Life has a strange way of teaching lessons. Sometimes, it happens within minutes, like it did when I wore my father’s khaki dress for the first time. My dad has been a driver for 35 years. He started wearing that uniform when he was just 18. Even after retiring from his main driving job, he chose to drive an auto to support our family. So, we still have an auto at home.
Since it's a yellow-board vehicle, I needed to apply for a badge along with my driving license to legally drive it. Thinking it might be useful in the future to go anywhere, I decided to get it done. The RTO rules required me to be in a full khaki dress for verification, so I wore it and went to the RTO office. When my dad saw me in that khaki uniform, he stopped and looked at me for a couple of seconds. He didn’t say anything, but I could see something change in his eyes. It was as if his mind had traveled back in time, probably remembering the day he first wore that same uniform as a young man. Maybe he was thinking about the long journey he’s had, filled with countless experiences and struggles.
After that, I stood in front of the mirror, just to see how I looked in it. The feeling was strange and powerful. It wasn’t like the excitement of wearing a suit for an important business meeting or a fancy outfit for a special occasion. This felt different—deep and emotional. There was a mix of pride, sadness, and a realization that I can’t fully put into words. It was as if, for the first time, I truly understood a part of my father’s life that I had taken for granted all these years.
I always believed I knew my father well. I’ve watched him wear that khaki dress every single day for over 25 years. But that moment taught me a powerful lesson—you can live with someone your entire life, see their routines, and share countless memories, yet never truly understand the weight of their experiences. It's only when you step into their shoes, even for a brief moment, that you begin to feel the depth of their journey.
The Incident That Triggered Me
I was standing at the RTO office with my driving school friends, waiting for our tests and verification. There were many other groups around, casually chatting and passing time. Suddenly, an RTO staff member came over and started picking out people wearing khaki uniforms, no matter their age. He didn't explain anything—just asked us to follow him.
Naturally, we assumed he was taking us to the photo booth for verification. It made sense since wearing khaki was part of the requirement. We followed him without thinking much. But what happened next was completely unexpected.
Instead of taking us to the photo booth as we had expected, he led us into an office and asked us to put our bags aside. Then, without even a hint of politeness, he ordered us to carry benches and chairs upstairs. There was no request for help, no explanation, just a command as if it were our responsibility. I stood there for a moment, completely confused, trying to make sense of what was happening. But soon, it hit me. He had chosen us only because we were wearing khaki. Out of the hundreds of people standing there, including my friends who were also in line for their tests, he picked only those in khaki. It wasn’t random—it was because of the uniform. That realization struck me hard. It wasn’t just about lifting benches; it was about being singled out, and treated differently, simply because of what I was wearing. And in that moment, I understood what my father and so many others like him have gone through all their lives.
Others started lifting the benches without saying anything, but I stepped aside, waiting for my badge papers to be signed. It wasn’t about carrying the benches—it’s really not a big deal. What bothered me was the assumption that just because we were wearing khaki, we were automatically expected to follow his orders. It wasn’t about the task itself, but the way we were treated as if the uniform meant we had no choice. That’s what triggered me—the khaki became a symbol of being taken for granted, of being expected to do things without question.
Later, after he was done with his work, the same officer came to me and asked which driving school I was from. I told him, and he started shaking his head, muttering, "Ivan Epdi Badge Vanidranu Pakuren?" Just then, I got a notification that my badge had been verified. I showed it to him, and he walked away, looking irritated.😂 The officer wasn’t finished with me yet. After all that had happened, he went straight to my driving school and instructed them not to clear my file. When I got a call from my instructor, he seemed confused and asked, "Manoj, what happened? The officer is asking about your file." I explained everything to him, describing how I had been treated at the RTO and how the officer had singled me out just because I was wearing the khaki uniform. My instructor listened patiently and then reassured me, "Don’t worry, I’ll handle it. I’ll make sure everything gets sorted."
Still, the officer wasn’t done with me yet. When I went for my BP and eye tests, he stopped me again and said, "You didn’t help when I asked, So, I informed madam about you, your test will be very hard, go and see. I was frustrated and told him, "You didn’t ask me for help; you ordered me to follow your commands. Why should I have followed you just because I was in khaki? Why did you pick only the people in khaki? What made us different from everyone else?" He was taken aback for a moment, and he had no answer and walked away.
I completed my tests and got my badge approved. But this incident left a deep impact on me.
A Realization That Hit Hard
What if I didn’t have a business or another career option? What if I had chosen to be an auto driver like my dad? Would I have been able to question that officer? Probably not. I would have quietly carried those benches like others, knowing that if I didn’t, I might not get my badge that day.
That’s the harsh reality many auto drivers face. It's not just about carrying benches—it’s the constant judgment and disrespect they face every day. They wear that khaki dress not out of choice, but because their circumstances demand it. They sacrifice their dignity and comfort for their families, waking up early each day to drive again, no matter how they were treated the day before.
I wore that uniform for just 30 minutes, and in those moments, I could feel the weight of those judgments. My dad has worn it for 35 years. How many struggles has he silently faced in those countless 30-minute intervals? How many moments did he endure without saying a word, just to make sure we had what we needed? As I type this, I’m filled with emotion. I can’t hold back my tears. We often fail to appreciate the silent sacrifices of the people who work tirelessly for us.
A Plea for Change
At least from our generation, let’s treat people equally. A uniform doesn’t define someone's worth. Behind every khaki dress, every uniform is a person with dreams, struggles, and a family they’re fighting for.
And to all the fathers out there who silently bear the weight of their families—you are real heroes. Dad, I may not say it enough, But we see you, we respect you, and we are proud of you.
The lesson here is simple yet profound: We must look beyond the surface. We must see the human behind the uniform, understand their journey, and honor their sacrifices. In a world that’s quick to judge, let’s be the generation that chooses kindness, empathy, and respect.
To all the hardworking individuals out there, wearing khaki or any other uniform, know this – your sacrifices do not go unnoticed. You are seen. You are valued. And you are the true backbone of our society.
Let’s change the way we see the world. Respect isn’t given; it’s earned by how we treat each other, no matter what we wear. If this story resonates with you, don’t forget to share it with your followers. I invite you to share your own experiences in the comments below. Let’s start a conversation and celebrate the silent sacrifices that often go unnoticed. Your story could inspire others, and together, we can create a space filled with respect and understanding. Bye for now 👋
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