The Rickshaw Mafia and the Lizard

The easiest way to travel in Delhi is by auto-rickshaw.  Of course, riding in one means you have to haggle with the driver over the price, and then hope that he understands, despite the language barrier, where you want to go.

But all is not as simple as it seems.

The rickshaw mafia is a federation of rickshaw drivers.  Their cooperation is impressive.  This is how it goes down.

They line up outside popular places, like the metro exit or a mall, like so:

When you approach them, the leader, who usually speaks the best English, says, "Where you going?"  You tell him, using a lot of gestures and body language, and he choose the rickshaw he thinks is most likely to get you there.  And then there is the price.

I  got in a big fight with the rickshaw mafia this week.  After a trip to "Food Bazaar," my favorite grocery destination, I approached the rickshaw mafia.  I told them where I lived. The mafia leader took one look at me and said "300 rupees."

Me: "No way!  100." 

Vito Corleone: "No, 250."  I laughed, said ok, and started to walk away.  I have no idea where I was going, but this wasn't an act.  I was pissed.  Vito started smacking the side of a rickshaw and yelled, "Lady! 250!" 

Me (screaming):  "No! I live here! I'm not a tourist.  100!" 

We finally agreed on 150.  The whole time Vito and I were screaming at each other, the mafia drivers, who take naps in the back of their rickshaws in between jobs, were peering out from their little yellow roofs and laughing really hard.  I think they enjoyed the show.



That night, I chased a lizard out of our apartment.

This is the distressed email I sent to Bob:


There is a typo in the message; I meant to say "It wasn't that big."  Honestly, it looked like a toy lizard, but it freaked me out.  Sick.  Also, we live on the seventh floor of our building.  How did it get up here?

Guess I'll never know.  Hope it was a one time thing.

Last story about the events of the week so far, and I'll keep it short:

At a restaurant, a woman tried to cut in front of me.  In India, this is completely acceptable.  If you let someone cut in front of you, you deserve it.  So I booty bumped her out of the way, and ordered my food.  Take that.

I'm registered!

I finally completed the foreign national registration process in India!  I know it might not seem like a big deal to you, but it is.  A lot of people, including Bob, say that registering ranks first among their worst experiences in India.   My registration was remarkably uneventful.

at the fro office

Last Tuesday, we went to the FRO office to begin the process.  When we showed up, the place was eerily calm, and we later found out the Mr. FRO himself (who people describe as a monster, the master of nightmares, or at best, jerk) was out for the day.  Jai, a man from Bob's work who was helping us, told us that meant the employees were doing whatever they wanted, including registering people very quickly.  We pushed to the front of the group, since there aren't any lines here or concept of "turns" and turned in all of my paperwork (about 100 pages of documents including a letter from Bob's work, a copy of our apartment lease, etc).  In thirty minutes my passport was stamped, and they told me to come back in a week to pick up my official "papers" or proof of registration.  When I left, I had a sinking feeling they would lose everything in the mess of their office.  It was the least organized place I had ever seen.

casual day since the master of nightmares is off

very sophisticated filing system

he has my passport in his hand!  it's all over!

Today Bob and I went back, with Jai, and happily retrieved my papers in all of 10 minutes.  My forty minute FRO experience is completely unheard of, and I'm sure that if other foreigners heard about it, they would be paying me to find out how it went so smoothly.  If you live in America and never plan on coming to India, skip to the next paragraph.  For the rest of you:
1.  Go on a day that the evil Mr. FRO is not at work.
2.  Shove your way to the front of the group.  You will have to be kind of rude, but it will be worth it.  Plus, it's not rude in Indian culture.
3. Smile.  A lot.
4.  Ask a helpful Hindi-speaking friend to go with you.  Or even better, say a few things in Hindi yourself, and be sure to use the Indian head bobble when people ask you questions.

When we left, we also went to get something notarized at the courthouse down the road.  To our surprise, it was an outdoor district court that looked a lot this photo I borrowed from another website:

this looks a lot like the outdoor district court we visited today

It was infinitely cool.  Jai was very proud that we only got charged Rs. 150 ($3) until we told him it was free at home.  Also, the notary guy didn't even read the paper or ask for our passports, which is kind of the whole point of a notary.  Oh well.  No complaints here.

All in all, it was a pretty successful day.  Registering was something I was super anxious about, and now it's over!