The driver looked back at me sitting in the back seat and said something I didn’t understand in Marathi. “What?” I asked him confused. He gestured to the brake handles as we continued gaining speed down the hill. Oh, crap. His brakes are broken. He pulled over to the side of the road, slowly rolling … Continue reading
A couple nights ago, Emelia and I got into a rickshaw to travel back home for the evening. The driver asked for a flat rate probably twice what we would have paid if he had agreed to use the meter, and we begrudgingly got into the auto. Little did we know, we had just picked … Continue reading
“Here,” the driver said to us, tipping his head to his shoulder in the Indian version of a nod. The three of us looked out from beneath the black top of the tiny vehicle and quickly searched for the “Pantaloons” sign. Not seeing it immediately, we got out of the rickshaw, paid the fare and … Continue reading
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