MUMBAI, India The auto-rickshaw driver had never laughed so hard. Or been so confused. Or so worried, he confessed, as his eyes widened at what he saw.
“No!” gasped Dilip Kumar, a 30-year veteran driver. “It can’t be.”
Roaring and rattling up the hill, there they were: a cluster of 32 noisy auto-rickshaws. Piloting them even revving the handlebars like pros were foreigners.
“White people and even women, and so many driving rickshaws! And all weaving the traffic so smartly,” marveled Kumar, as a crowd of other auto-rickshaw drivers gathered in amazement one recent muggy night.
These “brave and determined souls,” as organizers of the Autorickshaw Rally 2007 called them, had driven India’s iconic three-wheeled auto-rickshaws straight through the southern part of this country and into frenzied traffic in Mumbai. For fun. And to celebrate the 50th anniversary of the auto-rickshaw, South Asia’s most omnipresent mode of egalitarian transport.
“We’ve made it alive. Although, I’ve never had so many near-death experiences with buses. Or cows,” said Raj Solanki, 31, of Takoma Park, Md. She stumbled out of her rickshaw wearing fly-resistant, wrap-around sunglasses, Laura Ingalls-style braids and a greasy, car-mechanic button-down shirt.
The auto-rickshaw is the common man’s ride in India. The vehicles provide little shelter from the country’s parade of child beggars, street vendors, circus performers and herders, who routinely swat at their goats, cattle and elephants in the fast lane. And yet, for the participants, the rickshaw rally was a way to see India unscripted.
In cosmopolitan cities here, creeping in with the double lattes and imported cars is the concern that India’s authenticity may be lost to development, especially in tourist quarters. According to the World Travel and Tourism Council, based in London and New Delhi, tourism in India is expected not only to generate $61 billion in 2007 but to grow significantly in the years ahead.
“It’s a question being asked all over the world: How do you see the heart of a country when world cities are looking more and more similar?” said Arun Chaudhari of the Rotary Club of Mumbai, which helped sponsor and organize the rally. “Anyone can see a five-star hotel. They look the same whether you are in Dubai or Delhi. But on this journey, you see the real roads, the real villages, the heart and soul of India.”
The not-for-profit rally was billed as a sort of madcap Mardi Gras for rickshaws. Since the clunky vehicles can’t go faster than 31 miles per hour, the rally was more about completing each stage by dusk and keeping the rickshaws running many participants brought a tool kit than actually winning.
Auto-rickshaws were a logical choice for travelers in search of an antidote to the conventional modes of transport.
With their canopies and tin shells, auto-rickshaws sound like lawn mowers, look like toy insects on wheels and provide a bumpy, fun and sometimes harrowing ride that is always “air conditioned,” as the sides of the vehicles are open, with no overbearing doors.
The driving tips handed out for the rally advised the following:
A rough rule of thumb in any situation is that cows have the right of way.
Honk as much as possible.
And don’t be alarmed if pedestrians sleep on the edge of the road. There is nothing wrong. They are just resting.
A medic and translator were always on the mapped-out routes, along with a luggage bus.
The rally raised money for schools and villages along the route, and each two-person team donated school supplies and medicines and met with local leaders to learn about India’s varied cultures. There were no Indian citizens in the rally, save for those scrambling to get out of the way.
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