It is that hour of the day when people like you and me are in the comfort of our homes and cozy beds. But for 17-year-old Anil Shinde, 3 am seems just the right hour to earn a living. Getting out of his makeshift dwelling in the nearby Bhandup slum, Shinde is making rounds on the streets in his rented autorickshaw. His tiny house shelters his mother and two younger siblings.
Shinde, however, is just a tiny part of this mammoth industry that caters to the travel demands of lakhs of Mumbaikars everyday, often going unnoticed in the process. Many like Shinde toil day and night to earn that extra something to provide a good night’s sleep to their loved ones. In recent times, the autorickshaw business has experienced a shift in gear, which most of the autorickshaw drivers say, has been in the reverse direction. Hike in fares, doctored meters and strikes are some of the infamous issues we often attribute to the autowallahs, plainly ignoring their predicament. The industry’s dismal state of affairs has also hampered the influx of people getting into the profession.
“Who likes to work at this hour in the day? I have to do this because I have to feed a family of four and I am the sole bread winner after my father’s untimely death,” says Shinde. With dazzling neon lights and ear-splitting music, his autorickshaw is almost like a substandard discotheque. “People often hop in after seeing the ambiance inside. Works in my favour, you know!” he says. Shinde left school three years ago after his father died of a prolonged ailment. He has been ferrying commuters, who are mostly looking for alcohol at the graveyard hour, from Bhandup to Thane and back. “During the day, I am hardly left with any money. I take people to a bar that is open till 6 am and they pay me extra in addition to the night fares,” he says.
In contrast, 53-year-old Abdul Sattar has been driving autorickshaws on Mumbai roads since 1986. Sattar blames politicians for turning the industry into a battleground for their own selfish needs. “The autorickshaw business has suffered tremendously because of politicians. In the guise of serving the autowallahs, they formed unions and said our requirements would definitely be looked after. However, this is just a political gimmick,” says Sattar. He goes on to describe how, in these challenging times, he just about manages to make ends meet. “I have four children and a wife. I got my eldest daughter married, but I still have to educate three of my kids. These are the most gruelling times, as inflation has broken our backs. Only a few years ago, I used to make a decent living, but now it seems impossible to save even `500 a month. I would never want my sons to get into this profession,” says Sattar, hurriedly puffing away at his cigarette. Sattar, however, also blames some autorickshaw drivers for giving the profession a bad name. “Some of auto drivers tamper with the meters and even bribe the staff at gas stations to jump the queue,” Sattar reveals.
Only a visit to a local auto spare parts store explained Sattar’s resentment. Going by the storekeeper’s words, the rates of oil, tyres and spare parts have almost doubled. “Within a year, the prices have shot up significantly. Oil that used to cost `60 per litre, is now around `120. Earlier, we sold tyres for `650 to `700, and now they are priced at `1,400 to `1,500,” says the shop owner.
Apart from the steep rise in prices, there are other issues that are constantly overlooked. Often stereotyped by the public as the “bad guys”, the autowallahs have a different story to tell. “People think of us as punching bags. Freq-uently, I come across some people who hurl abuses at me for no fault of mine. Some (people) often ask me to drive fast without understanding my limitations, and if I fail to oblige, I end up facing their wrath,” says Sanjay Singh, (37), who hails from Mau in UP and came to Mumbai in 1999.
Singh, like many others, came to Mumbai with a hope of making it big and the city seemed promising back then. However, his views have changed with the changing times, and he plans to discontinue the job. “People, who used to migrate from UP, Bihar, Jharkhand and other states to take up autorickshaw driving as a profession, have stopped coming. They know that the industry is in a bad shape and there is no margin for profit,” Singh explains, sitting in his 10x10 room holding his nine-month-old daughter Khwahish. “My other daughter is two years old, and probably in a year’s time she’ll start school. But I do not how I am going to manage her education. My daily expenditure includes paying rent to the autorickshaw owner, filling gas, buying milk for my daughters, vegetables etc. I am hardly left with anything at the end of the day. The income has remained the same whereas the expenditure is constantly on the rise,” he says.
According to union leader Sharad Rao, the city needs to have an additional two lakh autorickshaws to meet Mumbaikars’ requirements. “When everyday there are 500 new cars coming out of the showrooms and plying on the roads, why can’t we have more autorickshaws? The government should improve public transport facilities,,” Mr Rao says.
He says the implementation of basic demands like increase in auto fares, more parking space and social security to autorickshaw drivers will bring some stability. “We have already said that the fare has to be based on the cost of living of the individual, and that is why we welcomed the government-appointed Hakim Comm-ittee’s report that stated that drivers should be in a position to get at least `12,000 a month to have a decent living,” he adds.
All said and done, there are also the likes of 23-year-old Abbas Shaikh, who feels that life of an autorickshaw driver is not as uneventful as it seems. “I had just started driving my uncle’s autorickshaw, and would only drive at night when roads would be empty. I had picked up a young couple from Bandra Link Road at around 1 am and was to drop them at Andheri. During the journey, they were very quiet so out of curiosity, I looked in the rear view mirror and saw them kissing. It was difficult for me to keep an eye on the road and I missed two turns. But
they didn’t seem to mind and at the end of the journey I almost forgot to charge them the night fare,” quips the second generation autowallah.