“She will be here any moment, madam … she comes in a motorbike … she is very punctual,” a staff member of the Delhi Transport Corporation (DTC) told me as I waited to meet V. Saritha, the first female driver in the corporation’s 67-year-old history.

As I stood outside the DTC’s bus depot at Sarojini Nagar in south Delhi, another employee — a curious soul — came up and enquired about my assignment, and also offered his opinion on Saritha’s appointment: “We are very proud that she is a part of our depot. She drives like a male driver ... no complaints,” he said. “But, by god, media ne to unko pagal karke rakh diya ...” he added, laughing loudly. Soon his male colleagues joined in.

A few minutes later, I saw Saritha, 30, parking her black Pulsar bike outside the depot. Then she peered into the windshield of a car to adjust her short hair. But Saritha did not go inside the depot, just stood outside, a few metres away from the contingent of male employees.

“It’s not an easy job,” Saritha, who is well built and around 5 feet 4 inches, told me. “But I am enjoying it.”

When the DTC advertised seeking female bus drivers, it received seven applications and five candidates showed up for the interviews but four failed a medical examination. After Saritha was selected — she has a one-year contract with DTC — she underwent four-week training at the corporation’s facility in north Delhi. She drives on line 543 which travels through south, east and southwest Delhi, a total of 132kms.

Historically, Delhi has been a city of migrants and Saritha, like me and millions of others, is one. She moved to the capital four years ago from Hyderabad to join Azad Foundation, an NGO that empowers poor women to become professional drivers.

“The journey from Hyderabad to Delhi has been a difficult one,” Saritha said. As the youngest of the five daughters of a marginal farmer in Nalgonda district in Telangana, she drove auto-rickshaws in Hyderabad and a college bus to earn for her family.

“My father was dejected when I was born and brought me up like a boy ... I never got to wear salwar kameez or saris ... I am always in trousers and shirts ... but now they are very happy,” Saritha said before walking into the depot to take the bus out.

Twenty minutes later, I saw her sitting proudly in the driver’s seat of a red-coloured bus. I hopped in.

As we waited for conductor Purushottam to arrive, we exchanged notes on how difficult it is for women to drive in Delhi’s crazy traffic and handle the male drivers — and their bloated egos.

“Some male drivers are very aggressive ... they try to intimidate by honking, lewd gestures or driving very close to my bus,” Saritha said. “Some passengers even get off when they see a woman driver.”

Her first few days at the DTC were tough: other than teething problems, her vehicle broke down twice. “The second time, I started crying because I did not want to fail,” Saritha said, a trifle embarrassed.

The DTC’s decision to hire female drivers is part of a campaign to fight sexual harassment in the city’s public transport. According to a Thomson Reuters Foundation study, Delhi is the fourth most dangerous city in the world for women travelling on public transport.

The gang rape and murder of a 23-year-old attacked on a private bus in 2012 led to the demand for tougher laws, better policing, safer public transport and a shift in cultural attitudes. We got a stringent law — the Criminal Law (Amendment) Act, 2013 — but nothing much has changed beyond that.

Women often complain of facing a barrage of lewd remarks and gestures on every journey in public transport. This is the reason why the Delhi Metro — probably the only one in the world — has a women-only coach.

Puroshuttam has been on this route for the last five months and with Saritha almost from the time when she joined. As Saritha expertly manoeuvres through the traffic, the conductor praised the young driver’s attitude.

I spotted an elderly couple and asked them how they feel about being driven around by a lady driver. “We have women pilots and Delhi metro drivers ... so why not a DTC bus ... it is a great initiative,” replied R.K. Kumar, a retired government servant. A college-going girl chips in: “I hope we will get some respite from eve-teasers at least on this bus.”

But Delhi’s public could be restless and demanding. They often want to get off wherever they want, even if it is in the middle of a busy junction. “If she doesn’t listen to them, they abuse her. But Saritha never loses her cool,” Purushottam told me as two young men got into the bus.

It turned out that the duo were on the wrong bus. Just as they were about to get off, they spotted Saritha. They stared at her for a few seconds and then exchanged some comments. Unmoved, Saritha stopped the bus at Sarai Kale Khan, an old Mughal serai which is now an inter-state bus terminal, to pick up new passengers.

After Sarai Kale Khan, which is on the Ring Road, the bus takes a right turn, crosses the heavily polluted Yamuna River, and moves towards the mid-point of the journey, the Anand Vihar Inter-State Bus Terminal.

At the ISBT, we had just resumed our conversation when two other DTC drivers joined in.

“We have seen you on TV and papers … but will you get a permanent job in DTC?” they asked without any greeting or introduction. Saritha smiled, did not reply. Frustrated, the two moved away, smoking their hand-rolled bidis.

Puroshuttam breaks the silence: “Saritha has made history ... so what’s the problem if she is made permanent,” he asked matter-of-factly.

“If only wishes were horses,” Saritha added jovially, and turned on the ignition to start the second stage of her day’s journey.

KumKum Dasgupta is associate editor with the Hindustan Times in New Delhi. Twitter: @kumkumdasgupta

Published in Dawn, May 17th, 2015

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