Every time Shameer Ayan picks up a customer in his auto-rickshaw, a part of him prays that he has hit the tourist generosity jackpot.
“Look at Muthi over there,” he says, as he points towards an older rickshaw driver across the road.
“Yesterday he took a French couple on a 100 rupee (€1.20) tour of Fort Cochin and at the end they gave him a 2,000 rupee (€24) tip.”
An estimated 7.5 million tourists stream into Kochi, the capital of India’s southernmost state, Kerala, every year. There, they are met by, literally, thousands of auto-rickshaw drivers just like Shameer.
With so many drivers to choose from, competition is cut-throat and profit margins thin. A trip within Kochi’s tourist enclave of Fort Cochin costs just 30 rupees (€0.35c), with an hour-long tour of the town’s major sites setting tourists back less than €1.
Some tourists spend 12,000 rupees every night in luxury hotels. How can they care about an extra 100 rupees?
Once a poster child for Communist governance, Kerala continues to rank highly – relative to other Indian states – on health, education and poverty metrics. But though socialist governance has been successful at providing books, roofs and meals to Kerala’s citizens, it has had less luck at boosting economic growth.
Although statistics list Kerala as one of India’s 10 most prosperous states, what the numbers don’t say is that a full one-fifth of the state’s GDP is dependent on remittances – Keralan expats in Gulf states sending money to their relatives back home.
In an effort to supplement their income, drivers like Shameer often ask customers to pay one of Fort Cochin’s myriad tourist shops a visit. “Just looking, no need to buy,” they purr.
Drivers get a two per cent commission on anything bought within the shop, as well as a fuel coupon. Three coupons equate to one litre of petrol, worth 80 rupees (€0.95c).
“Most guests are happy to take a look and help me out and many end up finding something they like and buying it. But others get very angry and refuse. I don’t understand it, I’m just asking for two minutes of their time,” Shameer shrugs.
Unscrupulous drivers who prey on gullible tourists make honest drivers’ work harder, Shameer admits. “They’re not good for business. If you go to Kochi and have a bad experience, you won’t come back or tell your friends about it.”
But in a state where the average citizen earns €1,100 a year, the temptation to make a quick buck can be hard to resist.
“Some tourists spend 12,000 rupees (€140) a night in luxury hotels. How can they care about an extra 100 rupees (€1.20)?” Achu, another auto-rickshaw driver, muses.
Like many of his colleagues, Shameer cannot afford the 200,000 (€2,350) rupees it costs to buy his own auto-rickshaw outright. Nor can he afford the down payment necessary to secure a bank loan. Instead, he pays a monthly fee to rent an auto-rickshaw – meaning he must make at least 250 rupees (€3) a day if he is to break even.
That isn’t too difficult during the Christmas high season, but as Shameer points out: “My wife and two children need food and clothes all year, not just during high season.”
Such concerns mean the flickering dream of striking tourist gold is never too far from mind – a dream watered by tales of Western tourists paying for the school fees of drivers’ children or for private medical care for their relatives.
“Last year a friend of mine picked up two English people,” auto-ricksaw driver Haris, 48, begins: “After some questions, he explained that he owed the bank 170,000 rupees (€2,000) for his rickshaw. They asked to go to the bank and paid for it all. It was the last day of their holiday and they wanted to do something to help before they went home.”
Though such grand displays of generosity are the exception rather than the rule, small presents from departing guests are not uncommon. Shameer rattles off a list of gifts he has received from his customers, from an official US Navy Seals T-shirt to a pair of all-terrain boots.
But with his son now in school and the bills piling up, Shameer may not be ferrying passengers across Fort Cochin in his auto-rickshaw for much longer.
“I have an opportunity to go and work in Kuwait,” he confides. “A rich guest I picked up some months ago was looking for construction workers to send to Kuwait. I’ve helped send him seven workers so far, and now I’m thinking of joining them,” he said.
If he does take the plunge, Shameer will join approximately three million Keralans already working in Gulf states. But though he sees the move to Kuwait as a lifeline, he admits that he has no idea how much he will be earning.
“The most basic employees make less than 15,000 rupees (€175) a month. Electricians and other skilled workers get maybe 25,000 (€300) or 30,000 (€350). I don’t have any special construction skills but I’ve helped this gentleman a lot, so hopefully he’ll be good to me.”
The chasm that divides Shameer’s bank account balance from that of the average European could not be more pronounced. And yet the 33-year-old Keralan gently refuses the banknotes I stuff into his hand.
“Please, my friend, no need,” he says with a smile. “You are not a rich man, and now you are my friend.
“When you are happy, I am happy. That is the Kerala way.”