Delhiwale: Is this the world’s prettiest rickshaw?

On finding unexpected beauty in an unlikely place

Embroidered jootis. Cracked CDs. Artificial grass. Paper jhoomars. Just some of the elements that make up this extraordinarily unusual rickshaw.

HT photo

This evening, the eye-catcher is parked by a Lodhi Road pavement. No sign of the puller. Perhaps that doesn’t matter, for his very persona seems to be diffused in the aesthetics of his rickshaw. The jhoomar hanging from the roof is made of coloured papers, golden laces and tiny brass bells. It is of a kind that school students are required to produce for their craft assignments, (and which are inevitably made by their parents).

The footwear dangling at the bottom of the rickshaw is not unusual, for many pullers hang them at the same place for good luck. But here the shoes are ethnic types with Maharajah-style pointed tips, usually worn by a man on his wedding day.

Even the tyres are decked with coloured ribbons, the spokes studded with shiny sitaras (sprinklers).

The rickshaw’s handle-bar is a dense thicket of unruly plastic flowers, with a single real marigold in the center. Red bridal ornis (veils) are falling down from both sides of the handle.

The floor under the passenger’s seat is carpeted with a mat of plastic grass.

Broken CDs are fixed on the back wheels as showpiece. Indeed, the rickshaw has most unexpected objects doubling up as decorations. The front wheel is fitted with bunches of green and blue plastic straws. The rear has a dozen drinking glasses stringed into a row.

Meanwhile, the tasteful puller still hasn’t appeared. A painted board on the rickshaw’s back announces in yellow and red—Muhammed Taufiq loves (represented by a heart pierced by Cupid’s arrow) Bilori. And just below is a phone number.

“Yes, I’m Taufiq and that’s my rickshaw. Yes, Bilori is how I call my wife,” the voice says on picking up the phone. “I’m having chai. I will return later.”