Charan in his twenty-seventh year was a survivor. Circumstances could have ruined his zeal to live but he fought back and took up driving to shirk negative thoughts. Being an auto-rickshaw driver was no shame and was far better than begging. Delhi was home to many such nomads. He was born in Basti, Uttar Pradesh, Northern state of India, to a cobbler but wheels from the very beginning colored his world. Being a lone child it was his moral responsibility to give a better world to his parents. With limited resources education suffered but being friends with a mechanic, made him learn the ropes of his passion. Abdul was a good teacher and Charan saw an opportunity to better his life. He loved to assist Abdul with his repairs and in the bargain, at the end of the day, Charan was a companion to many rides to customer’s houses. Charan looked forward to deliveries as that meant he could get to sit and try his hand at the wheel too. Little joys these rides were for him and mini steps towards his dream to drive. Abdul in his seventies saw a flicker of hope in his barren life through Charan. Hope can be an addictive drug and labor reaps rewards. In six months at the age of 18, Charan proved to be an asset for Abdul. His mini shop was closer to the outskirts of Basti and all types of vehicles crossed that path. Abdul’s corner turned out to be a boon for commuters and Charan. It was time to leave for better opportunities as he had learned all the tricks of the trade. Abdul had welcomed the change with open arms.

On Abdul’s recommendation, Charan got an auto-rickshaw on rent to give wings to his dream. Post formalities of obtaining a driver’s license and the works, Charan in no time started his journey with no strings attached. Delhi was his workplace and that’s how he wanted to keep it. Road rage is common in big cities. The capital of India was no different. Gradually Charan got acclimatized to this habit of Delhites and practiced being immune to this universal trait. Delhi was beautiful in the early morning and late night in the absence of blaring horns, traffic, and chaos. It had taken him a month to know all of Delhi. Sikander had accompanied him as a co-driver and things fell in place because of this help. Sikander in his sixties had a heart of gold. Age and experience had polished him into a skilled driver but alcohol had taken all his vigor. Driving was at bay and this new change for a month was balm for his sagging spirits. Sikander and Charan turned out to be best of buddies. Charan was in luck for the second time. Abdul and Sikander were his blessings for completely different reasons now. Something he missed with his biological father because the relationship had soured as Charan took up driving and chose to desert the legacy of cobblers. For him, his parents were a responsibility now as his real families were Abdul and Sikander. The rest of the world were his clients/customers and nothing more.

All sorts of people sat in his auto. College goers, tourists, housewives, employed class, elderly, unemployed, handicapped people, foreigners, and policemen too. Solo travelers were his favorites as that meant more talking. Couples were too lost in themselves and sometimes fights filled his personal space. Heated discussions, grievances, abuses, advice, and guidance were part of his daily routine. His ears were always open and alert unaffecting his driving skills. Then there were some who used to introspect and muse during their rides. Pin drop silence buzzed throughout that detour. The interaction was futile as the distraction of any kind was a no-show for such commuters. A brief yes no used to kill the zeal to know more. Some respected him and some were rude. Some looked down upon him and some treated him as their equal. Some startup offices had kept him as their employees’ official carrier and some residents called on him in the need of the hour. Within a year his passion was giving him rich dividends as he was able to send money to his aging parents without much ado. More money meant crazy work hours and this also meant the ability to take things in was taking a hit too. Constantly being on the road had its effects. Sleep was less and noise pollution was at its maximum. Things that gave him pleasure earlier were now turning out into irritation. He used to yearn to get back to Basti as his childhood love Seema helped him calm down. Her presence soothed him. Her caring loving ways gave hope of a life to be. City life on the road used to rob him of all that he wanted to build and create with Seema. His return to Delhi every time added anger that raged within. People were selfish, disrespectful, aggressive, and used to vent in his auto. His auto was his temple and people who sat in it left a dark trace. Those traces started leaving a dark impact and Charan harbored feelings of cleansing. Cleansing of the filth that was accumulating as residues for his vulnerable mind.

From a peace-loving individual, he was gradually transforming into a collector. Collector of information so as to be executed when due. His one-room abode near Ajmeri Gate was a mess. On the surface, he was a clean-shaven man, 5’4 height, brown hair with a thick beard with average looks. From inside he was exploding. It had been three months now to that incident of Nirbhaya in 2012 who was brutally raped by six people and left to die. Delhiites especially girls were scared to venture out in the night if alone. This reluctance was affecting his work for extra perks. Most of the time he was cash trapped and this started resulting in gaps in financial help back home. This led to frustration. Nagging customers doubled it. Customers took to their phones to vent in his auto and this gave a glimpse of the person they were when alone in the company of a stranger. He made notes in his mind of that person and when at home poured it all on paper as a database. Main facts were maintained. Facts like location pick up and drop. Charan recognized them with their faces. Not all shared their names with him. He eavesdropped on their conversations and this helped him ascertain the type of person they were from within. Many times people forget that somebody might have been attentive during their public transport getaways. Charan made full use of his ears.

Mrs. Biswas was a chronic complainer. She loved to complain. At the age of 59, everything was a big blunder as she was always correct in her mind. Her daughter-in-law always had faults. Her parents were blamed for that. The voice on the other side of the phone never snubbed Mrs. Biswas but on the contrary, added fuel to fire as Mrs. Biswas always said that person understood for which she was grateful. Likewise, Mr. Garg hated dogs and his colony was full of them. In his solitary trips to his best friend’s house, he often confided in Charan about the filth they leave behind, and by hitting and kicking the dogs he used to punish them. Abhijeet and Abhigyan fought over the girl they loved as both were mad about a particular Sudha who was a college-goer. Charan’s ears never could go deaf even if he wanted. A driver with earphones in his ears is always shouted at to remove them. This was customary for full attention on the road. Sinha Saab was an advocate and his clients often called him. Expletives to law-abiding individuals was a given as he was a criminal lawyer. His phone calls used to give Charan headaches. He helped criminals to go scot-free. This enraged Charan the most. Abhay always complained to his dad for not treating him as an adult. Their auto rides were always full of complaints. Love birds as commuters brought smiles. Lovey-dovey embraces were common then. Stealing kisses and smooches reminded him of Seema. Policemen as clients meant no money. Free rides were obliged thus creating a dent in his pocket. People who irritated him the most got a mention in that papery database,

From a peace-loving individual to a frustrated lad when did he become Charan had no clue. Visits to Basti were less frequent as the workload was too much. 15 to 18 hours he was on the road to provide a better life to his parents and to build a better life for himself and Seema. Sex suffered and so did his sanity. In the prime of youth, he was feeding his internal demons of withdrawal from social connections, friendship, love, and brotherhood. Abdul and Sikander could see the visible change but never brought it to the surface whenever he visited them individually. City life had an adverse effect on Charan as compared to them and both were not happy with his lost state. What was going on in Charan’s mind nobody could guess but he was unhappy that was for sure. He resented being an auto-rickshaw driver more so after relocating to the city was a wild guess because money was good but peace of mind had gone for a toss. Charan was getting sucked into the grind and he had no clue. Unconsciously he was maintaining a list of people who he hated as his clients but the exterior was always calm. He was transforming into a split personality and he was unaware.

Perpetual love notes from the beloved, tender loving care from parents, and acts of checking-in from near and dear ones keep one sane. Charan was in his own sphere minus all this. He was becoming a money-making machine with no regular breaks. A cycle which he created himself and was getting succumbed to unknowingly. A poor childhood and physical distance from his beloved Seema were working negatively on him. He was a healthy man but city life aided in turning the tables. He was competing with himself for his sanity but all attempts were futile as days and months passed. He was losing all hope from within but none could see it. The paper file was getting thicker and thicker and his loneliness was on a new high. Trauma had taken hold and he could not understand that. Noise pollution had got its prey and he was turning into something else he just couldn’t control. He craved rescue. A rescue from all that he was becoming. His questions were more silent than before. He was beyond repair; he knew it deep down.

After three days a cold-blooded murder made headlines. The person was left to die on the road with a note ‘Dogs are God’s creation too just like you’. The words were alphabets that were cut so as to make that sentence. That statement on paper was being flashed on the television. It was to be a busy day and Charan was all set to start the day. After the routine morning bath, he ordered his favorite masala tea. Charan was sipping his favorite tea in the usual tea shop and froze. Finally, the withdrawal from himself had taken its first victim and he was clueless about how it happened.