Sardarji’s taxi in Calcutta: A legacy of integrity and trust
Kolkata has been the epicentre of countrywide protests in recent days over an issue that concerns us all — women’s safety. In this hour of grief and anger, I can’t help but reminisce, and with a sense of pride.
It was a standard instruction for family and friends, especially women, travelling at odds hours in Calcutta (as it was called then) that elderly Bengalis would insist on repeating, “Sardarji er taxi tey jaabi… oonek raat hoe gaache” (Always take a taxi driven by Sikh drivers at night). Such was the reputation that these drivers, sporting coloured turbans, in their yellow taxis had acquired for themselves.
Calcutta resident Tuhin K Roy recently recalled her grandmother’s pet travel fad: “In front of our house on Lansdowne Road was a taxi stand, so to speak. If my grandmother availed of a cab, the driver had to be a Sikh. No, she would not get into a non-Sikh-driven taxi. Full stop. Why? They were renowned for their courtesy to an old lady — opening the door for her to get in and when she got out. Coincidentally, post-1947, her sister in New Delhi gave accommodation to a family of Sikh refugees. He took to driving taxis, forging a lifelong relationship.”
In the introduction to her book ‘Calcutta, a Cultural and Literary History’, writer Krishna Dutta wrote in 2013 about “the cosmopolitan nature of the city in whose labyrinthine lanes jostle turbaned Sikh taxi drivers from the Punjab”.
Far away from home, the community of Sikh taxi drivers thrived in Bengal. They were known for their integrity, and being dependable, courteous, enterprising and, of course, brave. As ubiquitous yellow Ambassador taxis have given way to app-based models, the number of Sikh cab drivers in the city has dwindled. The Sikh population numbers have been sliding since the 1990s, too, but their remarkable story is hard to miss.
There are very few accounts available of the early migrants, particularly Sikhs, from North India. The primary reason for migration from 1860-1900 (and later) was the economic hardship faced by the people of undivided British Punjab. Recurring famines, poor harvests, small landholdings, rising prices of foodgrains and disease compelled many to seek better opportunities elsewhere, eventually leading them to Calcutta, then the capital of British India.
The migrants were mostly distressed farmers, craftsmen and unskilled workers, as well as colonial ex-sepoys, underground Ghadarites and anti-imperialist Babbar Akali revolutionaries. Some ventured further to Burma, Southeast Asia, Hong Kong, China, Fiji, Australia, Canada, England and the US through the Calcutta port, known as King George’s Port or Khidderpore Docks.
The Census of 1911 recorded at 932 the number of Sikhs in Bengal, 81 of them in Calcutta. In 1921, the Sikh population in Bengal was put at 1,571 males and 448 females, of which Calcutta was home to 1,077 males and 295 females. By 1941, the Census showed that Calcutta had 6,069-2,387 (male-female) Sikhs, Jorasanko 236-112, Bara Bazar 322-81, Colootola 262-126, Ballygunge 567-231, Bhowanipore 2,021-838, Tollygunge 880-334, and Budge Budge 534-178.
What worked in their favour was that they landed in Calcutta at the right time. With streetlights on paved roads, traffic rules enforced by the police to regulate the running of tram-cars, buses and taxi-cabs, the city called ‘London of the East’ appeared to be gaining momentum around 1920-1930. The Sikhs grabbed the opportunity for a prosperous life, and most of them joined the taxi, bus and truck transport business.
The Sikh taxi drivers mostly settled in Bhowanipore, Hazra, Karaya and Tollygunge in south Calcutta. They were semi-literate, with knowledge of Gurmukhi (Punjabi) or Persian or Urdu. Socially, they were a close-knit community, but belonged to different castes. A majority of them were Jats from Ludhiana district. They founded Sri Guru Singh Sabha in 1930 and Khalsa English High School in 1950, but were quick to learn Bangla.
Initially, in the 1919-20s, they drove taxi-cabs operated by individuals and private companies — French Motor Company, Indian Motor Taxi Cab Company, Bengal Motor and Taxi Company and New Motors Limited. They gradually bought their own taxi-cabs and buses. The Khalsa Transport Company was set up in 1924 by brothers Fateh and Rajender Singh Benipal. Three years later, the Khalsa Motor Syndicate was established under Gurdit Singh, a leader of Komagata Maru. The Calcutta Taxi Association, which is still active, and the Bengal Bus Syndicate were set up in 1930.
In 1922, the weekly Commerce described the dominance of North Indians in Calcutta’s taxi driving profession: “The somewhat extensive usurpation of the different means of earning a livelihood in Bengal and particularly in Calcutta by non-Bengalees is exemplified by the number of Sikhs, Punjabis and up-country Mahomedans who are employed as taxi-drivers in the city… there are, roughly speaking, 7,500 licensed taxi-drivers in Calcutta, and about 50 per cent of these are Sikhs and other Punjabis.”
In the initial days, media reports reflected an unfavourable assessment of the community. The Times of India dated March 30, 1921, carried the news of the mysterious disappearance of a body in a Sikh’s taxi. Cases of rash and negligent driving also surfaced. A Sikh driver was beaten up in the Garpar area by a mob after rumours of child-kidnapping. The seizure of a consignment of kirpans — apparently for self-defence — at the Howrah railway station in 1924 created tense moments.
A change of attitude happened quickly. In 1927, a freedom fighter from Punjab, Kharak Singh, was given a grand public reception at the Howrah station by Calcutta Mayor JM Sengupta. The procession included Sikh taxi drivers. Newspapers reported umpteen incidents involving turbaned taxi drivers in Calcutta, describing them as “well mannered, courageous, attentive and honest”. Bengali films started having Sardarji taxi-driver characters.
During World War II (1940s), an American journalist, on way to Burma, mentioned the “barking bulb horns of the Sikh taxi men’s towering cars… in blackout Calcutta”. A photograph of a smiling Sikh driver (taxi number 727) with American pilot Bob Sherwood at Dumdum Airport, Calcutta, in 1945 became famous. In his article ‘Drab Calcutta’s unchanging scene’, war correspondent Geoffrey Tebbutt of The Herald (Melbourne) wrote on August 31, 1944: “Long lines of carts drawn by wide grey buffaloes; carts almost as heavy pulled and pushed by other narrow little men; horse-cabs, first-class and second-class; traffic policemen with umbrella hoisted from a slot in their Sam Browne belts; Bengalis gathering up their dhotis to dash across the streets in the rain; jeeps and armoured cars and trucks, and the taxis of the Sikhs, held together chiefly by their brilliant coats of paint… Nobody knows quite how many people there are in Calcutta, and its sprawling suburbs. Of these, the most cheerful seem to be Sikhs who monopolise the taxi-driving craft.”
About their physical characteristics, he wrote: “They are decorative fellows, the Sikhs, with their big beards, their big bare feet and the brilliant turbans which they try to match in conspicuousness when painting their cars.”
A schoolteacher from Australia described her visit to India in 1947 and in particular the interaction with Sikh taxi drivers in The West Wyalong Advocate (NSW) dated October 20, 1947: “Mrs FE Mitchell held her audience’s attention throughout. Mrs Mitchell told her listeners that she went to India to teach at the homes for Eurasian children near Darjeeling, at the foot of the Himalaya mountains…. the good manners and the efficiency of the Sikh taxi drivers impressed her, and she has a good opinion of these men.”
Punjabis’ role in revolutionary and anti-imperialist activities came to light too. A Calcutta Tramways Company driver named Genda Singh (native of Daudhar village in Ludhiana) was an organiser of the Communist Workers’ Transport Union, while Inder Singh Grewal (listed in police CID records) was jailed from 1930-35.
After the Komagata Maru incident (1914) in Calcutta’s Budge Budge area, some Ghadar revolutionaries settled in Calcutta, and tried to develop a network in eastern India through various means, including Punjabi literary writings. Intelligence reports from 1915-30 inferred that the Sikh taxi drivers had close connections with revolutionary groups, including Anushilan Samiti, and acted as their facilitators for transport of material.
With the introduction of diesel engines, increased running costs, taxes and high fuel prices, the transport sector started to decline, and many Sikhs shifted to Punjab. In the 1990s, several ventured out to foreign countries for new opportunities. This decline among Sikh population continues.
The end of the road for Ambassadors, the pandemic lockdown and the phase-out of 15-year-old commercial vehicles put thousands of cabbies out of business. Post-pandemic, the yellow cab count plunged to around 7,000. Many literary works celebrate the Sikh taxi drivers’ contribution, but the community does nurture a sense of abandonment.
Suchetna Chattopadhyay, a professor in the Department of History, Jadavpur University, Kolkata, fills the gap in a way. Asked recently about her experience about Sikh drivers in Kolkata, she wrote — “My late father always recalled that during his childhood, all the taxi drivers were Sikhs. As for me, I clearly remember two Sikh drivers. They were both elderly gentlemen who spoke in flawless Bangla. I met one of them while returning home from college one evening and he told me of his love of Bangla literature, the fact that his children were taught in Bangla medium schools and the poems he wrote in Bangla on Rabindranath and others. He showed me photocopies of his writings. I met the other elderly gentleman on a memorable evening. It was November 2018. I had just received copies of my newly printed book on Komagata Maru and Punjabi workers in Bengal from my publisher in Delhi. I was in a happy mood and had celebrated the occasion with colleagues and friends. When heading home, a friend and I hailed a taxi at the corner of Jodhpur Park. A Sikh was driving it. The coincidence struck us and we just stared at him while he kept complaining that no one followed traffic rules anymore! We were so amazed that we could not bring ourselves to tell him that I was carrying in my bag a book which was on those who had preceded him.”
My own grandfather, Major Singh Chahal, a native of Bhaini Rora village in Ludhiana, used to drive Bengali film actor Chhabi Biswas to film studios and clubs around Calcutta during 1940-55 in his Pontiac taxi. The actor was quite friendly with him. “Aae Major,” he would call him, a broad smile on his face and grandad’s. Wonderful memories!
