If you really want to feel the pulse of a big city, just flag down a local cab. Preferably, a very old one. Here in Mumbai there are the 30 year old fiats, yellow roof, black body work and then the bling, which ranges from cab to cab. What better time than rush hour.
I flagged down the cab and climbed in. To add to the thrill, I got into the front passenger seat. I got a skew look as I moved it back and buckled up.
My cab, full of bling and all, the driver had his bit as well. White suit, and he seemed to have had a really bad red and yellow dye job on his hair and moustache. He looked about 50 and had an angle of “dodgy“ too.
The first thing was the price, I had been given an estimate by a porter, but of course my friend was trying his luck – finally we settled on a reasonable rip-off and then the destination. I said Crawford market.
“Sir you are mad, its rush hour in the street and the whole of Mumbai is shopping for dinner” Great I thought. Well lets get going I said, seems its going to be a while.
Not looking right, he lurched forward swinging into the stream of traffic, his one hand implanted into the middle of the steering wheel and the hooter screamed with more power than the engine, suddenly he turned into a manic suicidal monster, seeming to want to mow down every thing in his path, pedestrian, bicycle, moped car or truck.
Was I in for a ride of my life.