Confessions of an Ola taxi driver

Itu00e2u0080u0099s no secret that the honeymoon is over for many drivers. The incentives of the early days are gone and payouts are under the axe. Representation pic

It's a simple question: how does an Ola or Uber driver continue to make ends meet once those companies start tightening their fists? It's no secret that the honeymoon is over for many drivers who opted for these giant corporations. The incentives of the early days are gone and payouts are under the axe.

My journey, in an Ola taxi, was from Andheri West all the way to Chowpatty. The driver was Ajay Tripathi (not his real name, of course). Which route did he plan to take? I asked.

"Google bole left, hum jaave left, Google bole right, hum jaave right." (If Google says left, I go left, if Google says right, I go right). Thus started a rich conversation, wary at first, but confidential towards the end. "Is Google never wrong?" I asked. "Can't say. But these days, passengers complain if we don't follow Google. We get fined if we follow our guts."

I told him of my journey from the previous day, from Fountain to Andheri West, for which Google had prescribed the Western Express Highway and a journey time of 2.5 hours. But by having the driver turn towards Bandra after the Worli Sea Link and follow the Carter Road sea front to Khar Danda and thence to Andheri via Juhu, I reached an hour earlier, meeting hardly any traffic and paying about Rs 100 less.

So much for Google. Tripathi was unrestrained in his invective against corporations like Ola and Uber, who (in his humble opinion) had been allowed into the country by the "corrupt Modi government" to wreck the lives of hard-working fellows like him.

I disagreed, pointing out that since Ola and Uber arrived on the scene, my rides had been easier to arrange, more comfortable, more predictable and more civil - all at more or less the same price. "You can talk," he said bitterly. "We are ruined. We're completely under their thumb now." Every morning, he told me, Ola drivers receive their instructions for the day. Today's directive had informed him that he would earn nothing for any journey he undertook up to 5 pm. From 5 pm to 11 pm, however, he had to somehow complete three journeys to earn anything.

It was only 1.30 pm, so I asked him the logical question: why not just go home and wait for 5 pm, since you'll earn nothing on this ride? "Oh, I will," he said, and let me into insider trick number one. When a bigger taxi picks up a ride meant for a smaller taxi, the calculation changes in the driver's favour. I had been mildly surprised when Tripathi's sedan had pulled up instead of the Micro I had ordered.

Drivers of Micro taxis get a lower rate and typically accept rides under 10 km. Should the journey exceed that, the driver would be paid the Mini rate. Beyond 20 km, he would start earning at the sedan rate. Ajay Tripathi, noticing that my journey was well over 30 km, had quickly picked up the trip. Some Micro driver who hadn't been fast enough lost out.

As in the deep sea and in the big bad world, big fish eat small fish. How would he ensure that he met the evening requirement of three rides? "Easy," he said. "Three trips to the international airport, three guaranteed rides." Ola's devilish logic dawned on me later. As taxis migrated where rides are certain, fewer taxis would be available for you and me elsewhere in the city - an artificial scarcity that would hike the rates.

"What about days when you don't earn anything at all?" "We have our ways," he said mysteriously. Thus emerged insider trick number 2. If a passenger doesn't show up within a certain time window, five minutes in the case of Ola, the driver may cancel the ride and the tardy passenger would be fined Rs 50. In better days, around R35 of this used to be passed on to the driver, but it's down to Rs 22 now.

But that would be Rs 22 with not a drop of fuel spent. The driver who cancels 20 trips a day would earn Rs 440 for nothing. I was aghast."How can they make sure the passenger arrives late?"

He smiled a secret smile. "He parks slightly off the road, just out of sight. By the time the passenger calls to find out where he is, time's up." "Of course," he added hastily, "I'm not like that."

Tripathi plans to quit from this thankless job where he is just a number on some corporate roster and dogs that don't eat dogs die a quick death. His income now comes from his milk depot in Goregaon. "I'm going back to moving goods in vans. The business will be mine, and so will the money."

Here, viewed from there. C Y Gopinath, in Bangkok, throws unique light and shadows on Mumbai, the city that raised him. You can reach him at cygopi@gmail.com Send your feedback to mailbag@mid-day.com

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