Siddharth Sarkar

“Kahan jaana hai bhaiya?” the auto driver asked. “Delhi Cant,” I replied. Without hesitation, he said, “Chalo.” I asked about the fare. He quoted ₹150, but I bargained it down to ₹130, and we set off. I’ve taken countless autos in Delhi, but this one led to chaos I never saw coming. The driver, a middle-aged man with a mustache, long hair, and a thick Haryanvi accent, struck up a conversation about trains. He asked if my train had a second-class coach because his kids needed to visit their grandparents the next day. I told him no—it was a superfast train with only AC chair cars. As we continued talking, the roads blurred past, and before I knew it, the auto pulled up at a station. But something felt off. I looked around, my gut sinking. This wasn’t Delhi Cantt. This was New Delhi Railway Station. “Bhaiya, yeh lo, aa gaya aapka station,” he said casually. I froze. “Maine Cantt bola tha, bhaiya. Yeh toh New Delhi hai!” It was 6:10 AM—exactly when my train was departing from New Delhi. At Delhi Cantt, it was scheduled for 6:38 AM. I pulled out my phone. Google Maps showed 30 minutes to reach there. I had no chance. Panic. Pure panic. I turned to the auto driver. “Bhaiya, mujhe Cantt tak chhod do, please!” He shook his head. “Gas nahi hai auto mein, aur Cantt yahan se 15 km hai.” I felt helpless. It was my dad’s birthday, and I had promised him I’d be there. Just then, an act of kindness changed everything. The driver, instead of charging me, stopped another auto and requested the driver to take me. But the second auto already had a passenger—a woman in her 60s who had booked the ride through an app. “Bhaiya, aise allow thodi hota hai? Maine personal auto book kiya hai!” she argued at first. I quickly explained my situation, desperation evident in my voice. She looked at me for a moment before smiling warmly. “Beta, aap baitho. Aapko train pakadni hai, na?” As we rode, she kept reassuring me, “Chinta mat karo, time se pahunch jaoge.” At her stop, she turned to the driver and said, “Isko jaldi se chhod dena. Iski train nahi chhutni chahiye. Yeh mere bacche jaisa hai.” For some reason, her words and kindness gave me a strange sense of calm. But the auto driver—a man in his 60s, with long hair and a thick sweater—seemed doubtful. He was focused, as if calculating every second to the station. Google Maps was not on my side. It predicted 6:45 AM—9 minutes too late. I tried to push the thought away and closed the app. And then I remembered something a friend told me yesterday, in a completely different context: “If something is not in your hands, leave it to God. Whatever is meant to happen will happen.” The auto finally screeched to a stop outside the station at 6:39 AM. I stepped out and immediately heard the train’s horn. I reached into my wallet and handed the driver ₹500 his fare was ₹200. He shook his head, saying he had no change. I only had ₹100 in cash and he accepted it without a word. I insisted on giving him ₹500, but he refused. “Bhag beta, train chhut jayegi!” And so, for the first time in my life, I ran for a train. As my foot landed on the train’s step, it started moving. I sat down, breathless, feeling relieved and grateful for all the kindness I had just experienced. Today, I saw what kindness truly looks like - from a rickshaw driver who didn’t charge me, from a stranger who shared her ride, and from an old auto driver who treated my urgency as his own. I’ve always tried to be kind, even to people who didn’t deserve it. But today, the universe reminded me once again: “When you are kind to the world, the world finds a way to be kind to you”.