DRIVEN TO SUCCEED
POONAM Cab driver
Five years ago, when she moved to Delhi, Poonam was 18 years old, pregnant, unskilled and alone. Today she has a happy son, a skill that not a lot of women from her background can dream of, a job and the car she needs for that job, with the taxi service Uber.
Poonam couldn’t have even conceived of such a life when she was a child. Born to a conservative Jat family in Rohtak, like all the women in her family, Poonam was supressed and repressed, not even allowed to talk to non-family members, leave alone use a mobile phone. “We had a joint family and decision-making powers were given to the men, while the women were expected never to ask questions,” says Poonam.
By the time she took her class 12 exams, Poonam was married off to a boy in Bhiwani; who turned out to be unemployed and good for nothing, always pestering her family for money, threatening to divorce her, and beating her.
When Poonam turned to her parents for help, they told her to ‘adjust’. But she couldn’t take it for long. One day, she left her husband and went back to her parents. As
always, they coaxed her to return to him. But she’d had enough. She went to Delhi instead.
“I knew that nobody in my family would understand my situation, but I was tired of compromising and getting beaten up for no fault of mine,’’ says Poonam. “I wanted to get away from it all.”
In Delhi, a friend gave Poonam a place to stay and helped her look for employment. Job-hunting for months, Poonam also had to fend off her parents whose idea of honour did
“My independence has come at a cost. But today I can hold my head high and my son is proud of me”
not include having a woman of the family go out to work. Eventually, the men in her family snapped ties with her.
Fascinated by the thought of being behind the wheel of a car, Poonam learned about an NGO called Azad Foundation that helps women learn to drive. Soon she became a private taxi driver.
But that was far from easy. “People never believed that I was a driver,” says Poonam. “They’d look at me and ask whether I had a valid driving licence in
the first place!”
When Uber arrived in India, it appeared like a good opportunity for Poonam to become self-employed – all she needed was a car of her own. It was easy to get a car loan and buy a Honda Amaze.
Now with a total of four years on Delhi’s roads, Poonam urges her friends to learn to drive. “My independence has come at a big cost, but today I can hold my head high and set an example for my son. I want him to grow up to be a sensitive man who respects women.”
Though Poonam’s mother wishes her daughter had a less risky job, or at least not drive pas- sengers at 2am, Poonam has never had bad encounters as a driver. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not prepared,” she says. “I may look small, but I can protect myself. I never stop to ask for directions. I use GPS, I keep pepper spray handy and have downloaded the women’s safety mobile app – Himmat.”
She has faced harassment though, from the very people who are supposed to protect her: the police. “There was one particular cop at New Delhi railway station who sat in my car and tried to harass me,” says Poonam. “But I dealt with him sternly.”