Bike taxi: Woman on the pillion

Intrigued by the lives of bike taxi riders in Bengaluru, Babli Yadav hails rides over two weeks and chronicles her passenger-seat experiences.

In Bengaluru, there is always something to be ferried, picked up or dropped. Days and nights are alike, weekdays and weekends are no different, especially on the road. Bike taxi riders witness this constant revolving of the people around the city, and the city around its people.

Often, the bike taxi rider you hail is also a courier boy, a food delivery person, a sole breadwinner, in-between jobs, and a loner on wheels. In an expansive city with shrinking roads, bike taxis have become a growing option for those looking to save time, money or both.

The first time I saw a bike taxi was on screen, several years ago, in Iranian filmmaker Majid Majidi’s 2008 film, The Song of Sparrows. It is the story of a laid-off ostrich farm worker who takes up the job of ferrying around humans. No app, just mutual consent. While during the day, he is in the bustling city of Tehran, at night he returns home to a village close by.

My late father, in his 70s, knew how to hitch rides even before ride-hailing apps came into the picture. With a helmet in hand, he would ask random bikers to drop him off enroute. No money was involved. People were generous and didn’t mind helping a senior.

Before that, throughout his 60s, he used a bicycle or a scooter to get around the city of Hyderabad whenever possible. Despite having a steady income and pension from the Defence Force he retired from, he never bought a car. “Save money, save earth” was his philosophy. Everything I know about saving, I learned from him.

I thought of him a lot as I took bike taxis for two weeks to write about the experience of being a woman pillion rider. Despite knowing how to ride a two-wheeler, some distances are easier to cover as a pillion rather than being in charge. I carried my green helmet as I went to watch plays, attend workshops, and meet friends.

My personal helmet is heavy and cumbersome, but it offers better protection than the helmet bike taxi riders hand you – a flimsy plastic cap. At speeds beyond 40 kmph, that makeshift helmet might just fly off, flailing in the air. It took me some time to appreciate the charm of bike taxis.

Reclaim the road

Until a few years ago, Baiyyapanhalli was known for the purple Namma Metro line terminal. Slowly, it became notorious for the lengthiest and most unreasonable U-turn.

Daring bike taxi riders, 10-minute delivery persons, and motorists ‘reclaimed’ the road by making an opening in the hostilely designed divider. They crossed over to the other side, saving time and fuel. Traffic policemen, mostly buried in their smartphones, rarely stop them, I’ve seen.

Although the concept of bike taxis took off in Bengaluru around 2016, I booked my first ride last November. I had to reach Koramangala from Kasturi Nagar in 40 minutes. In peak weekday morning traffic, it seemed difficult. On an impulse, I booked an Ola bike taxi.

A few minutes later, a young man, from a northeast Indian state, arrived on an electric scooter. He was unusually calm around the stray dogs that kept barking at his silent e-bike.

Electric bikes are a good option for those who like the feeling of drifting quietly. We saved 20 minutes of road time by taking the Baiyyappanahalli U-turn shortcut. Was he scared of breaking road rules? “No, they (traffic cops) don’t catch us,” he said. 

He talked about how he had moved to Bengaluru to cook at a food joint. When that didn’t work out, he started riding a bike taxi. As we neared Koramangala, the bike hit a big pothole and one of the wheels got stuck. I got down and walked a few steps. He joined me to continue the ride.

Bags and helmets

The uneasy thing about bike taxi rides is touch. Contact. The feeling of being suddenly close to a stranger. I felt this on my third ride as I mounted a geared CT 100 bike. During the halts, my slip-ons would knock into the driver’s ankles. The sitting posture had to be mindfully awkward.

The space felt small, but never insufficient. As a woman sitting behind a stranger in an open, small vehicle, I didn’t feel unsafe though. I have felt more unsafe in closed-door cabs. The bag I had placed between the rider and myself seemed to provide the necessary distance.

Rashmi K, a single mother and full-time working professional I spoke with, books bike taxis for her teenage son to travel short distances independently. She sends him out with a personal helmet. She also thinks those flimsy caps are inadequate. However, she notes that riders tend to take extra care when she informs them her son will be their passenger. 

Making ends meet

Several riders I interacted with had experienced job losses during the Covid-19 lockdowns and had turned to bike taxis as a temporary solution.

Harish Ramanna, a resident of Banashankari, worked as a cloth dealer before the pandemic. After his business took a hit, he became a cab driver. “I had to sell the cab because of a financial need within the family. Now, I use my personal bike to ferry people around. I used to earn Rs 3,000 a day by driving the cab. On the bike, I make about a third of that. On average, I ride 150 km a day,” said the 33-year-old.

“Sometimes, I listen to music with one earphone plugged in to relax. While riding, I usually feel tense thinking about the future and my family. This is not a permanent option; I want to get back to my business. I tried applying for a loan but banks don’t want to support bike taxi drivers,” he continued.

Ramanna does about 10 rides on a weekday and 15 on weekends. Currently, on a zero-commission package with Ola, all his earnings are his after GST deductions. He has never run into trouble with passengers. He refuses to speed up above 40 kmph, even if the passenger insists. He has made peace with the fact that his daily meals are irregular.

Not everyone is so stoic. Prashanth wants better working conditions. He runs a PG accommodation in Mathikere. When the demand is less, he fills his Bajaj Pulsar with Rs 300 worth of fuel and takes bike taxi bookings to earn Rs 1,000–Rs 1,500 per day. During our ride on Christmas morning from Kasturi Nagar to Jakkur, he said,

“We are entitled to coffee and meal breaks. If I tell passengers to wait for a few minutes, they cancel the ride. Many times, passengers have walked away with the helmet, forcing me to buy new ones out of my pocket.”

People v/s goods

Despite the challenges, Prashanth would rather ferry people than goods. His rationale: “Delivering food or goods requires a long wait. You have to go past security and climb up and down floors. Sometimes, customers change the delivery location midway. With people, it's easier. I just pick them up from the road and drop them off on the road!”

Nagaraj, 26, is fond of talking to people. That makes riding a bike taxi more meaningful to him than delivering e-commerce products. His day begins early at Thanisandra where he picks up his parcel load for delivery. Around 3 pm, he switches on the Rapido app and works until 8 pm.

“People who come from outside the city often tell me their stories — what they miss about their village or town. They also ask me about my work,” he shared.

He has no complaints about his gig work. “My brother works with an MNC as a lift technician and earns Rs 15,000 a month. I did the same before I found out I could make Rs 30,000 as a bike taxi rider,” he explained.

Flexible work timings is another perk. However, he plans to build a house in his hometown, Bellary, and return there to work as a driver.

The gig comes with niggling back pain, high bike servicing costs, and occasional conflicts with drivers, customers, and authorities, but it “benefits the poor”, says Adi Narayana, president of the Bike Taxi Association. 

He spoke about a small-time farmer from north Karnataka who arrived in Bengaluru in 2022 with just Rs 3,000 and a driving license. After riding a bike on rent and sleeping at EV charging stations, he was able to buy a bike, move his family to Bengaluru, and put his children in school within a year. “Homemakers are also turning to bike taxis to supplement their household income. The city has 40 such women riders,” he added.

Narayana, a Tirupati native, fulfilled his dream of buying land in Bengaluru after switching from a low-paying site engineering job to riding bike taxis. He doesn’t complain about his gig, not even commissions charged by the apps, which can be as high as 18 per cent. He feels it is a transactional relationship. “If such apps were free, I’m not sure they’d fight for our livelihood as they did when transport authorities seized bike taxis (last July),” he explained. 

Night ride

Somewhere into my eighth bike taxi ride during the course of the story, I felt fear for the first time. I was at Indiranagar around 10.30 pm when my Uber bike taxi arrived. I was expecting a Honda Dio, as the app had indicated, but a different bike stood in front of me, with a red Zomato bag plonked in front and the rider wearing a royal blue Porter jacket.

My instinct told me to cancel the ride, but I was desperate to get home after a tiring evening. Also, my interaction with bike taxi drivers had instilled trust in me. ‘Maybe he does multiple gigs a day’. ‘Maybe it is normal for apps to show one vehicle number and send another’. Another voice told me to look for an alternative.

I hopped on but I kept thinking about what I could do in case something went wrong. Could I jump off? Would anyone be around on the long, isolated, parallel road if I screamed? Should I give him a bad rating later? He rode fast and kept trying to make conversation, but I stayed silent. I added a contact on the app to track my ride.

I noticed the option to call 'Safety Support' but I couldn’t decide if I was feeling unsafe or just uneasy. All this while I was trying to talk with riders, but this time, with one of them initiating a conversation at night, it felt different. I felt better when I saw a familiar lane near my house and asked him to stop. I didn’t want him to know where I lived. I quickly paid him and walked home.

Bike taxis cut my travel time by 15-20 minutes and saved me Rs 50-Rs 80 per ride. With unpredictable auto fares and rising bus and metro costs, I plan to rely more on bike taxis, especially for last-mile connectivity — though not at night.

The Bike Taxi Association says that while app companies conduct background verification on riders, the police do not carry out in-person checks. And while Uber launched its fleet of women-only riders, Moto Women, in December, I could not find one on the app. I tried looking over multiple days. 

BOX: Fracas over bike taxis

While the Centre has allowed motorcycles to ply as bike taxis, state governments are responsible for regulating operations. Karnataka argues that they are illegal because two-wheelers with white number plates cannot operate commercially.

After a short ban last year, bike taxis resumed operations, citing protection granted from the Karnataka High Court. Riders in Bengaluru claim they are fined up to Rs 5,000 if caught by traffic cops.

This week, Ahmedabad suspended Rapido’s operations for a month following complaints by auto unions. On the contrary, Maharashtra has welcomed bike taxis in a bid to strengthen its public transport system.

Experts say

The 2024 report ‘Unlocking the Potential of Bike Taxis in India’ stated that bike taxis were the ideal last-mile link because they were affordable and quick. The industry has the potential to generate up to 5.4 million jobs by 2030, it added. 

However, independent urban mobility expert Satya Arikutharam believes it is not a sustainable option. “Anybody with a personal vehicle can become a bike taxi rider temporarily which is both a safety and a regulatory concern. This jeopardises the livelihoods of public transport providers like auto drivers who are in this for the long haul,” he explains.