I'm fascinated by the rickshaw. It's so open. It's so flexible. How it sustains itself on busy roads remains a mystery. Just three wheels and some cloth to cover it. So threadbare.
The man behind the wheels grabs my attention too. If he's bespectacled, I wonder. Surely he's a graduate or an engineer without any other job.
I like it when he answers my, 'Hill road jayega?' with just a shrug of his shoulders, hands still on steering wheel, and his eyes pointing to the empty seats behind him. That means he's willing! A major victory after being turned down by scores of other fellows.
This frail vehicle is called by various names. A respectful 'Rickshaw' as if it were a prominent Parsi gentleman,or just 'Auto' by a hysterical woman waiting to ferry her small toddler to school.
Collegians prefer to take the 'Rick'.
The drivers are funny too. We once traveled in a rickety,old auto on our way to the Taj Mahal in Agra. The roads were bumpy. The seats were too. The tall man in the front hit the roof every now and then. Literally. His seats were made of the springiest spring, I thought. We laughed. He laughed too.
There was another fellow in Mumbai who kept turning his head sideways every five minutes,as he led us full speed on the highway. He looked scary first, then I realized he must have an abnormal neck.
I heard of a rickshaw furnished with a newspaper,magazines and even a small TV to entertain the commuter. At no extra cost. Wow.
The auto swerves with impunity, brakes like mad, almost hits a passerby. It takes on the high and mighty on the road without care. It decides to stop anywhere on the road. The driver spits out some red juice the whole length of the journey. It's a real nightmare for the unaccustomed.
My elderly, American friend is horrified at the prospect of traveling by auto. She throws her head back, eyes open wide.
'Never', she says.
