The Auto Driver Who Interviewed Me

Meera had prepared for every possible interview question except the one delivered by an auto driver outside a bakery in Domlur.

“Indiranagar?” she asked.

“Why?” he replied.

She checked whether she had accidentally approached a philosopher. The man wore a crisp checked shirt and sat beneath a laminated picture of a waterfall. His name, painted beside the meter, was Chandru. Nothing in his expression suggested he was joking.

“Because my interview is there.”

“What interview?”

“Marketing manager.”

“Experience?”

“Six years.”

Chandru considered this. Behind Meera, someone emerged from the bakery carrying a cake larger than his transport arrangements. She stepped back from the road, adjusted the folder under her arm, and decided she could afford one more sentence.

“Can you take me?”

“Tell me about yourself.”

She laughed. Chandru did not. “You said interview. Practise. Sit first. We will leave from that side, away from the crossing.”

The fare was agreed, the auto moved, and Meera began her carefully rehearsed introduction. She described herself as a results-oriented professional with a passion for customer-centric storytelling. Chandru listened for approximately twelve seconds.

“Madam. What work do you do?”

She tried again. She helped businesses explain their products so people would buy them.

“See? Now I understood. First answer had too much furniture.”

Meera looked out at the traffic, wounded but intrigued. Chandru had dismantled three evenings of preparation before the first signal. She made a note on her phone. From the rear seat, she could safely revise while he concentrated on driving.

“Biggest achievement?” he asked when they stopped at a red light.

She mentioned a campaign, its audience, and an improvement in sales. Chandru nodded. “Good. You did something. Say that first.”

By the next signal, they had covered teamwork, difficult customers, and why she wanted to leave her current company. Meera began a diplomatic explanation involving growth opportunities. Chandru raised one finger.

“Salary also?”

“Salary also.”

“Then don’t speak like money offended you.”

She laughed so hard that a woman in the next auto smiled without knowing why. The nervous knot in Meera’s stomach began loosening. This was cheaper than interview coaching, although she was not sure whether a certificate would be issued.

Chandru’s phone rang. He let it ring while driving. At a safe stopping place, he checked the caller and called back. His daughter needed help choosing between two internship offers. He listened, asked about the work, and said, “Choose the one where they explain what you will learn. Free snacks are not a career.”

When the call ended, Meera asked whether he often advised passengers.

“Only interested candidates.”

“Have I been shortlisted?”

“Your communication has improved.”

At the office entrance, she checked her reflection in the darkened phone screen. Her hair had acquired an opinion, but her answers sounded more like her own. She paid the agreed fare and thanked him for the preparation.

Chandru accepted this with a small nod. “One final question. Where do you see yourself in five years?”

Meera looked at the office tower. “In a role where I can build a team and do good work.”

“Nice. And geographically?”

“Hopefully closer to home.”

“Excellent answer.”

The real interview lasted forty minutes. Meera explained her work clearly, admitted what she wanted to learn, and resisted the urge to use the phrase “customer-centric ecosystem”. When the interviewer asked about handling blunt feedback, she almost mentioned the waterfall auto.

Three days later, the offer arrived. She celebrated with a pastry from the same bakery and looked for Chandru. He was there, speaking to a young man carrying a laptop bag.

“Current notice period?” he was asking.

Meera waited politely. The recruitment department was busy.

Read when you’re a passenger or safely off the road. Never while driving.