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By Brent Hoffmann, Class of 2005, and Susan Robertson, Class of 2009

“Where you from?” asked our tuk-tuk driver in New Delhi. “Ah, Shecawgo, I know of it. I have sister who lives on Devon Avenue.” (Note: Whatever your answer, your driver will ingratiate himself by claiming to have a relative who lives in or near your hometown.) Ranjit first spotted us near the entrance to our hotel. After wheeling his tiny green-and-black vehicle across four lanes of busy traffic, he hailed us like an old friend.

Ranjit – a bearded, black-turbaned Sikh, 50-ish, stocky and garrulous – became our transportion docent of Delhi. His tuk-tuk was one of thousands of the tiny vehicles that overwhelm Delhi streets like crazed swarms of bees. They bob in and out of traffic, slip between cars and buses, and make dizzying dashes across the crowded roundabouts. Basically, these three-wheelers are motorcycles tricked out with a roof, windshield, passenger bench for two, and a grab bar to keep you from hurtling into traffic. Surprisingly, they’re non-polluting; they run on compressed natural gas.

They stand by to transport you to wherever you want to go – interesting buildings, museums, tourist attractions, and parks. They’re cheaper than taxis. We negotiated a half-day of visits in New Delhi – including the Rajpath with the Edwin Lutyens-designed India Gate and national government buildings, the Shantipath neighborhood with architecturally important embassies, the Lodi Colony Street Art district, and Lodi Gardens — for 500 rupees (about $7 US). Ranjit waited patiently at each stop, and we three took selfie photos.

Our Belgium Embassy Stop

One of our stops was the Embassy of Belgium. It’s an impressive complex of exposed-brick domes and arches, completed in 1983, designed by the Indian sculptor-painter-architect Satish Gujral. It “marries Indian and Belgian sensibilities,” according to an architecture critique of the time, and is considered one of the 1,000 most-important buildings of the 20th-century.

Impressive, but not tourist-friendly. The embassy looms behind stone walls topped with barbed wire. Ranjit pulled up in front. The embassy’s uniformed, armed, guards eyed us warily. We jumped out and began photographing. The guards walked toward our tuk-tuk, then relaxed when Ranjit yelled, “Don’t worry, they’re from Belgium!”

Tuk-tuk drivers also are available – insistent, actually — to convey you to their brother’s carpet shop, sister’s jewelry bazaar, aunt’s sari shop, and/or uncle’s souvenir store. They earn a commission on your purchases. Ranjit explained that, if we’d buy a carpet or two, his kickback would enable him to take his family on vacation to Shimla, a city in the foothills of the Himalayas.

Endorsement by Proxy

We demurred, insisting that we weren’t in a buying mood. Still, Ranjit persuaded us to drop in at his relative’s rug store. We sat through a demonstration of carpet-making, followed by two clerks bringing us cookies and cups of chai tea. We hurriedly left, rejoining Ranjit on the street. This was the time to escape, before they rolled out the carpets and began to write up a sale. (We were on high alert, having endured the carpet drill during visits to Istanbul and Casablanca.)

Although we didn’t buy any carpets, we likely helped Ranjit win a sales commission to finance his family trip Shimla. The next day, at our hotel, we were queried by a British couple who’d ridden with Ranjit that morning. “Are you the people who rode with Ranjit yesterday? He showed us your picture. And said that you liked the carpets at his relative’s store so much that you bought 10 of them. So we bought three carpets. They’re being shipped to our place in Buckinghamshire.”

If there’s a lesson here… the fastest, cheapest, entertaining way to get around Indian cities is by tuk-tuk. But be firm if you’re not in a carpet, sari, jewelry, or souvenir-buying mood. Also think twice about appearing in a selfie photo with your driver.