Tag Archives: auto

are autos actually on the meter now?

Posted on September 1, 2011 by | 9 Comments

The first round of edits for my book have finally been completed. As I’ve been reviewing them, I read a comment from my editor Ajitha that I couldn’t believe. In my chapter about getting around Delhi, I said that, “Any driver who agrees to go by the meter is probably planning a route from GK-I to GK-II via the Taj Mahal.”

Here’s what Ajitha said: “No longer true, I think. Meter rates have gone up dramatically and autos actually go by meter!”

Could that be true??? I haven’t been in Delhi for a while, but I can’t imagine such a seismic shift. The only time autos would go by the meter for us was if the driver thought we wouldn’t know the proper route, or if there was a cop watching us negotiate.

Last week, I asked Twitter for other opinions.

And here’s what Twitter had to say.

One of my theories about Delhi is that it exists in a kind of quantum state, because everything about Delhi is true at once. The answers above reinforce that theory.

Still, I’d like more input. Has anyone else seen a change in the ways autorickshaws charge you in the last couple of years?

Update: more responses have poured in from Twitter!

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Posted in living in Delhi

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the loneliest walla I: the auto driver

Posted on May 25, 2009 by | 3 Comments

I’ve been doing some writing for a brand new blog/magazine/community called The India Tube. My first essay is now online. More to come!

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The Loneliest Wallah (I): The Auto Driver
by Dave Prager
Originally published on The India Tube

All the autorickshaws in Delhi appear to have their genesis in the same factory, for all are exactly identical. Before their labor-intensive customization. Variation comes in accouterments added by aesthetically-minded drivers: Shah Rukh and Kareena looking equally sultry in heart-shaped stickers on either side of the rear-view mirror, or life-sized cutouts of scandalously-clad heroines tucked behind the clear vinyl that protects the auto’s side panels and passenger seat from the sweat of a thousand sitters.

More than once I’ve been scared silly by the sudden appearance of a face when I turn my head to see what street I’m on: a starlet I didn’t notice is suddenly pursing her lips at me, a poster positioned there not to promote a movie but to keep a driver company while he spends the night,as auto drivers often do, on the side of the road, bare feet dangling outside, head resting comfortably on a fantasy’s two-dimensional lap.

Imagine if his loneliness was yours: you negotiate fares all day long, but you talk to no one at all. You try to meet a passenger’s eyes in your mirror, but all you see is a set-jaw profile looking anywhere but at you, or a steely glare warning you not look any more.

Confronted with the solitude of the service professional, you too would take refuge in Salman’s biceps or Priyanka’s neckline. Each of them would tell you what you want to hear, if only paper could talk; neither of them will ever ask you to put your eyes back on the road.

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Posted in thinking about delhi

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the auto driver’s point of view

Posted on March 23, 2009 by | 5 Comments

When four people want to ride in an autorickshaw, someone has to sit up front, one cheek on the driver’s seat, arm around the driver to keep from falling out. With three girls as my fellow passengers, front-seat duty was mine. And here’s what I saw, with my camera held at exactly the level of the auto driver’s eyes:

v

I’ve seen a similar banners on taxis and autorickshaws around the country,  taking up precious visual real estate one would expect to rely on to see the massive trucks bearing down on you with no intention of turning. This particular banner read “Al Lazam” (the driver’s name? His favorite soccer team? Free advertising for his brother’s restaurant?). Fully one fifth of his windshield was blocked by this opaque blue bar  — exactly the portion best utilized to see what vehicle is hellbent on ramming you next.

Is driving in this country not already dangerous enough?

With three girls in the back and me in the front, the auto driver decided to make me look cool. He grabbed my hands and put them on the motorcycle-style controls, the left hand working the brake and the right pumping the accelerator. For fully ten seconds I was in charge, discovering that the steering mechanism is surprisingly stiff and sensitive at the same time. The auto driver laughed along with me until he suddenly wrested back the controls and saved us from a car I had no idea was coming. The blue bar may have prevented me from seeing more than fifty feet in front, but somehow the driver was able to manage — ending my career as an auto driver as soon as it began, and saving all of us from becoming Keralan road sambar.

Another example of intentional auto blindness:

viktor2

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Posted in outside of Delhi

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