Salaam, Vanita Raghuvanshi behen!

COURTESY: By Aditya Anand, Mumbai Mirror | Aug 8, 2013


APMC officials in Vashi say Raghuvanshi is the first woman truck driver they have ever seen

Am I from outer space, asked Yogita Raghuvanshi, as catcalls and booes greeted her. There was a great stir at the potato and onion yard at APMC Vashi on Wednesday, when Yogita Raghuvanshi swerved into the market complex in her massive ten-wheel truck bearing a 16-tonne consignment of potatoes. Work came to a standstill as workers and fellow drivers at the yard dropped whatever they were doing and stared at her in disbelief.


Raghuvanshi was the first woman truck driver at the market complex and had actually created
history. But as she entered, the crowd there broke into a buzz of bitchy comments; she was also
greeted with hostile stares but was unfazed, referring to every male around as "bhaiya," even as a
bunch of loaders booed at her.

In comparison with what Raghuvanshi has endured in her life, this reception was as nothing and
rattled her not at all. The series of unfortunate events that planted her firmly behind the wheel of a truck, started with her arranged marriage in 1991.

Raghuvanshi was originally from Uttar Pradesh but brought up in Nandurbar, Maharashtra, in a family of four siblings. Till she arrived in Bhopal as a bride, she had no clue that her husband was not the advocate he claimed to be.

"I was told he was a lawyer practising in Bhopal High Court. But his family hid the truth from us," Raghuvanshi said. But she resigned herself to her fate and all was well till 2000, when her husband died in a road accident. "His death got me into becoming a truck driver," Raghuvanshi, who has a B.Com and
LLB degree, and is also possibly the most qualified truck driver in the country, said.

Why did she not take on a white-collar job, with her qualifications? Driving a truck gets you instant payment, she says. And with her two children, she could not wait to earn. Trying to get clients as a lawyer, then getting them to cough up their payment, would have been very tough, she said.

With her husband not leaving a will behind, she and her in-laws battled it out in court for his property, but the latter managed to acquire everything. "It was a nightmare. I had to bring up my children and run the household," Raghuvanshi, who has single-handedly brought up her two children, Yashika and
Yashwin, said. While Yashika is doing her BE, son Yashwin is in class ten."

It was a sudden change in plans that brought me to Mumbai," Raghuvanshi said. She and her cleaner Trilok Singh, known as Kallu, had set off from Agra on Sunday for Bhopal, which is also where Raghuvanshi lives. She has been driving her monster truck for eight years now and, before she reached Vashi,
had been on the road for the last 20 days.

Raghuvanshi is the first ever woman truck driver they had seen, confirmed APMC officials in Vashi who too, had come around to take a good look at her, having heard she was arriving. "I don't understand why these men think that a woman driver is unacceptable. Have I come from outer space?" Raghuvanshi asked this reporter.

She wants people to know that she is a "frog in the ocean" and not a "frog in a well". There is dearth of truck drivers today, she said. For the last decade there have been hardly any new drivers joining this trade. She attributed the problem to the harassment by policemen and RTO sleuths along every highway.

She has driven 5 lakh kilometres so far, and has also met Tamil Nadu's Selvamani, the only other known lady truck driver in the country. "Roads in south India are the best to drive on. Gujarat, Maharashtra and Madhya Pradesh are the worst," she said.

Her favourite consignment is beer. "There are better margins in beer. The worst is biscuits. They break in these craters called potholes," she said in disgust. After unloading the potatoes at Vashi, Raghuvanshi got busy making calls to get her next consignment.

"I finally took a bath. It was my first after Agra, which was last Sunday," she said beaming, adding that sleeping in the ghats, bathing by the riverside and using open air washrooms were something she had become used to.

For Raghuvanshi it is another five years before she hopes to retire. "My kids will be settled by then. I will elope in my fantasy," she said. But even as she said she hoped for a delivery that would take her back to Bhopal, where she could sleep peacefully in her own home, a consignment of biscuits headed for
Agra came her way!

Letter to CEO, Ahmednagar Cantonment Board

5 August 2013

Mr Vilas Harischandra Pawar,

The Chief Executive Officer

Office of the Cantonment Board

AMX Chowk, Bhingar

Dist Ahmednagar/Maharashtra

PIN 414 002

Phone: 0241-2326009

Dear Mr Pawar,

Sub: Vehicle Entry Tax @ Ahmednagar Cantonment area – Onkara Constructions

Greetings.

During my interaction with truck drivers at Devaraj Urs Truck Terminal in Bangalore in July this year, they shared some of their bitter experience with the alleged illegal gratification of Onkara Constructions, your concessionaire on the Ahmednagar Cantonment Board stretch who is authorized to collect Vehicle Entry Tax on your behalf.

Each truck passing through this section, I understand, is charged Rs.200/- (Rupees Two Hundred Only) in either direction. Onkara Constructions staff, manning this stretch, issue receipt  in the form of multiple Rs.15/-.

That is, drivers pay Rs.200 and get 10 numbers of Rs.15/- receipt (see attachment of receipt images). This works out to Rs.150/-(Rupees One Hundred and Fifty only).

Extra Rs.50/- is pocketed by Onkara Constructions staff obviously with no receipt of this amount.

Drivers’ objection to this kind of ‘highhandedness’ by Onkara Constructions staff is met with a deafening silence.

Sir, one is tend to believe is this ‘highhandedness’ is practiced without the Board being unaware. Or perhaps, Board officials are aware, but turn a blind eye.

Either way, this calls for a thorough investigation at your end.

A Right To Information Act application is being filed seeking more information about the Board practices on Vehicle Entry Tax collection procedure and the antecedents of Onkara Constructions selection process etc separately.

                                               

 Look forward to hearing from you,

Cheers

Ramesh Kumar

Copy to:

Hon’ble Minister for Defence, Government of India,New Delhi 110001

Chairman, NHAI, New Delhi

AIMTC/AIWTA/ACOGOA

Always in public!

Pitch dark it was all around. Nothing visible. One can hardly see beyond two feet. February it was. The double carriageway National Highway 56, linking Benares or Varanasi as is popularly known with Lucknow, remained silent. No vehicles at all. I could not fathom what the time was then: four? Five? No idea.

Anil Pandey’s snoring from the upper berth was discernible: loud and clear. Poor guy. He was in deep sleep. Somehow, I managed to snuggle out of the more comfortable lower berth. The fog outside had made the huge expanse of Tata truck’s front glass too opaque, adding to the sea of darkness pervading there already. Hardly a feet away, I noticed a bundle over the bonnet sandwiched between the two front seats. That ought to be Parvez Khan, second driver of the vehicle. Pandeyji, the senior most driver, commandeered the ship carrying 26 tonnes of Tata Steel’s wire rod for Ludhiana. It was a stock transfer from the company’s Jamshedpur mother plant.

Pandeyji’s mission was to cross the 1,650 km stretch crossing five states – Chattisgarh, Bihar, Uttar Pradesh, Haryana and Punjab – in six days. We had been flagged off by Ramesh Benniwal, fleet commander of Credence Logistics, at the Transport Nagar in  Jamshedpur just before sunset two days ago. That’s when the entry/exit restrictions had been lifted permitting heavy commercial vehicles to ride onto the Tatanagar tarred road: National Highway 33.  

It was Valentine’s Day (February 14) and Credence’s Arvind Ambo quipped through SMS, “What a way to celebrate your Valentine’s Day in the company of drivers!” Valentine Day or no, my trip was planned well in advance. Moreover, if one has to celebrate ‘love for one’s beloved’, it can be any day. Why only February 14?

I rubbed my eyes and succeeded in locating my spectacles, lying next to the make-shift pillow. My biological clock was working fine and it was time for bowel movement. So I surmised that it ought to be past four because for fifty five years that’s how my bowels have been functioning. Wake up at the pre-fixed hour, empty one’s bowels, brush teeth and gulp down a hot cuppa: sugarless tea or coffee. In that sequence. This programme has not changed much all my life. Why should it today?

The only hitch was that I simply had no clue as to how to extricate myself out of this narrow 8 x 5 feet Tata horse-cum-trailer cabin. No way, I could get out without disturbing the young Khan tucked in a bundle over the bonnet. Gathering courage, I  hissed: “Parvez!” I did not want to wake up Pandeyji in the process.

A startled Khan woke up and sensing my need, made space for me to exit and thoughtfully handed a two-litre Pepsi bottle filled up water. What else, but for morning ablutions! It was no shock for me since it was not my maiden outing on a truck. I had been on a similar binge a few months ago. The only difference was the payload and destination: the payload was eight Hyundai cars for Delhi delivery from Hyundai Motor India’s Irungattukottai manufacturing facility in Tamil Nadu and the distance was 2,800 km. With driver Umesh Rana and assistant Pinto Kumar Sahu, I had crossed Tamil Nadu, Karnataka, Maharashtra, Gujarat, Rajasthan, Haryana and Delhi over seven days.

That’s when I realized that it would be next to impossible to look for a proper western toilet to relieve myself every morning. The young Rana – hailing from Chattisgarh – understood my predicament but could do nothing. “There’s no option, sirji,” he advised while offering a plastic bottle – a two-litre Aquafina PET bottle  – on the first night at Krishnagiri, Tamil Nadu incidentally my birthplace! Tears welled up. What a shame! Am I going to defecate in public place? Even if this chore has to be done behind the bushes, still it would be a public place. Sir Vidya Naipaul’s castigating comment on defecating in public rolled over my mind screen.     The memory of opting out of attending a close friend’s family wedding several years ago in a remote village in southern Tamil Nadu purely because I was well appraised of non-availability of western toilet facilities there returned to haunt me for a while.

What now? You can control your hunger. Anger, too. Not this, I told  myself. Tried to reason that my forefathers would not have access to toilet facilities we are used to today. Holding the Pepsi bottle in hand, I climbed down on the NH 56 on a dark February night for the most important task of the day! Looked in both directions and walked a few hundred yards. There was no traffic at this unearthly hour, thankfully. Crouched behind a nameless tree on the kerb and completed the task in the shortest possible time and returned to the cabin. What a relief! Till the next day, I don’t have to be worried. For that, I need to be extra careful in what I eat during the next 24 hours. Just one shameful act a day is what I can concede. Nothing more. Luckily, I met that target effortlessly while completing 10,000 kilometres over the past six months in trucks.

Hardly once or twice in this entire journey, I had recourse to a decent  toilet facilities. For me, this kind of discomfiture was one off or temporary. But for the thousands of drivers and assistants moving tonnes and tonnes of goods across the arteries of India, defecating in public is a daily chore. Once at least, if not more. When I tried to analyze that perhaps they have no access to private toilet facilities back home whenever they return for a short holiday showed my darker side. I cringed.

Barring Gujarat whose highways are dotted with spacious halting spots with cheap eateries and toilet facilities, such a basic necessity does not exist in any other state. Gujarat is truly the most trucker-friendly state!

By and large, HCV drivers halt their vehicles past midnight for a few hours’ sleep. They prefer to halt at dhabas (roadside eateries) where other trucks are also parked for security reasons. There is always an torch and lathi-wielding private security lad – young or old who is not on the rolls of anyone – who ekes out a living by charging a princely sum of Rs.10 per truck per night. Drivers ungrudgingly “pay” for this service. But, these dhabas do not have toilets. Before steering their goods-laden vehicles away from the parking lot, drivers fill their empty Coke/Pepsi bottles, cross over the highway, find a bush and relieve themselves. It’s always in public places.

Why no concerted effort is attempted to meet this basic need of drivers beats me forever.  Whose responsibility it is? Well, it is a question worth pondering.

This was the opening chapter in my maiden book, 10,000 KM on Indian Highways  published in November 2011.

Check out www.10000kmonindianhighways.com

"Aam" Engagement @ Kandivli

WANDERINGS IN MAHARASHTRA

  

No sooner did my official work get over during a recent visit to Mumbai, I decided to spend some 'quality time' with truck drivers.

The only challenge was in picking the location because one bumps into hordes of them wherever I was traversing. Bombay Port Trust would have been the best choice with hundreds of heavy commercial vehicles both inside and out. I also thought of a ride on the ever-busy Mumbai-Pune Expressway over the weekend, but dropped the idea.

How about the loading area of Mahindra Tractors in Kandivli? Delhi-based Selvan Dasaraj and Mumbai's Nasarwanji Huafreed of Mahindra Logistics quickly burnt telephone wires between the political capital and commercial capital of India and gave a 'go ahead' signal.

Mind you, it was a weekend and the factory closed and therefore the chances of meeting truck drivers (both inbound and outbound) would be doubtful. Nonetheless, I was game. Uncertainty is part of life, isn't it?

Once the location finalised, the next agenda was about what to give these unsung heroes while meeting. I cannot imagine saying 'hello' to them with an empty hand. They don't need 'lectures', but I was sure they would appreciate a bit of love and affection in some form. Not the Sanjay Dutt style 'jhappi' (frontal hugging style of greeting). Something more concrete.

How about some oranges? Or banana? With wife and a family friend, stepped out to procure some fruits.

The Sundaresans – family friend with whom I was staying – and spouse Kala stepped out on a hot Mumbai afternoon in search of fruits. Though mango was the choice, which variety became the next critical issue to be decided. Hapus? Devgadh? .... 

A few tasting sessions later, the choice fell on Devgad. Since our requirement was large – 150 at least – hard bargaining transpired under the tutelage of Lalita Sundaresan. She was such a tough negotiator, the final price fell from Rs.450/dozen to Rs.280/dozen over two hour buying session.

In mid-April, with Selvan Dasaraj did we not give away over 1,000 oranges to truck drivers on highways and 1,000 soft toys to their children in Koderma, Hazaribagh, Ranchi, Barhi, Jamshedpur of Jharkhand state over a week long trip? The memories of smiling and happy faces of those drivers and their parivar (family) came rushing back.

We opted for Devgadh variety mangoes, as citrus fruits were not to be seen in Vile Parle fruit bazaar. Moreover, it was 'aam ka mausam' (It’s mango season). Picked up around 150 succulent mangoes and got them stuffed airily in polythene bags.

Meanwhile, messages came pouring in about the possibility of a few loaded trucks at the Kandivli loading yard. After seeing off my better half at Andheri station, who was on her way to Delhi via August Kranti Express, I dashed across to Kandivli in a three wheeler with several polythene bag filled mangoes, guided by Samir Rane, a senior Mahindra group executive, from his home since it was a weekend.

"Reach Gate No. 2 and someone will meet you," advised the invisible Rane over phone.

By the time my tri-wheeler reached the destination, Sujit Renose, another youthful Mahindra Logistics executive, was waiting and we moved to the loading yard, hardly 2 km away from the factory gate.

Renose has been told to assist me 'interact' with truck drivers at the loading yard.

So he was surprised to see me with some 'cargo'  - a bit heavy too.

During the short ride from factory gate to the loading yard, I briefed him about my current mission: to distribute mangoes to truck drivers and interact with them.

"Why?" the curious French bearded Mahindra Logistics executive demanded.

It is my way of showing affection and sympathies for these hapless human beings, who significantly help you and I to lead a comfortable life on a daily basis, but mostly ill-treated by all and sundry.

"Imagine a day without them," I told him.

When he heard about his own company's involvement in this kind of driver interaction programme on its own, and in association with KRK Foundation, a registered Trust floated by my family recently to improve the working and living conditions of truck drivers and their families, his enthusiasm quotient moved northwards in a single burst.

By the time, the tri-wheeler halted at the loading yard, Renose was already out with two polythene bags filled with mangoes.

Since it was a weekend and almost no loading, the yard was bereft of any activity. But it was not empty either. We could spot several vehicles which would wait over the weekend to pick up loads next working day.

Drivers were lazing around. Playing cards under trucks. Cooking dinner in open. Or even inside the driver cabins! Or simply sleeping, braving the hot May Mumbai weather.

We could watch some drivers and assistants walking into the nearby bushes with Coke/Pepsi bottles filled with water to perform ablutions.

This yard is nothing new to me. In 2011, I had spent an entire night in the company of Zubair Khan, who drove trucks for Rinku Commercial Carriers of Anand carrying Mahindra tractors from Kandivli to other locations. That trip from Kandivli to Dharwad was still green in my memory since during that trip, my gold chain was snatched in a midnight operation by an unseen thief near Kolhapur and which I had written about (At Razor's Edge, 10,000 Km on Indian Highways (Second Edition), pp.10-15).

Renose's modus operandi was simple: he would approach drivers, dig into the polythene bag, pick a solitary mango and hand over to the suspicious-looking recipient. When confronted with "What's the objective?" from drivers, he would explain to them the purpose of my visit and a little about my background and my 'interest' in truck drivers' lives.

One by one, they would climb down or step out and come closer to where I used to stand and say thanks not verbally, but with a smile.

Most of them hail from Uttar Pradesh, Bihar, Jharkhand and Maharashtra and language is no barrier. During the interaction when they realize that I had indeed travelled in trucks - like them for 21,000 Km over three years - to understand their lives, they become relaxed. Perhaps, they feel a sense of ‘kinship’.

Most of the districts or villages they come from whichever part of India is nothing alien to me. I had certainly touched those points in my sojourn.

Their concern is universal: RTO challenges, lack of resting facility on highways. Absence of toilet facilities. Absence of a structured employment, thus depriving them and their families of social security net.

The topic of sex on highways did crop up. When they are away from home for months together, the physical intimacy assumes gigantic proportions. Why not safe sex by using condoms? Unlike the truck drivers outside Chinchwad loading yard who had argued with me in 2010 that animals don't use condoms, the Kandivli lot giggled. A young driver, married for three years, confessed to 'maintaining control' over his sexual urges, much to the amusement of his peers!

While highways have improved a great deal, they were critical of lack of facilities for long distance truck drivers en route. "Nobody is bothered about us," quipped a 40 plus driver.

Highway heists are on the rise, it is pointed out. Are they not responsible in a way when they deliberately disconnect GPS machines? Is it not true that they halt their vehicles on the roadside overnight without any security for the cargo to visit their families living in nearby villages? There were no responses and I did not expect one because it is a regular practice.

I left them for a while to ruminate and enjoy mangoes. Why are they cooking in open space or inside driver cabins? Unhygienic and risky propositions, respectively. Why are they moving behind bushes with Coke/Pepsi bottles? Why not such loading yards be equipped with basic kitchen infrastructure and toilets?

"We can and should improve the facilities for them at points which are under our control, viz.,  the loading points," says Jaiveer Johal of Johal Logistics. "In Chennai, for example we have a rest house for drivers, where once they return they can have a bath, get some sleep. Providing them a room with fans, kitchen with basic utensils and gas connection for cooking. The costs of this are negligible; the rested driver is priceless as he's carrying/driving goods worth several million rupees," adds he.

Capt. Gur-Prasad Kohli of Wallenius Wilhelmsen Logistics India is credited with the view that if we collect Rs.10 for each vehicle produced in the country, i.e. Tractor, CV, Passenger Car, maybe 5+5 between OEM and LSP, with some land allocated by OEMs it should be sufficient to maintain and run rest houses for drivers at all loading points.

As I was exiting the loading yard, someone asked: "Are you contesting some election? ... If not, why this mango distribution?"

I smiled and moved on.

*-‘Aam’, a Hindi word, means mango as well as general public.


ALSO READ:

http://driversduniya.blogspot.in/2013/08/baara-anna-jhoot-chaar-anna-sach.html

http://driversduniya.blogspot.in/2013/08/troubling-truck-on-highways-offer-liquor.html

Baara anna jhoot, Chaar anna sach!

 JHARKHAND WANDERINGS....

  

It has to happen…. And it happened

Believe it or not over the past four years I have come to be identified as someone whose heart beats for truck drivers. Always.

I can’t deny that.

Yet…

It does not mean that I am blind to their faults.

Never once did I miss a chance to pull them up for their wrong doings – including their drunken driving, clandestinely running second ‘home’ away from their main family, diesel theft, disconnecting GPS systems to avoid detection, leaving loaded vehicles on highways unprotected en route to spend a night with their families – deep inside villages.

At times, I had even gone to the extent of admonishing them for fathering more children than they can afford to feed, clothe and shelter. “Yeh, uparwalah kaa meherbaani hai!” (This is God’s gift!) is how they sheepishly respond.

Like elementary school students, they heard me out quietly and gently chided me at the end for ‘trying to discipline them” and declaring non-challantly that they are ‘incorrigible’.

That was a kind of bon homie I have developed with these God’s children.

Yet….

When Ranjit Singh(turbanned Sardarji in the pix) blurted out, “Baara anna jhoot aur chaar anna sach” at the Tatanagar transport hub on an April morning, I was disturbed.

The portly Sardarji, owner of three trucks plying Tata Steel wares to wherever he is asked to, was in his elements. Actually, he called me out when I was about to exit his first floor hall where he was seated with several other Punjab/Haryana drivers after our short interaction with an elderly Rewari-based driver.

My companion Selvan Dasaraj, Vice President, Mahindra Logistics, earlier in the day hinted that this man may turn out to be an ‘interesting guy’. I was unsure of that call because his responses were monosyllabic and gave an indication that he did not take us seriously.

Seriously about what?

Our aim of the Jharkhand wandering was to interact with truck drivers and visit their families in remote villages to get a sense of what really happens when these motorized charioteers are out on the highways and their family members – spouse, children or parents – fall sick and who takes care of their children’s education in their long absence from home.

Singh’s body language also signaled that our mission was ‘wrong’.

Why?

He felt and expressed that truck drivers are ‘no angels’.

If not that, then what?

“Jaan ka dushman”(Perpetual enemies), is how he responded. They are simply not trustworthy is what he tried to convey without any rancor.

He did not elaborate his stance when prodded.

That’s when Selvan and I decided to move out.

Then came his ‘Come’ call.

While Selvan and I positioned in the foldable chairs, the Sardarji adjusted his paunch and moved on the dais over which he was perched to come closer to us.

“They are not trustworthy,” he began.

They mean who?

“I mean truck drivers,” he spelt out clearly.

Why did he say that?

“They are liars…. Baara anna jhoot aur chaar anna sach,” (They utter 75% falsehood and 25% only truth) he blurted out.

Quickly, Selvan and I exchanged glances.

Did he not sound like I K Malik of Malik Roadlines whom we met the previous evening near Giridih on National Highway 2 at a roadside body building fabrication unit on our way to Tatanagar?

Within 24 hours, we heard the cruelty of drivers towards motor maliks – who claimed they are helpless and trapped – for the second time.

Did we not hear that truck drivers are real smart and therefore any sign of sympathy towards them is ill-conceived?

“Look,” Ranjit Singh commanded, helping us from our collective silent spell caused by that ‘Baara anna” opinion.

A clear case of mistrust, a sensitive psychological but life-altering human trait. 

Instantly, what I had accessed in the notebook of my daughter, doing her Masters in Psychology, about this issue a few months ago began a rerun:

“Trust is a fundamental human experience, necessary for society to function and for any person to be relatively happy. Without it, fear rules. Trust is not an either/or proposition, but a matter of degree. Everyone has uncertainty about whom to trust, how much to trust, when not to trust, and so forth at one time or another. In fact, everyday we make choices about whom and how much to trust, and sometimes we trust more and sometimes less. That’s a good thing. A total lack of mistrust would indicate a serious psychological problem. Judgments about when and whom to trust help keep us alive!”

What’s Singh’s background like? Singh began his career as truck driver and graduated into a motor malik with three trucks under his belt over a period of time. However, he stopped driving and sought the assistance of others to drive for him.

“You will never know what is the actual scene when your driver calls you in the middle of the night and hollers that the RTO has stopped him and demanding Rs.5,000 and humbly asks you: ‘saab, what to do? Tell me!’. Hell, you know that you are far away from the site from where he is calling and no way you can verify what he says is true or false.”

So what he does?

“What can you do? You tell him (driver) to pay up and move on,” he says philosophically.

But you know you’ve been taken for a ride, he reminds me with a heavy dose of bitterness.

Why? “That’s hard life,” he comments. What can he do?

I want to ask him whether he was also economical with truth when he himself was driving someone’s truck.

However, I resist the temptation because I firmly believe that what you sow is what you reap.

It is perhaps comeuppance time for Ranjit Singh.

If drivers are taking him for a ride, why does he continue to be in the same business? Why can’t he shut shop and get into some other better and less cumbersome business – where trust or mistrust is not such a big challenge?

“Which other business I know?” asks the portly truck driver-turned-motor malik who never revealed to his MBA son, currently working in Saudi Arabia and an B.Ed daughter teaching in some Jharkhand school, that it was his earning as a driver that helped them see better times in their childhood and their present social status. By the time, they came off age, Singh maintains that he has turned into motor malik and always sitting in Tatanagar transport hub and sending his trucks with drivers. Not driving himself. Yes, he has moved up the social ladder – from that of a truck driver to motor malik. Remarkable indeed. There are many such cases across India.

He is confident that his transport business will die a natural death once he leaves for heavenly abode at some point of time. Until that unscheduled departure from terra firma, he would continue to be in this business. Neither of his children is likely to inherit this trucking business, which according to him, is “nothing but constant stress and strain”.

Singh’s story automatically brings back the sweet memories of our encounter with the fast-paced and unstoppable Malik (man in checked full sleeves in extreme left), one of the best story tellers I had run into on highways, the previous day.

We ran into him at the body building fabrication centre where his new Leyland chassis is being built and simultaneously a team of surveyors from ICICI Lombard are at the same spot clicking photos of his ill-fated truck that is awaiting insurance claim.

Over steaming cups of tea at a roadside dhaba, surrounded by half a dozen eager listeners, the moustache-less Malik opens up with a bit of his family history. This Patna-based motor malik with a fleet of 12 trucks has some property in Giridih and hence switches places frequently.

“Mind you, the entire fleet of 12 is bought with my money earned in Doha, Qatar,” he dramatically announces. The idea is to dispel any wrong notion that his trucking business is a flourishing business and he did not begin with one truck and graduated into a 12-truck motor malik by ploughing back his profits from the maiden truck.

“But that is the impression,” he emphasizes. Even his own brother-in-law kept nudging him that Malik is ‘rolling in money due to trucking business’ and hence wanted Malik to help him get into the same business.

“I sensed that experience will teach him the real lessons of life and therefore helped him buy a truck,” says he with a mischievous smile. Hardly a  year later, the same brother-in-law wants Malik’s assistance to get out of the trucking business because, “now he knows what is the reality of running a truck business”, admits he.

What’s the biggest challenge in running truck business?

“Driver management,” pat comes the response. “They are the asli (real) kings. Not us, the fleet owners. We lead a high blood pressure life and sleepless nights day in and day out,” says he. His pain is discernible.

Listen to his own narration:

I was having my evening tea with my brother in law at a roadside dhaba a few months ago.

At the adjacent table, there was a person having his food. He was getting fuzzy with the food being served. “The chicken is bad. Take it away. Give me lamb roast,” he was ordering the hotel staff.

Then his mobile began to ring. He picked, noticed at the dial and said: ‘Oh, my God. It is “Tension” on the line’.

That word ‘Tension’ made me sit up and realize that he meant his malik. We are used to this kind of jargon among trucking fraternity that fleet owners are nicknamed as ‘Tension’ by drivers.

‘Hello, saab. I have arrived at Tata Steel, but there is a long queue. Maybe 500 trucks in front of me. It looks like our truck will get an entry into the unloading yard after 2 days.”

I pinched my brother in law and told him: “Look, he is sitting here in this dhaba (150 km away from Tata Steel plant), but narrating a cock and bull story to his malik….. Listen.. Listen”

Again the driver was speaking into the phone:

‘Saab, I have spoken to the gate keeper and he demands Rs.2000 to help me jump queue. But, I have negotiated the price to Rs.1,000. He has agreed.”

…

‘Saab, I know you will not say ‘no’ to this price. …’

“Hello…. Hello’

The driver deliberately acts as if the phone line got disconnected and puts the phone down.

He looks at the plate of lamb roast which has become cold. Pushing it awaym he shouts:

“Chotu, take this away. Not good. Get me a fresh tandoori chicken’.

Malik looks at us triumphantly, having proved his point.

What is his point?

Drivers are crooks and contrary to general perception, the motor maliks are to be pitied. Not truck drivers.

That is not all.

Two of his drivers are today fleet owners, Malik claims categorically.

That too just after 18 months of working for Malik Roadlines.

Don’t ask him how did they manage to move up.

Yet we pose that question.

“Can’t you figure out yourself?....” demands a crestfallen Malik and after a short pause proclaims, “They looted me consistently. Yes, I have no proof, but that is the truth.”

Is he making any money? If he is not, why he continues to be in this business? Why can’t he move out?

“The moment I say I want to sell (my) trucks, my social status will take a beating. How can I afford that infamy? So I bite my teeth and continue to suffer. Remember the cost of everything has gone up: diesel, tyre, drivers’ salary, RTO bribes, more toll gates … everything. But the freight rates have not changed for the past 5 years. No jokes,” he confesses.

As I take the last sip of my sugarless strong tea from the broken porcelain cup, I look across National Highway 2 – linking Delhi with Kolkota. The new truck that is being built belongs to none other than my host – I K Malik.

Does Malik – like Ranjit Singh – really mean what he says? Or are they making a fool of Selvan and myself?

I am absolutely clueless. Am sure Selvan too.

Are truck drivers so cruel? Maybe some.

It is a fact that when truck drivers become owners, by and large they ensure their fleet is driven/managed by their own kith and kin. Not anyone outside the family circle. Reason: distrust of their own fraternity, perhaps.

Notwithstanding the perpetual distrust/mistrust between motor maliks and drivers, both will survive and co-exist forever. After all, they are mutually dependent and part of the same eco-system. Live and let live. Simple and perfect recipe for survival.

Who is to be blamed for this mutual distrust? Both, I will.

The way the Indian trucking business runs is pathetic. A majority of fleet owners are small, possessing not more than 3-5 trucks. They are totally unorganized and compete with each other for every single load. Though the rulebook talks about Minimum Freight Rate to be fixed by state governments, it is not practiced. Majority of the fleet owners do not hire drivers on a permanent monthly salary. Instead, drivers are hired on per trip basis under which a fixed sum is paid for moving goods from point A to point B. This fixed sum is inclusive of all en route expenses (interstate border crossing fees, road user fee/toll, RTO bribe besides driver’s food allowance). While a major chunk of these expenses are predictable and taken account of, the RTO bribe element is a dicey issue. What these highway vultures would demand is anybody’s guess.

In the absence of a regular paycheck, drivers look out for avenues to make quick money. The RTO bribe comes in as a perfect formula to milk maliks. Is there really a RTO on the highway who got his pound of flesh and did the driver genuinely part with money is difficult to verify by motor maliks. “You have no option. So you go along with whatever your driver says from hundreds of kilometer away from where you are. Mistrust my own driver? Even if I were to suspect him, what can I do – sitting in my office or home? If I sack him on the spot, what will happen to the merchandise being carried? Who will take care of it till a suitable alternative is found?” asks an agitated Ashwani Kaushik, Chairman of RHR Logistics based out of Chennai.

Ranjit Singh pointedly asks: “Hypothetically, let us assume, I sacked my cheating driver on the spot and somehow managed to send another driver to the spot without any loss of time. Tell me, what is the guarantee that the new driver will not cheat me? If not now, at the next available opportunity. My own experience is that it is a tricky business. There are no sovereign guarantees on the drivers’ good character.”

“My father was driver in Punjab. Whenever people see us in those days, they used to say, ‘Yeh Baoji’s ka beta hai” (This is Baoji’s son) and we were proud of driver’s family. It was a respectable profession those days. Not any more,” recollects Kaushik.

How any business can run and prosper if there is so much of mistrust between partners is a mystery. It runs still. Motor maliks have not hung up their boots and gone into the Himalayas. Drivers, uneducated and untrained as is wont, definitely take advantage of the RTO challenge on highways and milk motor maliks. All said and done, it is not a cosy relationship. But they co-exist.

Will a regular paycheck format usher in a change in the character of truck drivers and make him less of a cheat? Opinion reserved.

Catherine Ross and John Mirowsky, two eminent psychologists, put it succinctly: “Mistrust, the opposite of trust, is the cognitive aspect of interpreting the intentions and behaviour of others as unsupportive, self-seeking and dishonest. (It) is also an absence of faith in other people based on a belief that they are out for their own good and will exploit or victimize you in pursuit of their own goals.”

My own experience of 21,000 km travel on Indian highways in the company of hundreds of truck drivers across length and breadth of India over the past four years and close interaction with motor maliks – small, medium and big – proves that both sides live on the edge. No social safety net for drivers. Inadequate government support for fleet owners. Poor organizational capability of fleet owners to get their voice heard because the transport industry is dominated by agents and brokers whose investment is nothing to write home about. Certainly, it is an easy business to get into because it does not call for any specific skill sets: be it for a motor malik or truck driver. Strange, but true. That’s one big commonality between these two diverse groups, whose mutual mistrust is perpetual but still they continue to do business together for want of better business model.

“You’ve only highlighted the living condition of truck drivers so far in your books. Now time for you to turn the spotlight on us – the fleet owners – also. Our challenges are not insignificant,” said Amit Chandwar, Director of Jaipur-based KMT Logistics recently.

Ranjit Singhs, IK Maliks and Chandwars are no stray cases, but the real underbelly of Indian trucking business.

If the motor malik-truck driver mutual mistrust were to cross an unseen threshold limit of tolerance, then the fate of 1.2 billion Indian populace is unimaginable. Only God can help.

Note:

Indian Rupee, once upon a time, was equivalent to 16 annas with each anna worth six paise. Subsequently this anna methodology vanished with the advent of one INR equaling 100 paise. So ‘Baara” (Twelve in Hindi) constitutes three-fourth in 16 annas calculation format. “Chaar” means four in Hindi.

ALSO READ:

http://driversduniya.blogspot.in/2013/08/troubling-truck-on-highways-offer-liquor.html

Troubling truck on highways? Offer liquor!

Wanderings in Jharkhand

"Can we approach that vehicle?" asked Selvan Dasaraj, Vice President, Mahindra Logistics, on a mid-April evening as we came out of a dhaba (roadside eatery) in Ranchi, Jharkhand, one of the most coal-enriched state in the eastern part of India and 110 km away from Jamshedpur or Tata Nagar.

Our earlier attempt to engage Rajvinder Singh, the dhaba owner, and a few truck drivers sipping extra-sugary tea in his spacious place did not bear fruit. Though the young Singh evinced interest to share inputs on the damaged truck hardly 200 metres near his business place in a casual mode, his attitude changed the moment we took out notepad and pencil. He must have mistaken us for some police investigating team. Bad luck. Hem instead, advised us to try our luck with trucks parked on the roadside.

Having finished the day's work, the Sun was gently climbing down on the western horizon.

I was anxious to open the account without any loss of time.

What account?

Well, it is something like this.

Three years and three books (10,000 KM on Indian Highways, Naked Banana! and An Affair With Indian Highways) later, I felt just writing about the plight of highway drivers alone won't do. It is time for action and as a corollary, set up KRK Foundation, registered Trust, with the focus on studying and improving the living standards of these hapless human beings and their families living in remote villages.

And, this was my maiden trip and inclement weather delayed my arrival in Ranchi by a day and thereby I had lost valuable time. Luckily, Mahindra Logistics CEO Pirojshaw Sarkari understood my zeal and decided to support the weeklong trip to Koderma, Hazaribagh and Giridih districts in northern Jharkhand because his company was equally passionate about the same cause.

Jharkhand, originally part of the state of Bihar, supplies the maximum number of highway truck drivers. Once upon a time, the states of Punjab and Haryana coveted this title. Having unlocked their land value, Punjabi and Haryanvi truck drivers have decided to hang up their boots, thus creating a huge vacuum in the supply chain of truck driving.

With no industrial development, Jharkhand youngsters were forced to look out for a living and they chose 'drivery' - as is commonly known among drivers' community. Why? Primarily, it is felt that it does not need any special skills and lack of education is no bar. Right or wrong is debatable.

"Be careful. Let's cross the road," said the fortyish Selvan, whom I had met few weeks ago in his Delhi office for the first time after Sarkari indicated that he would be my co-traveler in the maiden Jharkhand trip. Such a senior officer ready to hotfoot with me in truck drivers’ company? I was a bit skeptical which blew away quickly.

Actually, I had mistaken him for "Sylvan" and for Goan. The only brief I had about him was that he has also spent a lot of time with the drivers' community across India during his tenure with various logistics companies.

This misconception evaporated once I came face to face with him. Though he was born and brought up in Hyderabad, his roots were Tamil - like mine. Secondly, he actually did his Bachelors’ degree in mass communication - read journalism - but strangely moved away from that discipline. What more can I ask for? We hit it off well right from the word, 'go'. Sel, as he is famously nicknamed, would say, “like Rum and Coke’!

After that maiden meeting three weeks ago in Delhi, now I was crossing National Highway 23 in Jharkhand along with him for a possible interaction with a highway driver on the other side.

Will that guy open his mouth? He may. He may not. Let's try.

We noticed two guys tinkering with some wiring inside the Leyland 3611 truck, parked on the roadside. The vehicle looked new and whatever its content was tarpaulin-covered.

On noticing our presence - Selvan, myself and driver Bipin Singh with his trademark baseball cap, one of the elderly occupants jumped out with a curious look on his face.

"Where are you going?" Selvan began the conversation.

"Raipur".

"Are you the driver?"

"No, no. He is there," pointed the tall man to a lean, wiry framed young guy at the steering wheel.

We 'hello'ed him.

Flashing a beaming smile, he jumped out.

That was first exposure to Anil Yadav, in his early twenties.

Hailing from Bagadu basti in Koderma district, Anil took to driving under the tutelage of his uncle.

"Papa kept insisting that I must take up electric wiring and not truck driving because according to him, this is 'bekaar' (good for nothing). But I have no patience for learning electric job," Anil reveals his past without any hint of hesitation and as if we know each other for long.

An outgoing personality. A charmer too, to the boot.

Married recently, he is on his way to Raipur carrying carbon.

Does he miss his wife?

"What are you asking, saab?," he giggles.

Does she not want him to be home every day and night?

"Yeh poochne ki baat hai?... (Is it something to be asked?). Yes, she wants me home daily," adds he.

We perhaps unnecessarily touched an emotional issue and he looks around to gather his spirits before the resumption of his outpourings.

Newly married or otherwise. The physical intimacy between spouses in the initial days automatically leads to emotional understanding over the long run of the journey called ‘life’. Unlike the rest of us, who return home every evening from workplace to eat and sleep with our respective spouses to consummate and avail of conjugal bliss, truck drivers do not enjoy that privilege. In a way, they consciously decided to stay away from their families for longer duration out of necessity: to eke out a living for the entire family. They suffer so that the entire parivar (family) is able to lead some ‘life’ in remote villages.

"Do you drink?" I ask the pencil-thin Anil.

He began to laugh.

We could not fathom.

"Saab, more than me, this truck demands drinks!"

What?

"Yeh sach hai (Yes, it is true). Whenever this truck gives trouble, I offer Rs.100 worth liquor to it. Yes, am not joking," tells Anil as Selvan and myself stand transfixed on hearing this explosive revelation.

Daaru (liquor)-demanding truck?

"Any trouble with the vehicle en route is sorted out quickly soon after I offer liquor to it ... Sometimes, I tell (this truck), 'arre bhai, mera manjil tak powancha do’ '(Help me reach my destination) and I will give you drinks' and saab, troubles vanish in no time," Anil elaborates.

Now that the vehicle is giving trouble and he is tinkering with wiring inside the cabin, is he readying for the liquor ceremony?

Of course, pat comes the reply.

The class 8 Jharkhand driver will halt on the highway near some liquor vend and buy Rs.100 worth liquor.

For the vehicle or for himself?

He laughs away at our track of questioning.

Drunken driving on highways is very common. It is some excuse to buy liquor for his own consumption. Indian highways are dotted with liquor vends, despite legal restrictions on setting up such joints on the highways. (Ref: Tipsy on Tarmac, An Affair With Indian Highways, pp. 39-50, 2013)

Who takes care of his parents if they fall sick while he is on his rounds away from home?

Bagadu villagers, consisting od 120 homes, support each other in times of crisis.

"I wish to be there whenever anyone is sick. But if I go back home, who is there to earn money to support family?" he asks rhetorically.

What about his children's education?

It is his/her fate. What can I do?, asks he innocently.

Does his income sufficient enough to support his family?

Anil, driving for his cousin, earns Rs.4,000 out of every trip and if he manages two trips per month, his take home pay doubles. His family has some arable lands where paddy and vegetables are grown – both for captive consumption and for the local market.

Does he enjoy drivery?

"In Jharkhand, people like us (uneducated) have two options: you join the sena (army) or become a truck driver. Both these professions need no intelligence, but require hard physical work," responds he.

Selvan looks quizzically at me over the unusual linkage between intelligence  and army/drivery career.

By now, the sun is nowhere to be seen. Darkness has set in. Our faces get lit up thanks to the powerful beams of passing vehicles on the highway.

We exchange mobile numbers and say 'goodbye'.

Day one on this weeklong Jharkhand visit has commenced on a beautiful note. Anil's liquor offering practice to pacify troubling truck remains an unforgettable story to be shared with anyone and everyone.

What a weird and quirky prescription to cajole a troubling partner!

ALSO READ:

http://driversduniya.blogspot.in/2013/08/baara-anna-jhoot-chaar-anna-sach.html