Rickshaws and Rainstorms

The lightest drizzle can turn Bangalore’s streets into streams. A hard rain puts half the city underwater.

I woke up this morning to the drumming of a downpour on corrugated tin. With a groan, I began imagining -- with well-deserved dread -- the commute to work. Not only would Bangalore’s incredibly poor drainage system turn many intersections into small ponds but the rain would provide my nemesis, the rickshaw drivers, with a horrendous leg up in my morning negotiations for a decent fare.

With my computer wrapped in a plastic bag and tucked inside my backpack, I ventured out into the deluge. A wet three blocks later, I arrived at my go-to rickshaw stand. Of course, along the walk, I had tried waving down 10 autos, but they were all taken. The prospects for getting ripped off were looking pretty good.

The rickshaw stand which usually hosts a dozen or so lazy drivers, was abandoned except for one beat up, muddy auto. The driver looked up at me over his newspaper and gave the customary head shake which says, “Where do you want to go?”

A metered fare to work typically costs about 150 rupees or a little more than three dollars. That’s expensive for India but my office is 45 minutes and 15 kilometers away. Navigating India’s Byzantine bus system simply isn’t in the cards, so I opt for the autos when I can’t get a ride.

Sticking my head into the rickshaw I delivered my destination, “Jakkur village, new airport road.” I waited with baited breath for the response. I’m typically quoted fares for the trip that are 4 or 5 times what they should be. Considering the rain, demand for autos and the distance, I was expecting a response of 400 rupees. If I was lucky, I might be able to talk him down to 200.

The neatly choreographed negotiations never materialized. I’m not sure if the driver felt bad for me or if he is just one hell of an honest guy, but he nodded, switched on the meter and waived me inside.

Past wild dogs and through streams we pushed forward – the underpowered rickshaw struggling in the rain, Gunga Din and I moaning with every pothole.