“I learned how to drive a tempo, a three-wheeler, after I took my SLC (national level exams at the end of Grade 10). I was really scared. I was also confused about turning the vehicle at the corners or bringing it to a stop. But I had to learn it anyhow,” recalls 28-year-old Sushma Dhimal, whom I met in front of the Kathmandu Mall as she was waiting for passengers.“Learning to drive a tempo took me two weeks. At first, I practiced driving one without passengers. It was really hard in the beginning. I bumped into random things. Once, the tempo flipped over and I got injured. Only then did I become a professional driver,” says a confi­dent-looking Sushma.

 

She’s been driving a tempo in the chaotic streets of Kathmandu for a year now. As a driver, she’s never felt offended or discriminated against. She lives in Sitapaila with her hus­band and two sons. They all support her. In fact it was her husband who encouraged her and taught her driv­ing. Other female drivers and traffic police also helped her in some diffi­cult situations. As a result, Sushma confidently drives a tempo seven days a week.

 

There was a time when she wanted to go abroad. For that, she needed skills. “But if I have a skill, why not do something in Nepal?” she rea­soned. “When I saw other female drivers, I felt a desire to become one. I failed my first driver’s license test. But I didn’t lose hope,” she muses. Sushma made another attempt and passed the test.

 

NOT AN EASY LIFE

 

Also waiting for passengers at another corner of the tempo stand was 32-year old Kumari Sarki. She’s been driving a three-wheeler for eight years. She started by driving somebody else’s tempo, but she didn’t like the deal and decided to buy her own vehicle. “I didn’t have enough money so I took out a bank loan to buy a tempo, which is my source of livelihood now,” she says.

 

Although Kumari earns enough, it’s far from an easy life. There are times when she doesn’t get enough passengers. Sometimes, the tempo stops working in the middle of a trip. She also gets into an accident once in a while. She takes on a serious look and says, “I haven’t been able to pay off my loan yet.”

 

Her day starts at 5 am every morn­ing. At noon, she takes a lunch break. Her daughter brings her food, which she eats in a hurry. Unlike most other professionals, she doesn’t take a day off. “Why do I need a day off? It’s my own tempo; I’d rather make some more money,” she says proudly. As soon as her vehicle is filled with pas­sengers, she starts the engine, honks and picks up speed.

 

POPULAR MISCONCEPTION

 

There soon arrives another tem­po packed with passengers in front of Kathmandu Mall. The driver is 30-year-old Pramila Bishankhe. She is wearing a mask, but her hair is covered in a layer of dust.

Pramila has a bachelor’s degree. She looks and talks smart. “People generally think of female tempo driv­ers as simple rustics. They also think my line of work does not befit col­lege-educated folks. That’s wrong; there should be dignity of labor,” she says.

 

Pramila has been married for six years. She started driving a tempo two years before that. She didn’t stop working even when she had an infant to take care of.

 

TOUGH BUT FUN

 

Bimala Gautam, 35, is a single mom. She has two kids. “I have to raise them the best I can. I need to give them the love of both a mother and a father,” says an emotional Bimala. She’s in her tempo near the New Road gate waiting for her turn. She has been driving a three-wheeler in Kathmandu for eight years.

It’s scorching hot at two in the afternoon. Bimala’s face is badly burnt by the heat. She looks exhaust­ed and parched, and asks some­one to get her a bottle of water. But “work is fun, I never feel lazy,”she says.

She came to the capital from Sind­huli nine years ago in order to give her children a good education. She has experienced a positive change in her life ever since she became a driver. “Now I don’t need anyone’s help to feed my family. Ultimately, it’s only our skills that support us,” says Bimala as a smile spreads across her weary face.

 

NOTHING VENTURED, NOTHING GAINED

 

Another female tempo driver I speak to is Juni Maya Nepali, who has already completed her 10th trip of the day and has made Rs 3,000, which is the amount she has to hand the vehicle-owner every day. What she makes in excess of Rs 3,000 is hers to keep.

 

She also gets a daily wage of Rs 350. Juni likes the deal, unlike many others who would rather drive their own vehicle. “If it’s my own vehicle, there will always be worry at the back of my mind that it will mal­function. I feel more at ease driv­ing someone else’s vehicle,” says Juni jovially.

 

She is 25, has completed Grade 12 and has been a tempo driver for a year. Earlier, she used to work in the garment industry. She also faced great difficulty learning to drive; so scared was she that for the first two months after she learned to drive, she didn’t ven­ture out the house. Finally she over­came her fear and started driving. “I’ve realized there is nothing you cannot do if you have courage,” Juni says.

 

BY SAPANA MAHARJAN