No auto, no cry

‘‘The flying steed of the suburbs,’’ I corrected gently. Gets you anywhere in good time.

At the lift of a finger one saunters to a halt at your feet. And flies you to wherever you wish to be, with music and style, in less time than you thought you would take, at a price that’s gentle on your purse. The only thing you risk is your neck. But then women have the ability to stick their necks out, and survive!

My experiences are memorable ones. I once requested an auto driver to lower the volume as the music seemed to be causing explosions in my head. I think I was pretty polite, but he ignored my request, took the auto to the side of the road, turned around and waved his finger at me. ‘‘Utar jao (step down),’’ he said grimly. I gaped, then got the message. No matter — another one ambled by. Talk about arrogance.

But this one was the best. The approach road to my society is a congested one. As we were moaning up the road, a fancy car rushed out of another society to our left and both screeched to a halt in the nick of time. Both stared at each other wordlessly. I held my breath. Finally the car driver indicated with a thrust of his head to the auto driver to back a little so he could take a right turn. My driver said nothing, only stared glassily ahead. ‘‘Reverse just a little bit,’’ the man finally pleaded. My driver gave a satisfied grunt, and the auto groaned and moved back exactly one inch. The car driver scowled, swore, crawled forward so as not to touch the auto, went a little ahead, reversed diagonally, revved up his engine to show his annoyance as a finale to the cold war, and veered off sharply, as my driver stood rooted to his spot like a king.

Then he started the auto with a flourish, and as we rattled ahead, he announced over his shoulder, to no one in particular, ‘‘Sometimes the alleycats presume that they are tigers!’’