A day in the life of two women cab drivers in Delhi-NCR

Five years of daily cab rides, and not once did I see a woman behind the wheel. It's still rare. But that's beginning to change. Here's a glimpse into the lives of women driving for Uber and Rapido.

At 8 am, when much of Delhi is still negotiating its first cup of chai, Pinki has already logged into the app. She works as a cab driver with Uber.

Her workday isn’t fixed or predictable, just like the city itself. Throughout the day, she drives different kinds of passengers through areas that may or may not feel safe. Sometimes, she has to stand her ground when passengers push her to go somewhere she believes isn’t safe. And beyond the driving, she’s constantly dealing with something less visible but just as important—earning respect from people.

A few kilometres away, and a few hours earlier, Saroj’s day begins even sooner. Saroj, who is with Rapido, leaves home at 6 am, returns briefly to rest, and then heads out again, often working till 10 or 11 at night. There is no fixed shift, she says. There rarely is, in this line of work—especially when you are a woman trying to make the city fit around your life, not the other way round.

Together, their stories tell a tale of Delhi-NCR that no survey or data really points out.

The city as they see it

It is not just a perception, but data is present to corroborate how safe Delhi is for women. Surveys over the years, from organisations like UN Women and ActionAid, have repeatedly flagged concerns around harassment in transport systems and public areas.

And yet, here are women not just navigating those spaces, but doing so professionally, often for 8 to 12 hours a day.

Interestingly, neither Pinki nor Saroj frames the city in absolutes.

“No ma’am, there isn’t a specific place I would call unsafe,” Pinki says. But she adds, almost in the same breath, that there are areas she avoids. “Some parts the roads are narrow and not suitable. So even if a ride request comes, I don’t accept it.”

Saroj is more direct. “Faridabad, especially Gwal Pahari, it’s not safe for women there. If I get a ride request from that side, I don’t accept it.”

She even asks her male counterparts about locations that are deemed fit for driving at all times and sometimes they fill her in on places to avoid because, believe it or not, even they do the same.

Negotiating respect, one ride at a time

For Pinki, the surprises often come from where she doesn’t expect them.

“Mostly I’ve had issues with female passengers, not really with men so far,” she says, recounting how some insist she drive into narrow stretches despite her hesitation. “We can usually sense when a road ahead isn’t fit for driving and insist on leaving them at the gate or outside the gully, but many female passengers argue.”

It’s a striking inversion of the usual narrative.

At the same time, she adds that many male passengers are supportive (curious, even). “They say this is the first time they’re seeing a female driver.”

Saroj has seen both ends of that spectrum.

Earlier, she says, comments like “women don’t know how to drive” were common. Now, the tone has shifted. “These days, people often say they feel safe because a woman is driving.”

But the old attitudes haven’t disappeared entirely.

She recalls a ride with an elderly passenger who criticised her for giving way to another car. “He said, ‘This is why they say women don’t know how to drive.’” Her response was measured, almost understated: “It’s just a matter of a minute or two.”

Home and work juggling is not just for the corporates

What most male cab drivers likely don’t have to worry about when they return home is who will cook dinner or take care of their children while they’re away. For women, however, not just here, but almost everywhere, that thought is hard to set aside.

Pinki’s ability to work 8–10 hour shifts rests on a joint family structure. “My husband, my in-laws, my brother-in-law, his wife, and our children—we live together,” she says. “Without family support, it’s not possible to do this alone.”

Saroj’s situation is more contained. “I only have support from my husband,” she says. Night driving is not off the table because of fear, but because “I have children at home, and there’s no one to take care of them.”

In a sector that runs 24/7, their availability is still shaped by domestic responsibilities - who watches the children, who shares the load, who doesn’t.

This is not unique to them. Female labour force participation in India continues to hover at relatively low levels compared to global averages, with care work and household responsibilities often cited as key constraints. While India has witnessed a significant rise in female labour in the last couple of years, its quality and long-term trajectory remain subjects of intense economic debate.

For women in gig work—like ride-hailing—this translates into shorter shifts, fewer night hours, and ultimately, lower earning potential.

And yet, both women frame their work with a sense of agency.

“It’s been good, ma’am. I like working, I like driving,” Pinki says simply.

Learning to drive, learning to stay

Neither of them began here.

Pinki had no prior experience in driving professionally. “I had the thought of learning,” she says, crediting a mentor who helped train her, get her licence, and start working. The training itself took about 15 days; the licence, another month or so.

Saroj’s journey is similar, and telling. She was part of a group of 15–20 women trained under a local initiative in Gurgaon. “I’m the only one who continued driving,” she says. “Others left because they were scared.”

Fear, it seems, is not just about the road. It’s about income uncertainty, social perception, and the leap from familiarity to risk.

Those who stay, like Pinki and Saroj, build their own systems of resilience.

The road less taken

Every day when I take a cab to office, never have I ever come across a woman behind the wheel. I have been taking cabs for the last five years or so. Yes, it isn’t common—but it seems like a shift is underway.

Uber, for instance, expects the number of women drivers in India’s top five cities to grow by over 6 per cent by 2028. Fuelled by the rise of ride-hailing services, this could bring more than five lakh women into the workforce and even nudge city economies upward by over 1 per cent.

Now, that's a huge number in a profession long dominated by men, and in a society where the stereotype that “women can’t drive” still persists.

- Ends