rendezvous with Suresh was at Ekattuthangal at half past three. During his tea-break Suresh tells us he had to ride back 10 kilometres without a ‘savaari’. But the two and a half hour long trip to deliver a consignment to a hospital there fetched him 250 bucks. He had made just about 400 rupees in all for the day including that prize catch to Pallavaram. “Mondays are usually good,” he said, sipping his coffee.

By four, we started the chase, wandering around Inner Ring Road waiting for a ‘savaari.’ Finally, in front of Udayam theatre, a lungi-clad drunk stuck his thumb out. As the drunk held up the lungi posing for our camera, I smiled thinking about how this photograph would look. The drunk wanted to go to Parry’s Corner. At Parry’s, he handed Suresh a 100 rupee note. As Suresh waited for his next ‘savaari’. He didn’t prefer drops to Parry’s, Vysarpadi, Tondiarpet, Red Hills or Tiruvotriyur because these were routes where Share Autos are available in plenty. Soon, he got a call for dropping his Aynavaram regulars to Ashok Nagar. Another 110 bucks. This was turning out to be a pretty good day for him.

After a few short distance drops, Suresh finally headed back home around 9.30 p.m. to give his breadwinner another bath. About ten trips during the day had yielded around 600 rupees. And he had spent close to 220 of that on fuel. “On an average, I get 400-500 rupees a day and a profit of about 200. That is enough for me and my wife to manage,” he says. His 19-year-old son Santhosh had passed out of Murugappa Polytechnic, had got into IBM through campus placements and is now comfortably settled in Bangalore.

It was his late friend Ekambaram who introduced Suresh to auto-rickshaw driving in 1973. He had to wait 30 years before he could buy his own rickshaw. “Though autos cost only about Rs.1,08,000, these days, the cost escalates to nearly 1,90,000 or 2,00,000 with all the paperwork needed, formalities and agent fees. I have another 20 months of instalments left on my loan. I used to take an auto on hire for Rs.120 a day. Today, I pay Rs.150 a day to pay back my loan.”

After a 120-km day, Suresh rests with the contentment of having compensated for the Sunday.

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