It was just another ordinary auto-rickshaw. Yellow paint faded, the engine rattling through the narrow lanes of Chennai, blending into the city’s rhythm. To the untrained eye, the man behind the wheel was just another auto driver hustling to make ends meet. But beneath that weathered face and calm smile, something far more sinister was brewing — something the city wasn’t ready for.
That man was Gowri Shankar. The world would come to know him as Auto Shankar, a man who turned Chennai’s back alleys into crime scenes, and ordinary women into his prey. His crimes were not just acts of murder; they were twisted, methodical, and terrifying. A real-life psycho — not hiding in the dark, but moving through the streets in broad daylight.
This is not just the story of a killer. It’s a chilling journey into the mind of a man who wore normalcy like a mask — and how he fooled everyone until it was far too late.
The Making of Auto Shankar
Gowri Shankar was born in 1954 in Kangeyanallur near Vellore, Tamil Nadu. He didn’t come from privilege or power — his early years were marked by poverty and struggle. Like many young men without direction, he migrated to Chennai (then Madras) in search of a better life. He started driving an auto-rickshaw to make ends meet.
But beneath that humble façade was a mind constantly calculating, constantly craving more — more power, more money, more control. The auto was just the beginning. Soon, Shankar was knee-deep in the illegal liquor trade, smuggling arrack (cheap local alcohol) during prohibition. He made quick money and quicker enemies.
As his criminal empire grew, so did his arrogance. He began seeing himself as untouchable — a man above the law. And that’s when things took a deadly turn.
The Descent into Madness
It wasn’t enough to just make money illegally. Shankar wanted to dominate. And when people — especially women — got in his way, he didn’t hesitate.
He began preying on women, especially those who trusted him. Many of his victims were dancers, sex workers, or young women who crossed his path. He seduced some, manipulated others, but in the end, many of them vanished — swallowed by the shadows he created.
His first confirmed murder came in 1988, but it’s believed he had killed even before that. What made Shankar truly dangerous was his method: he didn’t just kill. He planned. He calculated. He would dismember bodies, burn them, or bury them deep, erasing every trace. The city was whispering, but no one had the courage to scream.
Some say he killed at least six women. Some believe the number is much higher.
A Psycho in Disguise
Shankar didn’t fit the image of a crazed serial killer. He wasn’t a loner hiding in the dark. He was sociable, even charming. He laughed with neighbors, helped friends, and pretended to be the guy next door.
But behind that mask was a man with no remorse.
He displayed classic traits of psychopathy — superficial charm, manipulativeness, narcissism, and a complete lack of empathy. He didn’t just kill for need. He killed for dominance. For control. To silence. And what’s worse, he believed he’d never be caught.
And why would he think otherwise? He had political connections, friends in the police force, and enough blackmail material to buy silence. For a while, Auto Shankar was not just a criminal — he was protected.
The City That Slept Through the Horror
In any functioning society, a man like Shankar should have been stopped early. But Chennai, at the time, was infected with apathy, corruption, and fear.
Whispers of missing women were dismissed as “runaways.” Police ignored complaints. Politicians looked away. Shankar paid bribes, used intimidation, and laughed in the face of law. And so, the psycho thrived, using the city’s silence as his weapon.
It wasn’t until 1988, when the disappearance of three women — Vijaya, Lalitha, and Sudha — raised public alarm, that things began to shift. The media picked it up. Families cried on television. And finally, the police had no choice but to act.
The Fall of Auto Shankar
Shankar knew his time was up.
In classic villain fashion, he escaped custody after being arrested. It seemed like something out of a movie. But this was no script. He changed locations, hid in disguises, and used his network to stay ahead. For weeks, he played hide and seek with the law.
Eventually, the net closed in. He was captured in August 1988 in Bangalore and brought back to Chennai. The trial was long, sensational, and filled with chilling details. Witnesses described how he lured women, how he laughed while killing, how he disposed of bodies with cold precision.
In 1991, he was sentenced to death. And on April 27, 1995, Auto Shankar was hanged in Salem Central Prison, ending the life of one of India’s most terrifying psychos.
A Life That Became Legend
But Shankar didn’t vanish with his death. His story lived on — in newspapers, books, and TV series. His life inspired documentaries, films, and in 2019, a Netflix-like series titled “Auto Shankar” brought his story to new generations.
Why does his story still haunt us?
Because it wasn’t just about murder. It was about how evil can hide in plain sight. How society fails when it turns a blind eye. And how the most terrifying monsters don’t always have fangs or bloodstained hands — sometimes, they drive autos and smile politely.
Reflections: How Many More Shankars Are Out There?
Auto Shankar was a product of many failures — societal, institutional, and emotional. He didn’t just slip through the cracks; he was allowed to grow in them. And the terrifying question is: how many more like him walk among us?
How many abusive partners go unchecked? How many small-time criminals are turning into something worse? How many women are still unheard when they scream?
This story isn’t just history. It’s a warning.
The Psychology of Real-Life Psychos
Not every killer is a psycho. But Shankar was.
Clinical psychopathy is rare, but when it exists, it’s lethal. Psychopaths lack remorse, manipulate expertly, and often lead double lives. They can seem completely normal — until it’s too late.
Shankar’s case reminds us that evil doesn’t always arrive with a knife. Sometimes, it creeps in wearing a uniform, driving a rickshaw, offering you a smile. And by the time you recognize it — it’s already too late.
Conclusion: Truth in the Rearview Mirror
Auto Shankar’s story is not just one of crime — it’s one of neglect. The neglect of red flags. The neglect of justice. The neglect of human lives.
He was a monster, yes. But he was made, enabled, and ignored by a system that didn’t care until it was forced to. And that’s the real horror.
As we move through crowded streets today, passing autos, trusting strangers, believing in the kindness of people — we must also carry awareness. Not fear, but awareness. Because sometimes, evil doesn’t knock. It drives you home.
And just because you close your eyes, doesn’t mean it isn’t there.
