The Life of the Driver

Arif Khan wakes up before the sun. His alarm doesn’t ring anymore — he hasn’t needed it in years. The soft sounds of the city stirring, the faraway honk of an early bus, and the whisper of the breeze are enough to get him out of bed. He folds his thin mattress, washes his face with cold water, and begins his day with a silent prayer. For over fifteen years, Arif has been a driver — not a glamorous title, but one he carries with quiet dignity.

He drives a black Toyota Innova that isn’t his, but he treats it better than most people treat their own. It belongs to a business executive who trusts only Arif with his family. That trust was earned over time, through years of punctuality, honesty, and calm reliability. In all weather, through all traffic, and across every part of the city, Arif shows up. He wears clean but simple clothes, keeps a spare towel on his shoulder, and always has a bottle of water and a pack of mints ready in the car — small gestures for the comfort of those he drives.

Arif wasn’t always a driver. He came to the city from a village in Uttar Pradesh when he was nineteen, hoping to earn enough to support his aging parents and two younger sisters. He started as a helper in a garage, learning the mechanics of engines, gears, and wheels. He was fascinated by cars, not just for their shine or speed, but for the freedom they seemed to offer. Eventually, he got his license, and after a few years of odd jobs, he was hired as a full-time driver.

Driving, for Arif, is more than a job. It’s a rhythm — the way he handles the wheel, reads the road, or slows before a sharp turn. He knows the city like the lines on his palm. He knows which roads flood during the monsoon, where traffic piles up at 5 p.m., and which alley will shave ten minutes off a late arrival. He rarely uses Google Maps — his sense of direction is sharper than any app.

Though his days are long and the traffic tests his patience, Arif never complains. He listens more than he speaks. Over the years, he has heard hundreds of phone calls in the backseat — business deals, family arguments, tearful confessions, and joyful celebrations. He hears, but never repeats. That’s another reason why people trust him.

At home, Arif is a different man. He’s a father of two young boys who adore him. He spends his Sundays helping them with homework, fixing things around the house, or taking them to the park if he has enough energy left. His wife says he drives his life like he drives his car — steady, cautious, but always moving forward.

Arif may not own a car, but he owns respect. He may not have a title, but he carries himself with quiet pride. In a city that’s always rushing, always honking, always pushing, Arif is calm behind the wheel — a man with a purpose, navigating not just the roads, but life itself.