They know well when I clock out. Sharp
At five, on K.G. Street,
They welcome me with every tooth
And lead me to their seat.

Five friends—senescent, pyknic, bald,
In Khakis—ironed, clean,
With brand-new autorickshaws that
Are painted taupe and green.

One masticates areca nuts.
The shortest one takes khaini.
The other two smoke beedis by
A tall Mahogany.

They fall in with a mental pact
That tells them not to seek
To win me, for each one’s assigned
A fixed day of the week

To drive me home. “Today’s my turn,”
One says and bids me in.
While driving he tells stories that
Block off the traffic’s din:

The student loan he’s willing to
Take for his only daughter;
The municipal board has swelled
The price of urban water.

Arrived, I ask about the fare.
“Ah! Saab“, he shyly says.
I take a fifty rupee note—
A glow upon his face.

*****

Shamik Banerjee gives the following word meanings:
“Khaki: A type of cloth.
Khaini: A type of chewable tobacco
Beedi: Indian cigarette
Saab: Sir
K.G. stands for Kasturba Gandhi, the wife of Mahatma Gandhi. Most streets/ lanes/ roads in India are named after famous personalities, especially those who fought for our freedom.” 
‘The Auto Drivers of K.G. Street’ was first published by Willow Review.

Shamik Banerjee is a poet from Assam, India, where he resides with his parents. His poems have been published by Sparks of Calliope, The Hypertexts, Snakeskin, Ink Sweat & Tears, Autumn Sky Daily, Ekstasis, among others. He secured second position in the Southern Shakespeare Company Sonnet Contest, 2024.

Photo: Auto Drivers in Guwahati, Assam.