The Italian Connection

We're selling our car, so the other day we sent Raju off to get the interior cleaned so it would look nice for the new owners. For some reason unknown to man, it took eight hours for the car to be cleaned. It really wasn't that dirty... But anyway, because the car wasn't going to be ready at school pick up time, I had to take a rickshaw to collect the children.

I walked down to the main market, just two minutes away. The first rickshaw driver looked at me as if I was speaking a foreign language - okay, to him I was :-) The second rickshaw driver spoke enough english to tell me he didn't speak english. Can't complain here either, because I speak enough hindi to say I can't speak hindi - Nahin bolo hindi. Bolo english (No speak hindi. Speak english). The third rickshaw driver understood me very well. He looked quizzical when I said "British School, Chanakyapuri" (they all do), and nodded when I added "near the American Embassy". He quoted me 150 rupees one way, 300 for a return journey. Now, the going rate for a white girl is 200 rupees return, far more than an Indian would pay. I told him 300 rupees was way too much, this journey always cost me 200 rupees. No he said, pointing to his watch, not at this time. That wasn't really the right answer, as I've only ever taken a rickshaw to school to collect the kids at school pick up time. He was treating me like a tourist! So I walked away and hoped I'd find another rickshaw quite soon, as pick up time was drawing closer.

The next rickshaw looked pretty new and unbattered. It was probably too much to hope that this guy would want to charge me a "reasonable white girl rate" to get the kids. Again he looked quizzical at "the British School, Chanakyapuri", and nodded when I said "near the American Embassy". And he wanted 200 rupees return. Result! I got in and off we went. Just to be safe, and because I don't really want to go to the American Embassy, as we get closer to school I start giving directions. It's not too hard, because there's a series of roundabouts, and you want to go straight across all three. But just as we join this stretch of road I spot the car in front has a "British School Authorised Parking" sign in the back window. So I proclaim, "Follow that car!", which amused me far more than it amused the driver. He obviously hadn't seen as many car chase movies as I had. Although to be fair to him, most of those movies didn't involve chasing a 7 seater people mover with two child car seats in the back...

As the car in front went straight over the last roundabout he checked again that that was the way I wanted to go ( if I had wanted to go to the American Embassy, we should have turned right). Straight ahead, I told him, and straight ahead he went. As we were pulling alongside the Italian Embassy, he said "ah, The British School", like they all do. I have no idea why no rickshaw driver knows where the British School is until they reach this point of the journey, but they all have that "realisation moment" at the same spot. Strange...