The saying goes that "if you can drive in India, then you can drive anywhere." I whole-heartedly agree…that is after giving myself an electric shock to restart my heart after taking a ride in an Indian rickshaw! The rally driving that goes on here is incredible, and I am always impressed with the darts of faith among the drivers who skim disaster not by inches but by millimeters. So, I decided to blend a couple of my rides in rickshaws to give an idea of what it is actually like riding in a small metal birdcage with a turbo lawnmower engine, the motorized rickshaw.

Leaving my hotel, I meander through the narrow, maze-like streets of the old town of Varanasi for nearly 15 minutes passing all sorts of people. Every person along the way tries to stop and speak to me and most are pleasant, but nearly all of them see me (a Westerner) as a money-making opportunity. The children try to sell me post cards or lead me to their uncle's shop for a commission; the young guys try to sell me marijuana and LSD; the cooks in the many food niches along the way try to sell me different breads, fried vegetable dishes, sweets, or their famous milk chai tea; the smooth talkers try to be my guide for the city or lure me to a silk shop; there are people heckling me to buy homemade perfumes; beggars pleading along my sides; and my personal favorite are the people outside the temples trying to shove lotus flowers into my hands, grab my shoes and whisk me away into a temple to better my karma. Nearly overwhelmed, I finally arrive to my last group of men saying "Hallooow, my frieeeend! Where are you going? You need rickshaw? I give you gooood price!"

Upon seeing the first guy, I automatically look around for other drivers to get a better price while still trying to deal with the menagerie of people asking me "Ok, Friend, See you later…You come by my shop later? I will be your guide later? I meet you here? What time? You promiiiiise?" and my response is always either "Maybe" or "No, Nahi" (no in Hindi). Focusing on the drivers, I realize that they want to charge me about four times the actual price, and I spend the next ten minutes trying to get them to compete for my "good" price. Finally, we agree on a price of 80 Rupees (about $2) for a thirty minute ride to one of the four major sacred and peaceful Buddhist pilgrimage sites, Sarnath, where Buddha preached his first sermon.

As seen on typical American movies, I expect to jump into the yellow and green, 3 ½ feet wide rickshaw and be relieved from getting out of the hustle of life on the streets, but I instead rev up my heart rate to even higher levels as the driver pulls a lever from the floor to start the engine, which goes "Rhmmm…put, put, put, bang!" and speeds out into the wall of traffic even though there is no opening but having complete faith that all the people on foot, bikes, motorcycles, pedal rickshaws, cars, trucks, buses, pushcarts, other motor rickshaws, dogs, goats, and cattle will somehow magically part and allow him space. I close my eyes, hear tires screeching to a halt and people yelling but we made it. We then begin speeding and weaving through a crowd that is essentially as thick as the crowd walking down the ramps to get out of a college or NFL football stadium after the game, the exception is that the crowd is moving at least 20 miles an hour and there is the same amount of traffic coming toward you.

We swerve from time to time around street stands selling bananas, melons or other wares only to shoot back into the crowd behind another rickshaw, weave around that to slam on the breaks for a car while my knees slam into the metal bar in front of me, and I barely catch the bar above me to prevent me from going airborne. After getting around the car, we play chicken with a motorcycle for a 2 foot wide space between the next auto-rickshaw and the concrete roundabout. Not being able to win the spot is not a problem because then we chance death and go the wrong way around the roundabout, now racing into complete head-on traffic. I close my eyes again and begin to pray because the idea of working brake lights or turn signals barely exists and much less the concept of seat belts in these thin metal soda cans on wheels. I then find myself still clenching on to the metal bar as we hit the brakes and the driver whirls the rickshaw to the side of the street in order to run to a food stand and buy some stuffed chapatti for lunch. I try to catch my breath and slow my heart rate while looking over to see a buffalo eating a plastic bag of mud peering in at me almost saying "What is your problem? You just need to be a buffalo. Watch this!" The buffalo then strolls out unafraid into the middle of the mayhem in the street, stops traffic and turns around looking at me like "See, I own this place!" I then clearly see hierarchy of the roads in this order: cattle/buffalo, buses/trucks, cars, motorcycles, rickshaws, peddle rickshaws, bicycles, pedestrians, and dogs (not good for walking or dogs!). Finally, the driver then hops back in the car, revs it up again, and we're off to the rally once again yet this time he is driving and shifting with one hand while eating and asking me where I am from, whether I like India, and do I want to go see a silk shop? I try to take my mind off the ride and talk with him, but I can barely understand him over the constant blaring of horns and the distractions of my head flying through the canvas roof from speeding over speed bumps and through enormous potholes. Occasionally, a police officer flags us down and catches a short ride, and then the driver also tries to stop and pick up women that he finds attractive. A few take a ride, of which I then have to move to the foot-wide seat nearly hugging the smelly driver in the front because a woman can only sit in the back, then we pay off a couple of police officers for having too many people, and finally after a few teeth chattering cobblestone-like streets and taking many corners on two wheels we make it to Sarnath.

At this point, I try to prevent myself from going into cardiac arrest, release my death grip from the little metal bars, check my pants to see if I have wet myself, and then deal with the driver who is now asking for even more money because of his "good" service! I am wondering why I am even paying for this at all! I pay him the original amount and step out on shaky legs fully considering enrolling in the Buddhist ten day solitary confinement meditation course not to find my inner peace but instead get peace from the outer world with no horns honking, no touts, no yelling, no extremely fast talking with an Indian accent, and best of all no rickshaws!

After a few hours strolling around the green, quiet, park-like Buddhist holy site, I return to normal and feel that the meditation course is too time consuming and decide to again hail another rickshaw to drive me back to Varanasi, only this time I get one with flashing blue, green, and red lights inside the car and Bollywood music blaring in my ears… Some people never learn!