It all started off with the phone call that confirmed my internship in Pune. Ahead of that is what you would read in this blog.
Had heard a lot about Pune, the culture, the people, the mannerisms and obviously was excited to be in amidst all of it. To make lives simpler for the reader and not go on and on with my daily experiences, I shall categorize my experiences.
Lets start off with the quintessential rickshwalas from Pune.
The date: 18th May 2009, I ease my way into the of Pune. A friend volunteers to drive all the way from Kothrud and pick me up at University and drop me at Pashan at my relative’s place. Till that time, all places and locations and direction are as alien and difficult for me as for a Martian wanting to go to Kings Circle station, standing bewildered in the queue at ticket window number 12 at Andheri railway station on the Eastern side.
I politely decline the offer saying that I have a huge bag with me and that it’d be difficult for me to manage the bike sitting on the pillion. Forewarned about the moody and the princely rickshawalas of Pune (by the friend itself), I step foot on Pune soils. Confidently I approach a rickshwala and ask him to take me to Pashan, near NCL.
And ahead of it, it all happens in slow motion. I get in .. the rickshwala’s hand goes towards the meter, simultaneously asking me more details of the place I want to. This moment, I commit the worst mistake that one could do in the lands of this Asian Oxford. I ummm....errrr...gulp, say that I need to call and get more details. The hand goes down back to the rickshaw handle and a smug look evolves on our friendly rickshawala’s face and he says with a shrug “Chalees rupaye hoteel” (It’d cost my 40 rupees) and voila, am taken for a ride the moment I step into Pune. I dish out fourty bucks for a then later 5.65 minute drive from University to Pashan. I feel more cheated than a cow that’s been milked ... and you know what.
Moreover I must admit that the rickshwalas out here are more honest than the ones in Bombay. They do openly admit that they are charging that 15-20 Rs more than the regular fare. (which actually is a good 40 Rs more than the meter would calculate). Ahh, don’t I love honesty in a man. Am totally bowled over by the rickshwalas out here.
That man walks around (actually drives around) with the arrogance and pomp of riding a Rolls Royce Phantom in the dingy lanes of Kurla. That impudent look, that display of conceit all add to the already up stuck attitude of the rickshawalas in Pune. This species would reject a fare in the noon, just because it gets in between them and their afternoon siestas or even not be willing to drop a lady home late in the night, just because the lady’s destination is not the same as their destination for the night. Such chivalrous are there three-wheeler riding public servants of Pune.
Needless to say, after a few days of being cheated, and being made to feel like a loser, I prefer to board the infrequent buses of PMT (Pune Municipal Transport), walk all the way or step foot into another wonderful three (or is it five) wheeled wonder called as “The Six Seater” , but then that is another story.
Had heard a lot about Pune, the culture, the people, the mannerisms and obviously was excited to be in amidst all of it. To make lives simpler for the reader and not go on and on with my daily experiences, I shall categorize my experiences.
Lets start off with the quintessential rickshwalas from Pune.
The date: 18th May 2009, I ease my way into the of Pune. A friend volunteers to drive all the way from Kothrud and pick me up at University and drop me at Pashan at my relative’s place. Till that time, all places and locations and direction are as alien and difficult for me as for a Martian wanting to go to Kings Circle station, standing bewildered in the queue at ticket window number 12 at Andheri railway station on the Eastern side.
I politely decline the offer saying that I have a huge bag with me and that it’d be difficult for me to manage the bike sitting on the pillion. Forewarned about the moody and the princely rickshawalas of Pune (by the friend itself), I step foot on Pune soils. Confidently I approach a rickshwala and ask him to take me to Pashan, near NCL.
And ahead of it, it all happens in slow motion. I get in .. the rickshwala’s hand goes towards the meter, simultaneously asking me more details of the place I want to. This moment, I commit the worst mistake that one could do in the lands of this Asian Oxford. I ummm....errrr...gulp, say that I need to call and get more details. The hand goes down back to the rickshaw handle and a smug look evolves on our friendly rickshawala’s face and he says with a shrug “Chalees rupaye hoteel” (It’d cost my 40 rupees) and voila, am taken for a ride the moment I step into Pune. I dish out fourty bucks for a then later 5.65 minute drive from University to Pashan. I feel more cheated than a cow that’s been milked ... and you know what.
Moreover I must admit that the rickshwalas out here are more honest than the ones in Bombay. They do openly admit that they are charging that 15-20 Rs more than the regular fare. (which actually is a good 40 Rs more than the meter would calculate). Ahh, don’t I love honesty in a man. Am totally bowled over by the rickshwalas out here.
That man walks around (actually drives around) with the arrogance and pomp of riding a Rolls Royce Phantom in the dingy lanes of Kurla. That impudent look, that display of conceit all add to the already up stuck attitude of the rickshawalas in Pune. This species would reject a fare in the noon, just because it gets in between them and their afternoon siestas or even not be willing to drop a lady home late in the night, just because the lady’s destination is not the same as their destination for the night. Such chivalrous are there three-wheeler riding public servants of Pune.
Needless to say, after a few days of being cheated, and being made to feel like a loser, I prefer to board the infrequent buses of PMT (Pune Municipal Transport), walk all the way or step foot into another wonderful three (or is it five) wheeled wonder called as “The Six Seater” , but then that is another story.
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