“Auto”matic conversations
a year ago…
It was a gray morning, the kind that blurs the line between dreams and reality. I was running late for work and finally managed to find an auto rickshaw. I didn’t expect much from this ride — just a quick dash to my destination. But sometimes, life gives you more than you ask for. It gives you stories, wrapped in the simplest of moments, delivered by the unlikeliest of storytellers.
The auto driver had kind eyes, lined with the sort of wrinkles that come from both hardship and laughter. His white-streaked hair seemed to dance in the wind as we took off, reminding me a little bit of Santa Claus. I had a difficult morning, so somehow his humble presence felt oddly comforting. We exchanged the usual pleasantries — where I was headed, how the weather had been unpredictable lately — but then, something shifted in the air.
He asked, “Do you believe in fate, madam?” (in Tamil)
Caught off guard, I hesitated. “I suppose I do. In some way or another, we’re all where we’re meant to be, right?” (also in Tamil)
He nodded, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Yes, fate has its plans. But it’s our choices that shape the journey. Like you choosing to ride in my auto today. Who knows why that happened? But here we are.”
It wasn’t what he said, but how he said it — with a conviction that hinted at a lifetime of experiences. We began to talk, or rather, he began to speak, and I became a listener, absorbed in the story he was weaving. I kept my phone on my lap and got engrossed in his story.
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He had lived like a king in his village — owned a small shop, made enough money. But family disputes forced him to leave his hometown and settle in the city as an auto driver. Though this man had been dealt a harsh hand by life, he had not let go of his belief in humanity. He drove with a smile on his face, everyday.
We spoke about everything under the sun — losses, dreams left unfulfilled, and the beauty of finding joy in small acts of compassion. As we drove through the chaos of city traffic, it felt like we were in a bubble, where time slowed down and the noise outside faded into silence. He shared how he would often refuse to charge a poor old lady in his neighborhood because, to him, her smile was worth more than any fare.
and now..
I recently watched the film “Meiyazhagan” on Netflix (and this really isn’t a movie review) and while the film ends on a sweet note, I couldn’t help but focus on one angle — the sheer number of people who lose families when they leave their hometowns. This is common, and I am sure you can think of atleast one person who has gone through something like this. I know I can. The theme also reminded me of the auto driver I had met. Like the protagonist in the movie, he too had to leave behind a life of comfort and security. Family disputes, societal pressures, or economic necessities — all of these can force people to leave behind their homes, their families, and their peace of mind.
We often get lost in the noise of life — chasing goals, ticking off milestones, and defining success by numbers, and that is 100% okay, but it is so important to remember the journey of people we know and love.
Not all tragedies show, some just stay very quietly, trying to occupy less space.
The next time you want to scrutinize someone, try to think of their journey — how has life been to them? I think, somewhere along the way, we forget that the most important thing we can be is human. Not perfect, not invincible, just human. Kind, flawed, compassionate.
At the end of the day, we’re all in this together, riding through life in our own autos, hoping for a kind word, a listening ear, and a shared understanding that we’re all just trying to make it home. :)
