An ode to rickshaws...

Over the past few weeks I’ve been spending more time than usual riding around in the back of auto rickshaws. It’s been somewhat painful as it’s been all in the quest of trying to get my visa extended which it seems is the Holy Grail of Indian bureaucracy. On my journey my file has been lost and found due to a case of mistaken identity, causing me to gain and loose a Japanese husband on the way (careless I know). But I have completed my quest, after nine visits and between various trips to ministries with offerings of paperwork, endless queuing, photocopying and enjoying the spectacle of other foreigners go into meltdown (tears and tantrums never work in the face of an Indian bureaucrat especially before lunch time) I’ve had time to ponder...

With my time here heading into its last few months I’ve started to think about those things that have become every day and will no longer be a feature of my life back in London. Renewing your visa is definitely one of the not so glamorous sides of living in a developing country that I won’t miss neither is having to travel around in rickshaws. They are fairly safe and cheap (but still eat into your volunteer budget if you do more than one journey a day in Delhi) and surprisingly very green as they all run on compressed natural gas (CNG). But it still does not draw attention from the fact that each journey is somewhat traumatic, involves negotiations worthy of a UN peacekeeper and you are effectively riding around in a dodgem / hairdryer. And with hair like mine, I always seem to look like Bonnie Tyler having had a cat fight with a can of hairspray when I gracefully step out at my destination.

The trauma begins with trying to flag one down. Rickshaw drivers are not of the London cabbie school of customer service. They normally refuse to take you to places and drive off. Or they won’t have a clue where your destination is so you have to tell them the way. That can be pretty hard as Delhi is not the easiest city to get around as the whole place is covered in dust and rubble due to the Commonwealth Games (CWGs). You sometimes feel like you are a malfunctioning Sat Nav randomly trying to look for landmarks of familiar construction sites to find the way home.

Before you even get into a rickshaw serious negotiation needs to be made. The natural assumption is ‘blondie = rich’ therefore a ‘special’ price is given. So every day you have to barter hard which is painful if you are: a) running late b) its raining c) 6 rickshaw drivers have refused to take you so far d) just not in the mood for negotiating. Rickshaws have a meter but it rarely gets used. Until recently, as thanks to the alleged flood of tourists that will be turning up for the CWGs, rickshaw drivers have been forced to use their meters and a new rate card.

This meant happy days, hassle free travel for a while but the novelty ran off after Week 2 and most rickshaw wallah’s tend not to use it. They have conveniently slipped back to the old ‘meter broken’ excuse so it’s time to barter hard. And my, do rickshaw drivers have some valid reasons for charging a little bit extra. The usual one is ‘the traffic is bad’, well yes I can’t deny that living in a city of 16 million but it’s bad everyday and isn’t my problem. Or my favourite was last week when I got told the fare would be double ‘due to the rain’ when I responded saying ‘the rain is God’s fault not mine so charge him double’ I at least got a wry smile, head nod for get in and pay what you want. The monsoon has added a whole new twist on travel, if you are lucky enough to flag one down you then have to be prepared for being exposed to the elements, particularly large 4x4s who plough through puddles at high speed easily causing a tsunami onto your rickshaw and giving you a good soaking.

But they are not all bad, sometimes you get a great driver you can practice your poor Hindi on, they often like to sing slightly tuneless Bollywood hits throughout your journey providing some entertainment from the traffic, they know how to get rid of beggars and hawkers at traffic lights, can drive like demons when you are running late which makes it sort of feel like you’ve got AC and are definitely an unique part of India you can never forget...

Highlights: making it home on time – today is the first time in a few weeks I’ve just got back before the heavens opened, I’m writing this in the dark because the thunderstorm has caused another power cut but least I’m dry, breaking into my flat –the rain also does stealth damage it seems, as when I returned home in the wee hours merry from a night out and failed open the rusty lock on our front gate after 10mins of trying I suddenly turned a bit Yuri Geller and had bent my key in the lock. I knew that a 3am wakeup call was not going to be an option to my landlord so the only way was to get up and over the 8ft gate, luckily my mountaineering skills had been honed in Ladakh so it was a fairly painless ascent and descent, Sunday brunch bake off – it just gets to that point every few months where you’ve just had enough of curry and need a taste of home so we all piled over to another volunteers for a non-masala meal with delicacies such as tarte au citron and my contribution of Mars Bar crispie cakes seem to go down a treat, an egg upgrade – this may sound quite tragic but this week I taught myself how to make poached eggs (god bless the internet for teaching you everything) as eggs are my main source of protein in a mainly veg diet, a change from scrambled eggs and egg mayonnaise sandwiches after 10 months is so welcome, I now just need to master hollandaise - oh for eggs Benedict...!