Túk Túk

Transporter

The name is onomatopoeic, mimicking the sound of a small, two-cycle engine. Túk túk.  

It's a small, open-ended taxi with a canvas roof and an open-frame body made of sheet metal that provides cheap and efficient transportation in Asia. 

Today, we're in this auto rickshaw, seated at its rear passenger and cargo space for an up-close-and-personal ride through the convoluted world of Old Delhi in India. From a small cabin at the front, our driver, controlling the vehicle with a handlebar, is taking us to the crowded and dilapidated heart of the walled city of Shahjahanabad toward Chandi Chowk. 

What a place! I mutter, raising an eyebrow, as I peer behind drop-down side curtains. 

I let the details of the view seep into my mind - the whispering of chiffon saris, lights in the street, the chanting voices of Hindu priests that never stop. The air has that festive holiday feeling.

All surfaces seem to be grounded in colors of orange, gold, and red. Incredible vistas of yellow curry and other spices mounded in large baskets are everywhere. Everything is shiny and involves a lot of metallic trim. 

I feel sweat on my brows as the túk túk weaves in and out of vehicles, zooming along narrow alleyways. A steady buzz of traffic, stray dogs, and small, running footsteps continue to hit the senses with beeping and curses. I smile brightly, gazing out at the growing crowd of people milling about over piles of loose debris. 

There is a loud tooting of horns, just as a bus unloads across the street. Nobody seems to yield the right of way to carts or pedestrians who are pushing and shoving along the street. I snort out a laugh when our driver sounds his horn to encourage a skinny goat to clear out of our path, but get distracted quickly by a shopkeeper calling without looking up to advertise his tangy and spicy snack from his roadside food cart. Chaat!

As I glance around, my face brightens at the variety of delicacies and sweets. Samosas. Kebab. The smell of chicken tandoori and the allure of chole bhature, a dish that combines spicy chickpeas with fried bread and a dollop of chutney, entice me. I try to keep my voice level, as I spot the sugary sweetness of gulab jamon flaunted on open shelves. 

Time unravels. The world outside seems very distant. But in my face, right now, is a whole city with its shabbiness and glory just waiting to be discovered. Breathing deeply of the dry, warm air, I shake my head and laugh under my breath.

I want to explore every single part of it.