The Autorickshaw Ride That Became a Mirror

Last weekend, I took an autorickshaw to a nearby mall, just a casual outing to shop, eat, and unwind. But what unfolded in that 20-minute ride was anything but casual. The driver, an elderly man in his 60s, asked gently, “Mall mein movie bhi dikhate hai na?” I smiled and said yes. That simple question opened a door.

He shared that earlier that morning, he’d ferried a passenger to Ghatkopar for a movie. Morning to evening; he’d been working nonstop. Then came a memory: “Main toh 1.5 paise mein movie dekhta tha… Mumbai toh jungle tha, road sab kaha tha.” His nostalgia wasn’t just about cinema; it was about a city that had changed faster than he could hold onto.

When he asked if I was studying, I told him I’d just graduated. A minute later, he quizzed me on Akbar, Humayun, and Aurangzeb. I answered correctly. His eyes lit up. “Mera favourite hai history,” he said with pride. I told him it was mine too, once — until the human mind pulled me toward psychology. Two strangers, two generations, two lives; but a shared curiosity. That’s the thing about being human: we’re wired for connection, even across difference.

Then came the part that stayed with me. “Meri do betiyan hain, padhi likhi hain… shaadi bhi ho gayi. Betiyon ko toh padhna chahiye.” His voice held pride. But it trembled when he spoke of his sons: “Dono daaru peete hain… 40–45 ke hain. Hum sambhalte hain. Biwi bhi kaam karti hai.”

There was no self-pity in his tone, just exhaustion. The kind that settles in your bones. I tried to affirm him, but I knew nothing I said could lighten the heaviness in his eyes. He wasn’t asking for advice. He didn’t need solutions. He just needed to be heard.

When we reached the mall, he said “Thank you.” I asked, “Kis liye?” He replied, “Sunne ke liye.” That was it. That was everything.