LIFE OF A TRUCKER: JOURNEY IS THE DESTINATION
Truckers lead an interesting life. It's race against time, and the motion gives their life a certain dynamic stability.
Delhi’s Transport Nagar at midnight: I see it as a metaphorical lung of the city that never dies. Here, I meet a 26-year-old road-warrior, Sartaj, a friend, busy loading bananas under intense halogens. He’s the commander of an eighteen-wheeled behemoth that’s willing to devour (read traverse) the backbone of the Indian subcontinent.
Sartaj is raised by roads, started at the age of 14 as a cleaner boy. At 18, he was already driving trucks. Association with roads shaped the topography of his life. Within days he’d negotiate the cold, oxygen-thirsty mountains of Ladakh to the humid, dangerous maelstrom of Agartala.
He tells me the story of transporting apples from Pulwama to a city in Maharashtra–is a race against time. A garland of apples is hung in the front; it’s a talisman that works. The decaying garland is indicative of time running out. Even the cops get the message, allow the monster to carry on.
I heard Sartaj saying that he covers long distances, 3,000 kilometres in a trip; no rest until the cargo is delivered. He and his co-driver take turns to drive and rest, dozing off on the swaying bunk.
Like the truck, Sartaj and his cleaner are fueled up by rice, pulses and 40 sticks of Four Square cigarettes a day. Some even spice up their cigarettes with ganja, a trusted way to ward off highway hypnosis. Yet, they can’t avoid sighting "ghosts" shimmering in the headlight.
The economics of the road is exploitative to Sartaj. He, along with the cleaner, gets a cumulative salary of ₹25K a month; in addition gets 3 to 4K per trip to grease the palm of local authorities to ensure the truck runs smoothly. Most of the payments for transportation is done in cash, so he doubles as a courier as well. Once, a brawl at a Bihar dhaba over a stolen ₹60,000 stash ended with him recovering just ₹40,000; thankfully, the truck owner forgave the loss. He didn't tempt fate in the badlands, and gave up the claim for the rest.
The madness is determined by geography. He is scared of the straight 6 lane Expressways of Maharashtra. To him these long straight monotonous roads are a "sleep-trap" and cruise control is a death sentence. The torturous curves of the Srinagar-Jammu highway, however, is engaging to him and, he claims, can negotiate these sharp turns even in the pitch darkness.
Sartaj is raised by roads, started at the age of 14 as a cleaner boy. At 18, he was already driving trucks. Association with roads shaped the topography of his life. Within days he’d negotiate the cold, oxygen-thirsty mountains of Ladakh to the humid, dangerous maelstrom of Agartala.
He tells me the story of transporting apples from Pulwama to a city in Maharashtra–is a race against time. A garland of apples is hung in the front; it’s a talisman that works. The decaying garland is indicative of time running out. Even the cops get the message, allow the monster to carry on.
I heard Sartaj saying that he covers long distances, 3,000 kilometres in a trip; no rest until the cargo is delivered. He and his co-driver take turns to drive and rest, dozing off on the swaying bunk.
Like the truck, Sartaj and his cleaner are fueled up by rice, pulses and 40 sticks of Four Square cigarettes a day. Some even spice up their cigarettes with ganja, a trusted way to ward off highway hypnosis. Yet, they can’t avoid sighting "ghosts" shimmering in the headlight.
The economics of the road is exploitative to Sartaj. He, along with the cleaner, gets a cumulative salary of ₹25K a month; in addition gets 3 to 4K per trip to grease the palm of local authorities to ensure the truck runs smoothly. Most of the payments for transportation is done in cash, so he doubles as a courier as well. Once, a brawl at a Bihar dhaba over a stolen ₹60,000 stash ended with him recovering just ₹40,000; thankfully, the truck owner forgave the loss. He didn't tempt fate in the badlands, and gave up the claim for the rest.
The madness is determined by geography. He is scared of the straight 6 lane Expressways of Maharashtra. To him these long straight monotonous roads are a "sleep-trap" and cruise control is a death sentence. The torturous curves of the Srinagar-Jammu highway, however, is engaging to him and, he claims, can negotiate these sharp turns even in the pitch darkness.
He’s on the road twenty days a month, which breeds deep loneliness; the highway provides dark answers. Brothels are scattered en route. Sartaj, claims, he stays away; I believe him. Other drivers show green light to the red light areas; vanish into the roadside shadows. However, the truck remains a sacrosanct temple, and not a venue for hooking up.
The truckers’ camaraderie is forged over roadside chicken curry and a beer, but the reality is grim. Recounting a colleague’s recent fatal crash, Sartaj’s bravado weaned away. All he left behind for his wife and a toddler kid was Rs 10 lakh of insurance and a bleak future.
The truck must drive on. The bananas have to reach Kashmir. He mounts the holy cabin, the truck roars to life, shrugs and moves, soon disappears into the smoke of his own making. For truckers like Sartaj, journey is the destination.
The truckers’ camaraderie is forged over roadside chicken curry and a beer, but the reality is grim. Recounting a colleague’s recent fatal crash, Sartaj’s bravado weaned away. All he left behind for his wife and a toddler kid was Rs 10 lakh of insurance and a bleak future.
The truck must drive on. The bananas have to reach Kashmir. He mounts the holy cabin, the truck roars to life, shrugs and moves, soon disappears into the smoke of his own making. For truckers like Sartaj, journey is the destination.
