Went over all the pictures I've been taking on my phone and realised that I had plenty of me in Autos. Will explain why as we go on.
I've realised that public transport in Indian cities have distinct identities. Mumbai trains are like the Japs, always on time, be it 6:57 or 9:23, and their cabs are blue and cool, unlike the weather. Chennai autos are known for taking people on a longer ride than they expected. Delhi buses, like most brands today, believe in catering to different target audiences, U Specials, Red Line, Blue Line. Calcutta, like its people, has its well rounded ambassadors, its laid back trams and its artistic underground.
In all this, how can Bangalore be left behind. Namma Bengaluru autos specialise in turning the roads into museums. You can see the autos, stop, sigh and stare hopefully at the empty colorful seat inside, but you cannot get in. Nah, that's unless like in the museums, you are willing to pay an entry fee. In the underground circles, the auto slang for the entry ticket is 'ten rupees extra' or one and a half (pronounced 'unn und a alf').
It is safe to say that in this age where everyone wants to go faster, the auto guys in Bangalore are satisfied with free parking and a lazy ddddddrive. Like the American Presidential cavalcade where hoards of loyalists wave their arms in the hope of catching the President's attention. The President, on his part, simply rides on with a pleasant smile on his face as if saying, 'Yeah, you wish.'
From my vast experience in being stranded on the sidewalk at all hours, odd and rush, I have come to the conclusion that there are different types of autodrivers (or as my dearest friend Deena calls them 'Automan!') in Bengaluru.
Yaake Automan - He has neatly cut out pictures of Uppi in various action and romantic poses peeping out of every corner, has FM that blasts Kannada numbers for every car driver to hear, and firmly believes that his three wheeler is actually a Bugati Veyron in disguise.
Namma Bhasha Automan - Get in and say anything to the effect of 'Yahan se left lena bhaiya' and he takes off on why I haven't bothered to learn Kannada even though I am in Karnataka, and how great the language is, and how these non kannadiga people have come and taken over all the jobs in the city. For this kind, I have memorised leftu, rightu, stoppu. Works like a hot knife on butter.
Old Muslim Automan - The best kind. Never ask for more money, never say no to going anywhere and never lech at you, but like all good things, they're very hard to find and bitterly fought for. If you find one, thank your stars.
Faccha Automan - You can go wherever you like, as long as you know the way there. The faccha looks like he's new in the city, and is stopping to ask you for directions. And you, kind soul, step into his auto, and take him there, while paying him for following your directions, and putting up with his false starts and wrong turns.
Yenu, Yavadu, Trafficu Automan - The eternal cribber. The moment you sit inside, you'll wish you hadn't. He'll get into a monologue about the traffic in the city, his wife, his kids, his mother in law, the policeman on the street, and when he gets stuck in a jam, probably turn and glare at you and say, 'this is not done', 'I should not have agreed to come only'. Get an ipod, stick it in your ears and turn the volume up.
The Lech Automan - This variety will look you up and down and give a lopsided grin and cock his head and ask you to sit inside. Then, every few seconds adjust his rearview, and pretend to check for the gas lever right between your feet in a traffic signal. Stay away from dark roads and avoid after 8:00.
No matter who you catch, they always have a dramatic expression when you want them to go anywhere. Some will sigh at the mention of where you live, almost as if saying 'couldn't afford a better place huh?'; some will whine and say 'no return passenger, extra kodu'; some slow down the auto as if to tease you, sneer when you yell out your destination and ride away; some stop, listen to you, do some complicated math in their head, then ride away; some stand still, yawn, scratch their ears and say no without once looking at you.
So, after all this, when you finally find an automan who after all the pleading eyes, aye aye aye and finally ten rupees extra, agrees to ferry you home, you feel you ought to take a picture of the victorious moment.
