Never lie to a rickshaw driver

If you’re new in a foreign country, the first few days would have you searching for some semblance of home. Since work wasn’t to start until the following week, the best way to kill time was to familiarize myself with the road system (impossible) and the establishments around the Indian Social Institute or ISI where I was staying.

So my fellow volunteer and I went to Khan Market, a smorgasbord of shops more like Cartimar. We would later find out that Khan Market, despite the dilapidated state it was in, was the high-end, posh shopping area this side of Delhi where expats, foreigners and well-to-do locals go for imported goods.

After dinner at Subway (with a very hot Masala-flavored Lay’s potato chips), we flagged a rickshaw or “tuk-tuk” (a bigger, more spacious version of the tricycle) to head back to ISI. We bargained for 20 rupees (this side of the earth, bargaining comes in its truest form). The driver accepted on the condition that we drop by a certain souvenir shop on our way. We declined but he was very persistent so we relented eventually just to shut him up. We were traversing unfamiliar roads and side streets that we couldn’t help but think if we were being duped.

When we reached the souvenir shop, the driver aggressively persuaded us to get down and have a look inside the shop. We would later find out that they get commissions from these shops if their passengers purchase something.

“You don’t have to buy anything. Just look. I will not charge you more than 20 rupees” he persisted. And then the standard line: “Looking is free.” He said this about twenty thousand times. I almost saw my patience grow wings and fly out the window.

I tried to find a way out and said: “But I need to go home because I have to go to the bathroom.”

“There is a bathroom inside the shop. I show you.”

Oh freak.

“But I need my medicine. I am sick.”

Now, this irked him. “Oh now you tell me you’re sick because you don’t want to go in and all I ask is to have a look inside and not buy anything and I will not charge you more than 20 rupees and now you lie to me and that makes me angry.”

Give me a break.

Off the bat, I knew we would succumb to that drama if only to shut him up and just so we could go home in one piece.

Later when he finally dropped us off at ISI, the driver was back in a good mood and was gleefully telling us that he’s not like any other driver who would rip us off. He was proud to take foreigners around the city and offered his services should we need an auto-rickshaw again. He wrote down his number. We discreetly threw it away.

He didn’t ask for more than the agreed 20 rupees. Flashing a toothy smile, he said “Honesty is the best policy.” Indeed.

Initial thrill

India, finally. After three freakin’ months of waiting for a visa, my feet have finally landed on curry country.

Yes, there are cows on the streets. The roads are wide, motorists are crazy, and there’s dust everywhere. Food is great, got a steady supply of water, and I got a firm mattress to lie on. And yes, Indians do ride motorcycles, lots of them do.

It’s pure sensory overload: sights, smell, sound and taste. And I am just beginning.