Hiring an autorickshaw requires a flexible body because you need to wave your hands and twist your body like a kung fu master to attract the attention of the driver. I now wave my hands at a speeding auto, which takes a rash U-turn as if to oblige me. The driver slows down the vehicle and gives the impression that he is keen on taking me to my destination, but the moment I mention the name of the locality, he gives a shrug, picks up speed and zooms away as if he had hated me all his life.
But I am lucky. Another auto notices me and zooms in my direction. I notice that his collar is turned upward (meaning I'm the boss). I tell him my destination and he looks perplexed as if such a place did not exist. Finally, he recollects and nods his head. Then comes the standard quote “ Meter kharab hai. ” I jump into the vehicle before he can change his mind.
The driver suddenly bends down from his seat. Has he suffered a heart attack? Oh no! It is the only way he can pull the starter handle. He drops the handle with a thud. I begin to sweat because the meter has already started racing like Usain Bolt. The three-wheeled monster takes off with a jerk to a full blast of old Hindi songs. The auto is now in zig-zag mode and it closely misses hitting a buffalo. My heart skips a beat. Now it is in auto pilot mode with the driver raising both hands for a mini-stretch exercise. I am convinced that I am inside a torture chamber. The driver is enjoying the “Freedom of Speed” enshrined in his self-made constitution. My right foot is continuously pushing an invisible brake to the floor. If you have a weak heart condition, I'd recommend that you take some sort of sedative before getting into one of these things.
The signal turns red but our guy is keener on painting the town red. Luckily, good sense prevails and he slams on the brakes. I jerk forward and almost hit the roof, just like in some break dance sequence. The autocrat notices a traffic policeman and suddenly picks up a khaki shirt from nowhere and puts it on. We now move ahead and whenever he changes gear, the monster gives a nasty jerk which makes all my internal organs shake. The driver is not driving but just aiming his vehicle in the intended direction.
The driver spits out paan juice and the wind carries a few droplets on to my face and shirt. He presses the horn as and when he likes and throws a look at me to check if I am alive. The monster starts emanating weird sounds and is in full speed and gives a nasty jump every now and then as if possessed by some evil spirit. The radio in the auto blares Maar diya jaai ya chod diya jaai , which aptly sums up my mental and physical state. My mind and body go numb. The speed further increases, so do my hypertension, sweating and palpitation. I recoil in horror, recollecting all those kidnap scenes from movies. I feel like jumping off the auto. Added to this, the driver talks to me about fatal accidents that happen all over the city and that too when he is driving at breakneck speed. After much turbulence and physical distress, my destination is in sight. The faulty meter reads 40 rupees. I hand the autocrat 50 rupees and ask him to keep the change as a tip for keeping me alive.
(The writer's email ID is philip1957@gmail.com)
