Tales from the Auto (part 2)

If the regular auto(rick) is India's answer to a taxi service, then the 'shared' auto is their equivalent to a strange loner picking up hitch-hikers and charging them money (a lot less than the regular auto) for lifts. It is a slightly bigger, two-tiered version of the normal auto and by two-tiered, I mean that they have stuck a plank in front of the original seat for people to sit on. There are no particular rules for the driver to adhere to and he is allowed to pick up as many fares as possible, which means that the tiny vehicle is usually a very crowded and sweaty mode of transport.

This tends to lead to a lot of sitting on laps and some aggressive elbow action. The other day, whilst sharing Ahmed the driver's seat, he told me to put my arm round his shoulders because it was "safer and more comfortable" for him. Whatever his story, me and Ahmed had a nice long chinwag about the merits of him buying his own auto as opposed to renting one. This is a slight twist on the conversation I have with almost every single cab driver in England. It is absolute gold dust in these situations because they open up to you straight away and means you can sit back, pretend to listen and keep nodding away like you've experienced exactly the dilemma he's facing. When in reality, the closest i've come is not having enough money for the bus.

There has been a lot of strange interaction in Autos with curious Chennai-folk since I've been here too. Once, a man on his way to work was giving me earache with all his questions, so I thought i'd ask a few of my own. He was delighted with my interest and immediately gave me his business card, which informed me that he imported and exported human hair. I almost threw up the breakfast that I hadn't eaten. Another auto-driver who spoke minimal English thrust a phone into my hand and demanded I spoke to his family. The conversation wasn't sparkling but I managed to deduce that the woman I was speaking to was either his mother, his girlfriend or his wife. Maybe all three, who knows?

Just yesterday, when I was returning from the cinema where I had seen the decent '127 Hours', I hopped in a shared auto that was bursting with what seemed to be just one large family. Anyway, whilst perched on the edge of the vehicle, a little fat baby started to hit me. I looked round and there were two identical looking babies both slapping me. Much to my horror, they were twins named Paul and Pearl. I've always been decidedly edgy around twins, but identical twins of a different sex to each other is a recipe for disaster. No thankyou very much. I lied to their mother about her offspring being 'nice babies' and got out of the auto immediately. Because it was my stop. Of course.

Oh, and 127 Hours was very enjoyable. The Indian crowd was in typically boisterous form and welcomed A.R. Rahman's name with a huge cheer in the opening credits. Although I felt the ending, whilst emotional, could have done with taking a page from ITV's book of emotional climaxes by playing Take That's 'Greatest Day' over the top. Gets me every time.