A grey, late afternoon light hung over Pune as I made my way to Coyaji Clinic on Main Street — not for anything major, just a visit, but I wasn’t feeling my best. The cab ride was quiet at first, the usual potholes and familiar lanes passing by.
A Routine Ride, An Unsettled Heart
The city moved past the window in its ordinary rhythm, while I sat with a heaviness I couldn’t quite place.
Then the driver began talking. Drivers often do — a kind of anonymous confession booth — and that day, he shared stories of difficult customers. Some had troubled him and refused to pay his fare. On such days, he said, his work felt unworthy.
His words were full of gaps and sharp edges — a life slipping through the cracks of family, respect, and support. Perhaps there were many sides to the story, but what stayed with me was his helplessness.
The Weight of Mistrust
When we reached the clinic, I realized I didn’t have enough cash. I told him I would step across to the ATM. He hesitated. He had been left unpaid before. Maybe I reminded him of someone who disappeared into a building and never returned. “It’s okay,” he said, waving it off. “Forget it.”
I felt embarrassed — not because of the money, but because of the assumption.
Being Seen, Being Believed
I insisted gently. “Please wait.” I pointed to the building across the road. “I’m just going to Dr. Coyaji’s Clinic — I’m not trying to walk off.”
He looked at the signage, and something shifted. Maybe it made me real, respectable, or simply believable. He nodded.
I crossed slowly — I wasn’t feeling well, and it showed. The first ATM had no cash. I gestured for him to wait and walked to another, withdrew the fare, and returned.
He accepted it quietly. No drama. No thanks. Just a glance that felt softer than before.
What Lingers After the Ride
I left with a strange mix of emotions: the weight of the story he shared, the awkwardness of being doubted, and the quiet satisfaction of a small, human exchange ending with mutual respect. Sometimes, all it takes is one ordinary encounter — handled with honesty and respect — to restore a little faith on both sides.
P.S. This occurred almost two decades ago, before the introduction of online payments.
This is part of my Cab Travel Chronicles series —Read the previous blog here: Why I stopped driving my own car
7 Responses
You have a good writing style
That truly means a lot to me—I’m glad the words connected with you. 😊 Thanks for reading. 🤩
Wonderful old stories, reminding me also of the pasr, how me and thanga mani used to travel by Auto when our bus no.39 from range hills corner to boys school never comes I used to forget about my sister how she used to go back to convent school.
Really it was a bit worrying now reading feels interesting.
Thank you for sharing this—what a vivid memory! I’m glad the piece took you back there and stirred those memories.
Gestures have the power to speak louder than words. Going through such mix of emotions becomes tricky and difficult for a while, as per my experience.
Importance of sensitivity and compassion underlined. 🙂
Absolutely agree. In moments filled with mixed emotions, it’s often simple gestures that provide the greatest comfort. Sensitivity and compassion make all the difference—they quietly steady us when words fall short. Thank you for sharing this insight 🙂